Xena of Amphipolis, the Warrior Princess, Destroyer of Nations, Slayer of Gods

"It's not easy proving you're a different person"

Opening
Bio: Xena was a simple farm girl living in the town of Amphipolis when the warlord Cortese invaded. Rallying the townsfolk, Xena led her people to victory against the warlord, at the cost of her brother's life. With her heart hardened by her loss, Xena began to conquer neighboring towns to serve as buffers around Amphipolis for the next warlord. Soon, her desire to protect her town twisted into an endless hunger to conquer, leading her to become a worshiper of Ares & a brutal, ruthless warlord. She continued on this path, making many friends & enemies, until she met her defeat at the hands of Hercules, who taught her that even she can atone for her sins by going out into the world & doing good. Now on the road to redemption, Xena travels the world with her friend & lover Gabrielle, righting the wrongs committed by her & others.
Fighting Style: When she was a warlord, Xena would go for the kill straight away by any means necessary, typically via a chakram throw or pressure points. Post-Reformation, Xena will generally open with a chakram throw to disarm a foe or hit their projectile out of the air, & from there will go for non-lethal options like close-range disarming, pressure points, or a simple punch to the face. However, Xena will not hesitate to kill an opponent if they refuse to accept defeat or if they pose a threat to her or those she cares about. When the Olympians threatened her daughter, she embarked on a quest to slaughter them all, which she succeeded in doing.
Feats are tagged with the source. Some albums will not have tags, because the scans within occur from different sources & will have the source in the album itself.

Physicals

Strength

"You're Xena. Unstoppable. Unbeatable."

Blades

Metal

• Cuts through armor
• Cuts shackles
• Cuts chain
• Cuts into a pipe^S6E21
• Cuts through swords

Wood

• Cuts down a tunnel support^S5E14
• Cuts through three spears^S4E16
• Cuts through tree branches
• Cuts through wood bars
• Cuts through a wood cage^TJ3

Flesh

• Decapitates a massive bone dragon^DT2
• Decapitates a giant worm^HP1999
• Decapitates hydras
• Stabs through a hydra's head from the inside^X1
• Bisects Anubis^X4
• Cuts apart zombies^TX0

Misc

• Hits a woman's sword so hard that it cuts off a statue's head^S5E3
• Cuts through the top of a tunnel with an axe^S4E11

Striking

Launching Foes/Objects

• Sends a satyr flying into a thick wooden beam hard enough to break it^MO
• Kicks a large chunk of stone pillar away^OO3
• Tackles an alien into the ground hard enough to crack it^XAnnual
• Dropkicks a woman through a door & the railing of a balcony^S4E7
• Smacks Gabrielle into a stone wall hard enough to chip it^DX1
• Launches men into shelves, breaking them
• Kicks a man onto a table hard enough to break it^S1E4
• Kicks a man into a door hard enough to knock it out of its frame^S1E2
• Launches people, impaling them on objects
• Knocks a man through a wood wall by slashing him^S4E8
• Kicks a lizard man into a giant egg hard enough to break it^S1E8
• Sends soldiers sliding on the ground & through wood^S1E11
• Kicks a rock into the air^S1E11
• Kicks her chakram hard enough to embed it in stone^S5E21
• Kicks a sword into a soldier hard enough to knock him out^S1E1
• Kicks men into stacks of barrels & sacks^S1E8
• Generally able to launch people through the air with her strikes

Other

• Knocks over Hyperion with a swing kick^S1E7
• Knocks over Porphyrion with a flying kick^MO
• Kicks over trees^S6E6
• Matches a kick from Goliath, who broke a stone pillar^S2E3
• Knocks out a man clad in the Armor of Hephaestus^S3E3
  • Armor of Hephaestus scaling
• Shatters large wood doors with a kick^X2
• Breaks a reinforced steel padlock with a kick^S3E20
• Breaks a stone tōrō with a kick^S6E21
• Breaks open locked doors
• Kicks out two support beams^S2E9
• Kicks through shutters then breaks a chair^S4E7
• Breaks open a wooden cage^S5E3
• Breaks out of an ice coffin after waking up from a 25-year coma^S5E20
• Breaks a stone block with a hammer^S6E7
• Breaks a ladder by stomping on it^S1E22
• Dives through a wooden wall^S2E7
• Generally capable of knocking people out with single blows
  • A man is fine after being kicked into a stone statue hard enough to break it^S2E16

Throwing

Chakram

• Knocks back Crius^MO
• Destroys a boomerang made of the Metal of Hephaestus in a clash when it could cut through Metal of Hephaestus shields^S3E3
• Kills a man wearing the Armor of Hephaestus^S3E3
• Destroys Hades' Helm of Invisibility^S5E19
• Cuts apart an animate statue^OT3
• Shatters part of a golem's head^TX2
• Cuts through a stone wall after being deflected^S3E4
• Cuts through trees^S6E6
• Breaks a tree in half^X2
• Puts holes in stone pillars^S5E3
• Shatters chunks of stone^DT1
• Cuts through an axe, then several chains, before embedding in stone^S1E11
• Cuts chain
• Cuts through swords
• Cuts down a tree branch^S4E20
• Cuts through a line of spears^S4E5
• Embeds into a stone wall^S1E5
• Causes a tunnel to cave in^S4E11
• Stabs into armor

People

• Throws an Amazon into a stone pillar hard enough to break it^S6E11
• Throws a man into a stone pot hard enough to break it^S4E13
• Flips a large man onto a staff hard enough to impale him^X1
• Throws a soldier into a table, breaking it^S1E11
• Throws a man through wood planks^S6E17
• Throws a woman through the air with one arm^S3E22
• Throws a man into more men
• Swings & throws a bacchae^S2E4

Other

• Throws a hammer hard enough to stop a charging Minotaur that broke stone^OO3
• Throws two swords hard enough to embed in stone^S1E23
• Throws a spear hard enough to embed in stone^S3E16
• Embeds a staff in the stone ceiling^TJ3
• Throws spears through armored men
• Throws a bucket at a soldier, knocking him back into a stall^S2E22
• Throws a swordfish hard enough to stick a helmet to a tree^S3E10
• Knocks out a man by throwing a sandbag with her legs^S4E17
• Xena possesses Autolycus, making him strong enough to break a statue in half by throwing a grappling hook at it^S2E13

Lifting

• Lifts Crius' foot to throw him off-balance^MO
• Supports part of a tower made of logs^S6E11
• Uses a large rock as a ram^VC3
• Flips a chariot^HX7
• Grabs a charging lion & throws it down^HX4
• Carries a stag on her back^S4E1
• Catches women as they fall
• Lifts a boy in a cage using her whip^S2E1
• Lifts an Amazon into a tree^S1E10
• Climbs a cliff face with Gabrielle on her back^S6E6

Pushing/Pulling

• Pulls back a coffin with Gabrielle in it against the mechanism moving it forward^S2E18
• Knocks over a horse by pulling down its rider^S3E16
• Stops a piece of a bridge from falling away^S4E3
• Overpowers several men^S6E17
• Pulls open a bear trap^S5E4
• Pulls down a tree^TX1
• With two other men, pushes aside a large rock^S1E14

Other

• Stops a giant rolling boulder by stepping on it^MO
• Flexes out of a thick metal tendril wrapped around her
• Rams a large rock into a stone platform, breaking it^VC3
• Flings Gabrielle possessed by a demon off of her back^S4E14
• Breaks the chains restraining her^S1E6
• Breaks out of a cask she was hiding in^S2E2
• Dives through some wooden bars^S1E2
• Snaps a man's neck^S4E5
• Pushes boulders down a hill with a lever^S6E6
• Kills rats by biting then throwing them with her mouth^S4E7
• Spits a diaper pin hard enough to kill a man^S5E13
• Somehow sent a man through a door hard enough to shatter it^TX0
• Said to have the strength of ten men^S1E19

Durability

"You have amazing recuperative powers"

Blunt

Scaling

• Takes a hit from Porphyrion, who made a large crater in a cliff^MO
• Takes multiple hits from Ares, who matched a blow from Porphyrion
• Takes a hit from a sphinx that charges through a house & a large stone wall^DT3
• Takes hits from various gods
• Takes blows from Hercules while fighting him^H12
  • Hercules strength scaling
• Hit by a hydra's tail that smashes stone^VC2
• Takes his from Grendel & Grinhilda, who are strong enough to punch over a tree & swat Xena through several trees
• Takes hits from the Destroyer, which can throw a large stone wheel through the air^S4E3
• Hit by a mummy that breaks a statue by throwing it
• Takes telekinetic hits from Hope, whose TK broke stone^S3E22
• Takes hits from Bellerophon, the demigod son of Artemis that KO'd Varia
• Tanks a punch from Meleager, who can throw spears through three men & hard enough to break a wood pillar
• Takes a kick from a Roman soldier that broke a stone bench by slamming a woman on it^S5E21
• Takes hits from Atyminius, who cratered stone^S1E6
• Takes hits from Mortal Callisto, who kicked a ladder in half^S1E22
• Takes hits from banshees, who broke open a barred door^S3E5
• Gabrielle hurts her hand punching Xena^S1E6

Objective

• Hit by Hyperion kicking through a stone wall^S1E7
• Hit by Hephaestus into a stone pillar hard enough to break it^S5E19
• Slammed about with TK, breaking stone pots^S4E13
• Slammed by a giant worm hard enough to break a stalagtite^HP1999
• Slammed through a table by Eve^S5E21
• Slammed against a cliff wall while being carried by a large flying beast^S1E8
• Sent flying through a stall by Gabrielle possessed by a demon^S4E14
• Kicked into a cart hard enough to break it^S5E14
• Hit by Gabrielle with a wood pole hard enough to break it^S1E20
• Jousts with Callisto hard enough to break the poles they used^S1E22
• Hit with a chair hard enough to break it^S4E7
• Ok after getting caught in a rockslide^H13
• Sent flying by the impact of a catapult^S4E9

Piercing

• Uncut when Demon Callisto throws her chakram at her hard enough to snap it in half & break her spine^S4E21
• Blocks chakram throws from copies of herself with her bracers^OT1
• Not deeply pierced by an arrow from Artemis when Olympian bows can drive arrows through several steel shields^S5E22
• Uncut when Hope throws her chakram at her with TK^S3E22
• Takes a sword swing from a man Ares says broke a castle door with a kick^X1
• Uncut by Joxer hitting her in the head with a sword
• Gets bit on the neck by a bacchae but the fangs don't break her skin^S2E4
• Grabs a sword by the blade & pulls it from a man's hand^S1E11

Heat/Energy

• Gets hit by a combined blast from Hades, Athena, & Hephaestus, when a blast from Hades evaporated Posiedon's giant water body
• Takes blasts from Velasca, who destroyed stone structures & blasted Callisto hard enough to break a boulder^S2E14
• Gets hit with a fireball by Goddess Callisto, who destroys a barn & a statue's head
• Takes blasts from Goddess Callisto, who broke a hole in a stone wall & incinerated a buzzard
• Gets blasted by Athena, who broke marble pillars^S5E22
• A clone seemingly takes a large explosion unharmed^S6E16
• Ok after being hit by an alien grenade that smashes stone^XAnnual

Endurance

• Defeats the Berserker, a warrior enchanted by Alti, after being magically forced to relive some of her worst injuries, including broken legs^S4E1
  • Fights Alti even after being magically inflicted with the worst injuries she has had & will have in the future^S4E15
    • Alti killed men by doing the same to them^S6E18
• Kills many samurai after being riddled with arrows before being ultimately killed (however, she wanted to die so she could go to the spirit realm & kill an evil spirit, which may have affected how hard she was trying to stay alive)^S6E22
• Continues to fight after being shot with an arrow by Artemis^S5E22
• Gets up after being beaten by her former soldiers as part of "The Gauntlet"^H12

Mental/Spiritual

• Powers through a telepathic assault^S4E13
• Resists hypnosis^S4E14
• Stops a dragon god from stealing her soul^TX0
• Resists the aroma of the lotus^OT1

Other

• Heals from broken legs enough to fight on them in a matter of hours^S2E12
• Ok after the temple she's in collapses^S3E4
• Ok after falling from above the clouds^S6E7

Speed/Agility

"I've seen speeding arrows come right at you and you just catch them before they hit you. Nobody can do that"

Reaction/Dodging

Projectiles

• Catches two crossbow bolts in her hands & one in her teeth^S2E17
• Catches & deflects several arrows from a rain of them in thick smoke, though she eventually is hit^S6E22
• Catches/dodges crossbow bolts
• Catches/dodges arrows
• Deflects arrows
• Catches a rocket^S5E6
• Deflects & dodges blasts from Athena, Hades, & Deimos
• Dodges blasts from Goddess Callisto
• Dodges a blast from Callisto in the body of a hydra^VC1
• Dodges blasts from Lucifer^S6E3
• Dodges blasts from Velasca^S2E14
• Dodges & deflects weapons thrown by Hope^S3E22
• Catches/dodges blowdarts
• Catches/dodges thrown knives
• Catches/dodges spears
• Catches axes/mace
• Catches a firebomb thrown through her window^S1E15

Melee

• Dodges & matches strikes with Draco, who can catch three arrows at once^S1E1
• Dodges strikes from Eve, who caught the chakram^S5E21
• Dodges sword swings from Najara, who caught a crossbow bolt^S4E8
• Catches surprise strikes from Gabrielle
• Dodges a strike from a Dragon Tooth warrior's lash, which was able to swat a barrage of arrows out of the air^DT1
• Dodges attacks from Titans^MO
• Dodges whip strikes^EX6
• Catches sword swings

Movement/Attacking

Combat

• Outspeeds Hercules, who caught an arrow from behind, in close combat
• Leaps forward to swat an arrow out of the air^S4E6
• Whips an arrow out of the air^S4E20
• Cuts crossbow bolts/arrows out of the air with her chakram
• Throws her chakrams to cut two rockets out of the air^S5E6
• Juggles Najara into the air with her knees while climbing a vine^S4E18

Other

• Moves from behind Amarice to in front of her while she turns her head^S5E2
• Outruns exploding Greek Fire^S5E14
• Outruns a centurion^EX5
• Catches up to a boat with a head startHX5

Agility

Combat

• Fights a group of Amazon elite in the treetops^S4E2
• Fights Najara while swinging on vines^S4E18
• Fights a skilled hunter while climbing a tower made of logs^S6E11
• Fights Eve while swinging on banners^S5E21
• Takes down foes while running on a wall then bicycle kicks a soldier^S1E5
• Bicycle kicks Ares^S3E1
• Runs on the chests of bandits in a circle several times^S1E7
  • Again while holding onto a hanging whip^S4E18
• Runs on the heads of goons to take them out^S4E10
• Defeats a group of soldiers while spinning between two poles^S2E2
  • Again on one pole^HX6
• Flips around on soldiers, defeating their comrades^S1E22
• Flips onto a horse while being dragged behind then flips off with the rider^S5E20
• Defeats men while flipping on a staff^S4E21
• Recovers after being flipped by Hercules^H12
• Flips to avoid a kick & springs off her hands to deliver one^S4E7
• Jumps such that she has time to kick several assassins in the face^S1E15
• Swings from a flagpole to take down some soldiers^S1E4
• Takes down several assassins while swinging from a rope^S1E15
• Weaves around some golems with rope, causing them to trip^TX2
• Flips from a prone position, knocking away swords pointed at her^S4E4
• Does psycho crushers
• Swings from a vine off her horse to defeat pursuers, then swings back on the horse^S6E17
• Builds up momentum to enhance the power of her strike^TJ1

Leaping

• Flips off of a tree to a ship off the shore^S2E21
  • Jumps to another boat from the dock^S3E19
  • Leaps from a boat to the shore^HX6
• Leaps from the water in a moat to the top of a palace wall^S3E6
• Shatters Samson's record of a 75 ft long jump^OO2
• Leaps across a gorge^S1E14
• Leaps out of a tank of water^S1E11
• Flips on top of a large wall^S5E20
• Kicks off of a guard to jump onto a platform^S4E7
• Jumps onto a building^S4E14
• Leaps through the air after jumping off of a soldier^S1E1
• Flips over a crowd^S3E2
• Leaps off her horse onto a table, launching a man who then lands back onto the table, which launches her so that she flips off of the table back on to her horse^S1E2
• Flips into the air from a prone position^S1E23
• Flips off of horseback then springs off of a tree^S3E1

Traversing

• Jumps up falling rocks^TJ3
• Beats Gabrielle in a race, despite her head start^S3E1
• Flips up a tree
• Runs up the wall of a prison cell, bursting through the roof^S1E22
• Kicks off a rock while being carried by a flying beast to flip onto the creature's back^S1E8
• Flips across a sea of people^S5E10
• Jumps off of enemies' spears^S6E17
• Quickly scales a cave wall^S2E4
• Jumps to avoid a spike trap, then flips herself forward while holding herself up on the wall^S1E8
• Leaps onto a pole sticking out of a wall, then over the wall^S1E9
• Jumps from a tree onto a passing chariot^S1E2
• A clone leaps from car to car on the road^S6E16
• Runs through a marketplace while navigating obstacles^S1E4
• Traverses a burning town by swinging on poles & ladders^S6E21
• Runs across a marketplace on a clothesline^S1E17
• Crosses a broken bridge by walking on the ropes^S1E19
• Swings on a rope then bounces off of an awning^S6E21
• Swings on a vine^MO
• Climbs a cliff face with Gabrielle on her back while it's raining^S6E6
• Climbs up a cliff wall with a child on her back^S4E12

Misc

• Runs on a rolling boulder, steering it around to take out goons^MO

Combat Skill

"When she puts her mind to killing someone, they generally get killed"

General

• Her skills are so ingrained in her that she acts reflexively even after losing her memory^S6E9
• Maintains her skill while possessing Autolycus, using his body to fight off several Amazons^S2E13
• Gabrielle says she is skilled with every weapon & deadly in all forms of combat^X1

Accuracy

Chakram Throws

• Ricochets her chakram across a city, saving a man from being run over & breaking the vial a woman was holding^S3E2
• Throws it from out of sight, cutting through a line of arrows then ricocheting to cut through a line of swords before returning to her^S1E22
• Throws it such that it bounces around while she fights Ares then returns to kill the Furies^S6E1
• Deflects Discord's arrow such that it ricochets to cut down a lantern, then ricochets off the wall to knock the lantern away^S4E19
• Breaks several falling chunks of stone^DT1
• Bounces her chakram off of several objects then catches it to prove her identity^S2E6
• Ricochets to continuously attack foes who dodged the initial throw
• Ricochets her chakram off of some rocks to try & hit Hercules^H12
• Ricochets to come back around & attack an enemy that deflected it^HX9
• Takes down groups with one throw
• Ricochets off of a pillar to kill a soldier^S1E4
• Disarms a man, then ricochets to cut through two shackles^S1E9
  • Disarms a man again^S3E9
• Throws it such that it cuts a hole in a boat, then turns around in midair to return to her^S2E20
• Cuts through an axe, then ricochets to cut through several chains^S1E11
• Ricochets to cut through a line of spears^S4E5
• Appears to throw it at a mystic artifact, but actually makes it so that it ricochets, cutting the bonds of Ares' hostages^S2E10
• Ricochets to drop a chandelier on a group of satyrs^MO
• Breaks a catapult shot before it can be fired^S6E15
• Ricochets to throw a lever^S3E20
• Splits an arrow such that the two halves kill enemy soldiers^S5E13
• Cuts a spear that Caesar threw down the middle in mid-air^S3E4
• Splits to knock two spears out of the air^S5E22
• Diverts a thrown axe^S4E11
• Hits a sphinx's eye^DT3
• Cuts off Gabrielle's boot^S3E13
• Cuts a man's tendon^HX6
• Causes rockslides
• Cuts down a large shield to block thrown weapons^S3E22
• Ricochets to cut down Gabrielle's noose & damage an execution platform^S4E7
• Ricochets to cut down the hose of a water tower & spray approaching soldiers^S1E22
• Ricochets to cut down Joxer
• Disarms a man such that his axe falls to cut Gabrielle's bonds^S2E3
• Sets off a wagon of explosives^S6E22
• Ricochets to knock the jewelry out of men's hands^S5E8
• Kills animals by bouncing the chakram off of a turtle^S4E13
• Ricochets with a ribbon attached to tie up soldiers^S2E9
• Ricochets to hit a gorgon while looking in a mirror^TX1
• Slits men's throats
• Splits & sets off a row of landmines before reuniting^S5E7
• Cuts off a cyclops' belt^S1E1
• Throws through a forest to hit a man riding a horse^S1E24
• Throws it to kill an enemy Gabrielle is fighting while she is fighting a centaur^S2E1
• Skims it off of the water to cut down the sail of a ship^S2E21
• Throws it such that it spins in place to saw through a tree branch^S1E9
• Throws it such that it blocks a sword swing & turns around in midair to return to her^S1E2
• Throws it such that it turns around in mid air & returns to clip to her side^S1E20
• Xena possesses Autolycus, throwing the chakram to cut the strings of Amazon bows^S2E13
• Throws her chakram to create a diversion & catches it while she's blind^S2E18

Whip

• Snags a thrown axe out of the air then throws it back^S2E20
• Grabs a man around the neck then hoists him up on a tree branch^S1E4
• Stops a man from attacking Gabrielle then pulls him to her^S1E12
• Grabs an executioner's axe out of his hands^S3E3
• Wraps up people's feet
• Grabs onto her chakram to pull herself out of quicksand^S2E5
• Spins a log around^S5E17

Knives

• Deflects a thrown chakram back at her^S1E22
• Cuts down a sail^S2E12
• Throws two at once to cut Gabrielle down from a crucifix^S3E4
• Cuts the rope a man was using to choke Gabrielle^S3E19
• Hits a man's heart^H13

Archery

• Shoots down several samurai in quick succession, even nocking & landing several arrows at once^S6E22
• Pins a man to the wall by firing several arrows using a harp^S1E15
• Shoots a stag in the heart^S4E1

Rope

• Lassos a stalagtite^S1E7
• Lassos a boy while standing on the ledge above him^S1E19
• Uses a cord from her disguise to grab a guard while in a prison cell^S3E9

Other

• Throws a rat using her mouth, knocking her chakram down a grate such that it lands on her chains, cutting them^S4E7
• Splits a spear using her sword such that the two halves kill enemies next to her^S2E1
• Grabs Athena's sword using a chain & throws it^S5E19
• Throws a collar onto an Amazon^S6E11
• Throws a frying pan to KO bandits by ricocheting off of them^S2E15
• Throws an eel, ricocheting it off of a tree back into her hand^S3E10
• Ricochets a prop chakram off of several machines^S6E16
• Hooks a Minotaur's horn with a hammer^OO3
• Throws her sword to cut the firing rope of a ballista^S2E1
• Throws three swords into a Roman's chest^S4E20
• Kicks a hay cart into position to stop the fall of a flung man^MO

Unarmed Combat

Pressure Points

• Typically used to cut off the flow of blood to the brain as an interrogation tactic
• Kills with pressure points
• Stops Joxer's heart then revives him^S5E17
• Knocks out men
• Makes body parts numb
• Makes a man kick his comrade^S1E22
• Makes a girl unable to talk^S4E11
• Fixes Gabrielle after she has a pressure point used on her^S1E17
• Stops a wound from bleeding^S4E15
• Cures Gabrielle's seasickness^S2E21
• Triggers a pressure point with a kick to the throat^S3E4
• Uses one on Talos, who's made of magic bronze^TX2

Vs Single Foes

• Defeats the Archangel Michael^S6E12
• Defeats Callisto, a warrior who spent her life training to kill Xena^S1E22
  • Defeats Callisto again after the two swapped bodies^S2E7
• Holds a solid advantage against Hercules^H12
• Defeats Jett, the King of Assassins^S3E8
• Defeats/disarms armed men
• Flips over a man, using that momentum to flip him^S1E11

vs Groups

• Fends off a horde of bacchae (vampire-like creatures) then bests Bacchus in a quick fight^S2E4
  • Bacchae are strong enough to fling men through the air^S2E4
• Defeats several soldiers while holding a baby^S1E4
• While trapped in the body of a child, defeats a group of soldiers^S5E8
• Defeats a group of bounty hunters while afflicted with madness by the Furies^S3E1
• Fights off several Chin assassins^S3E6
• Defeats several samurai^S6E21
• Defeats a group of Amazons possessed by evil spirits^S4E2
• Punks some Amazons^TJ1
• Defeats a group of soldiers with Gabrielle & Autolycus^S3E20
• Generally able to defeat groups of generic foes
• Defeats three men while swimming^HX5
• Takes down two soldiers at once with a double kick^S1E4
• Disarms several spearmen at once^S6E17

Swordsmanship

• Fights off 3 evil versions of herself with the same strength & skill as her^OT1
• Defeats Ares, God of War, while afflicted with madness by the Furies^S3E1
  • Beats Ares in a quick skirmish^DX2
• Defeats Athena, Goddess of Wisdom & War^S5E22
• Defeats Mephistopheles, the King of Hell^S6E2
• Defeats Varia, the greatest Amazon warrior^S6E14
• The archangel Michael says that Xena might've been a challenge for him even before she became an archangel^S5E1
• Fights off a group of soldiers while blind^S2E18
• Defeats several Chin soldiers while pregnant^S5E6
• While trapped in the body of a child, defeats a warlord^S5E8
• With Gabrielle, fends off the combined armies of the Temples of Apollo, Athena, & Poseidon^S5E13
• Defeats The Deliverer, a warrior empowered by Dahak, the One God of Evil^S3E4
• Gets the better of Caesar & Pompey in a three-way fight^S4E5
• Defeats Marc Antony^S5E18
• Defeats Deiphobus^S1E12
• Defeats a warlord on horseback^S4E4
• Kills an assassin^S1E14
• Defeats the leader of a warrior tribe^S2E20
• Defeats a scalphunter^S4E11
• Defeats several of Indrajit's demons^S4E16
• Generally able to defeat groups of generic foes
• Diverts a soldier attacking her such that he will impale his comrade^S1E4
• Disarms soldiers

Misc Weapons

• Fights off a contingent of 300-400 elite Persian soldiers in a booby-trapped house^S3E1
• Battles Draco with staves while balancing on scaffolding & walking on people's heads^S1E1
  • Fights Draco again under similar circumstances while pregnant^S5E10
• Defeats the Amazon Queen in a duel with kali sticks^S1E10
  • Amazons are trained to fight since birth^S1E10
• Beats up Najara with stilts^S4E8
• Beats a group of prison guards with a noose & then a man^S4E7
• Defeats an armed captain with a candelabra^S1E4
• Defeats some men with a fish on a string^S1E19
• Defeats men with wet rags
• Fends off bandits with a pot & pan^S2E15
• Defeats several warriors with a bow^S2E20
• Disarms several soldiers with a wagon wheel^S2E3
• Beats up three men with a bench^S1E12
• Defeats two soldiers with socks full of marbles^S2E9
• Kills a harpy with fire-breathing^S1E16

"Ayiyiyiyiyiyi!"

Today I had quite possibly the worst day of my Amazon life. I have been delivering for Amazon for a little over a year and a half now and have been with this new DSP for about 2 months. I deliver to primarily rural areas and thoroughly enjoy it. The deliveries are low in quantity, never going over 110 stops per day, and never exceeds 200 packages. I deliver in the mountains and hills of Tennessee, which at this time of year are very beautiful. I stop atop hills and mountains while delivering to people and just admire the view and beauty of nature. However... An incident at work today has caused me to seek employment elsewhere.
In short: this job isn't worth it. It's not worth any of the risks that you're exposed to. Dog bites, crazy people and stupid drivers to name three reasons. Out of the thousands of people I have met and delivered to, this one person I encountered today has ruined my desire to further work with Amazon.
Again, I've been delivering to this area of Tennessee for about two months and I am very comfortable and knowledgeable about the area and the houses. This one house I delivered to today has about a quarter-mile long gravel driveway that goes up a very steep set of two hills. They have two gates and only one delivery point: the front door. All was routine this day. They had two packages, their gates were both open, there were no delivery notes, and it said to deliver to the front door per usual. I noticed as I drove up the first hill that the sides of the gravel road were lined with metal rebar and wood, the first tell-tale sign of an impending driveway. There were no barriers preventing me from driving up the gravel driveway. There was a piece of wood at the END of the driveway, but it was on the ground and was the proper height for vehicles to drive over. So, I proceeded to drive over it. Another note: I drive a Ford Transit 350HD CDV, the 20ft version, so I have to be very careful when navigating tight spaces.
After driving over this piece of wood, I continue another 1/10th of a mile up the road and meet an obstacle: a concrete-poured driveway. It looked fresh, but it had also just rained so I was unsure as to whether it WAS fresh or not. I got out and touched the concrete. It was hard as rock. I felt comfortable enough driving on it and so I did. I got onto the concrete driveway, looked in the rear-view camera, and didn't see any damage, so I thought that I had not damaged anything at that time. I get up to where their old driveway met this new driveway and it was also blocked by another piece of wood. This time, this piece of wood was up and off the ground, preventing me from driving up their driveway. I thought nothing of it, didn't see any cars up at their house (could've been in their garage), and delivered the packages at the base of this person's driveway. I snap the picture, delivery as usual, and get back in the van and drive off. Again, checked the concrete to make sure it wasn't wet, and left.
As I'm driving to my next delivery location one house down the highway (it was a 55 MPH highway), I have to cross a creek to access this new customer's property. After about 1/10th of a mile onto this new person's property, I look in the rearview camera and see a man, about middle aged, bald, rather large in size on a black ATV hauling ass behind me. I think "Oh maybe that's this homeowner and he wants to pick up his packages down here." So I stop, he pulls up next to me, and I say "How can I help ya?." He proceeds to say very loudly "I need your name and truck number right now." I'm taken aback. I put the truck in park, and calmly tell the man "Okay, what's going on?" He proceeds to pull out his cell-phone and take pictures of me AND my van number on the side of the van. I hit the "driver initiation" button on the Netradyne camera to let my manager know something's up. "What's wrong?" I said calmly. He proceeded to say "Did you not see the f*****g barriers preventing you from accessing my property and my driveway?" 1.) Both of your gates were open. 2.) There were no barriers preventing me from driving onto your driveway. 3.) There were no delivery instructions or notes telling me to avoid your driveway. 4.) The app said to deliver to your front door, and 5.) The delivery instructions/customer notes the LAST time I was here said to ONLY deliver to your front door. I only mentioned #2. He proceeds to start yelling, throwing his arms up in the air and pointing at me, calling me every slur under the rainbow and insulting my intelligence. I hit the Netradyne button again. "Hey man, I'm sorry, I can give you the information you need but I need to deliver this package to this house real quick." This driveway was a one-way entrance and exit, so I would have had to meet him again. He proceeds to say "No. You're going to stay right here while I go back to my house and see if you damaged my $15,000 driveway." I said "Uh, no. That's not how this works. You need to calm down dude and stop yelling at me." Then... things got spicy.
The man proceeds to say and do some of the scariest things I have ever heard and have had done to me in my life. "I'm going to do a lot more to you than yell at you if you've damaged my property." 1.) This is Tennessee. Everyone has guns. 2.) He just threatened to do "more than just yelling TO ME". 3.) I've seen people die over significantly lesser stuff, and after being threatened like that, I wasn't about to stick around and find out what he wanted to do to me. I put the van in drive and start driving off up the new person's driveway to go get some help from them after he just threatened and assaulted me. He proceeds to drive parallel to me in the dirt/mud, and then he begins to ram the side of my CDV with his ATV. I had never felt more compelled to keep driving than this exact moment. I kept driving, didn't look at him, just kept hitting the Netradyne button. The man then decides that he's going to try to prevent me from leaving/getting up the hill. He speeds ahead of me and cuts me off, stopping his ATV directly in front of my van. All the while, he is yelling and screaming at me through my side door (this van's side door is broken and would not close, so once you open it for the day, it's open for the day). I slam on the brakes and quite literally say "Dude get the fuck out of my way" to which he replies "No." If you're counting crimes, this is crime number 3 that this man has committed against me and my van (False Imprisonment). After he said no, he tried to get off his ATV to presumably enter my CDV and hurt me. I personally don't want to become a victim of a violent crime, so I floored the acceleration, hitting the ATV in front of me, and drive up the driveway. He stays back where I hit the ATV and yells at me "Yeah you hit my f*****g ATV motherf****r, yeah, yeah, hit it!"
At this point, I thought this horrifying day couldn't get any worse. I drive up the driveway and park at the very top of it, behind this person's house, away from this lunatic. I called 911 and waited for 30 minutes for sheriff's deputies to arrive. All the meanwhile, the man was waiting at the end of this person's driveway for me to come back down. In the time that it took the deputies to arrive, the man took his ATV back to his house, dropped it off, grabbed a significantly larger off-road type vehicle, and came back to this new person's property. He sat there, at the end of the driveway, with his vehicle's front end sticking out into their driveway. He waited for me to come back down. I sure as shit wasn't about to find out what he wanted to say or do to me. I didn't know if he had gone home and grabbed a gun. He went home and had enough time to grab a new vehicle, what else did he grab while he was there? So the cops show up, they speak to the guy down at the end of this person's driveway, and they send him back to his house. Two cops follow him to his house, two cops come up to speak to me. They approach me, very politely, and ask for the story. I tell them the very same story I have just told y'all, show them the damages to the side of the CDV (it was pretty significant), and they proceed to take pictures and send them to the other two deputies at the mean-bald-dude's house. We sit there for about an hour and a half, just waiting. I'm conversing with the deputies, asking them about their job and their cars, tell them about myself and just pass time. They gave me a report number to follow up on, and their email address for my manager to send the netradyne footage to when it's available. I asked if the man was going to be charged for anything and if he committed any crimes. They said "not at this time, he is not being charged with anything. However, your van does have damages, and if the videos your manager shows us match your story, he may be charged." They stated that there was very minimal damage to the man's driveway. "The edges where you got off of the concrete were a LITTLE smushed, but that's it. It's so miniscule it's not even worth reporting." I asked him what he would've done in my situation, and he said that he would've done what I did and that he and the other three deputies were on my side in this matter. I shook his hand and called the Amazon Emergency Hotline after unloading half of my remaining stops to an awaiting rescuer.
So.. positives from this experience include: the guy MIGHT be getting charged with a felony, at the very least a misdemeanor for sure; Amazon has "escalated" my incident to the highest level of investigation; Amazon stated they would ban that family from ever receiving deliveries from Amazon for the foreseeable future; and I made a friend out of the homeowner I went to get help from. Negatives include having my life and safety threatened by an absolute crazy mad man; having my DSP's property damaged; the potential for this man to NOT be charged with anything, and my manager's expectation for me to continue to deliver as normal like my life wasn't just threatened by a crazy southerner with guns.
TL;DR: Crazy person was ramming my van, threatened to hurt/seriously maim me, tried to prevent me from going anywhere, and wasn't arrested or cited. This job isn't worth it.

Mom was driving with her elbows on the steering wheel, sorting through her CD case. When she finally picked one, it was one of her stupid God-is-strength audiobooks. The narrators always sounded like grandmas. After my incident, Mom started playing them more and more. Maybe she thought they would make me want to kill myself less.
As the grandma talked about how “faith was like a trust fall into God’s arms”, I thought back to “the night”. In my defense, my suicide attempt was heavy on the “attempt”. As soon as I had taken the pills, I regretted it. I felt really guilty. I didn’t want Mom to find me, so I ran into her room and immediately puked on her carpet. She gave me the dirtiest look.
“Don’t you know how rentals work?” she’d said.
That was the last thing I remembered. I woke up two days later in a hospital bed. My hair still smelled like puke.
In a way, I’d thought Mom would be happy I didn’t full-blown kill myself. But no. Instead, she thanked me by packing up everything we owned and moving us to the middle of nowhere.
She found Twin Pines in a book she borrowed from the library. It was called “America’s Sleepiest Towns”. Twin Pines was number one on the list, with three pages of colorful pictures to go along with it (not that it needed them). You could capture Twin Pines in a single picture. A main street with a dozen antique shops. A backdrop of two hills with abandoned ski trails running through them. An overgrown front lawn. That pretty much captured it.
At least our old town had character. It didn’t matter that it was squished between three highways.
When Mom pulled into our new driveway, she reached over and grabbed my hand. “Welcome to our new life,” she said, smiling.
I looked ahead. There was another family in the driveway. Mom’s smile quickly went away.
“What in the…”
They were throwing trash bags into the back of their station wagon. There was a mom, a dad, and a little boy hanging on the dad’s leg. The parents were hippies with long hair that curled down to their butt cracks.
As we parked, the couple seemed to get nervous. They packed faster. We stepped out of the car. Hippie mom waved but didn’t look at us. I felt the birds claw at my stomach. I didn’t like being the person taking away this family’s home.
The little boy didn’t seem sad, though. He let go of his dad’s leg and walked toward us. He had these big, blue eyes that for some reason made me nervous. The color reminded me of a frozen lake.
“Look out for Lisa,” the boy said.
Mom crossed her arms over her chest. It was her signature move before a “talking to”. “Excuse me, little boy?” she said.
“We’ll be out of here soon,” the boy’s mom said. She was trying to squeeze an acoustic bass into the backseat.
Mom gave her a thumbs up then turned back toward the town, leaving me alone with the boy. He kept standing there, looking at me with those pale blue eyes.
“She likes to walk across the lawn,” he said.
“She?” I asked.
The boy’s dad dropped a bag and walked toward us. He held out his hands in surrender.
“L-Y-S-S-A,” he said. His voice had a bounce to it, “Lyssa’s the Greek Goddess of Rage and Madness.
Jake and I are very into mythology. Are either of you fans?”
Mom turned back to face me. She rolled her eyes as if we were thinking the same thing. We weren’t.
“Marjorie said we would have the house by 10 AM,” Mom said. “It’s 10:30. Do I need to call her?” Hippie Mom finally squeezed the bass into the backseat. She slapped some dirt off her dress and walked over.
“Marjorie’s right across the street, ma’am,” she said, pointing behind us. “Why don’t you go over and introduce yourself?”
Mom looked at me with a dramatically dropped jaw. “Quite the guts for someone breaking the law,”
Mom said, turning back to the woman. “Why don’t you focus on packing your witchcraft and get out of our house?”
My cheeks burned. I wanted to shrink to the size of a mouse. I hated the way she talked to people, especially people who, in her words, were happy for “no reason”—hippies, waiters, people handing out flyers, neighbors, cashiers. The nicer they were, the meaner she got.
“Please stop,” I whispered.
Mom reached down and squeezed my wrist. “There’s no problem here, Emma, just a solution,” Mom said. “They have a problem. We have a solution.”
“We’re on our way out, ma’am,” the dad said.
The couple went back to packing. Mom huffed in victory. But, the boy didn’t move. He kept looking at us.
I stared back, but he didn’t break.
He was dressed like it was his first communion. His hair was perfectly swooshed and his shirt was free of wrinkles, an impressive feat for a little kid. He reminded me of a doll.
I don’t know why I didn’t look away. We were in a full-blown staring contest. I think I was trying to figure him out, the same way you stare at an abstract painting.
He reached out and grabbed my hand. It was ice cold.
“If you see Lyssa, tell her we moved to the city,” he said. “I don’t want her to think we left without her.”
Mom, who was back at the car looking at a map, tossed it on the seat and walked over. She shooed the boy’s hand away from mine.
“Go to your keepers, little devil,” Mom said.
I looked up at her and she winked at me. I could tell she was trying not to laugh. My mom’s emotional range always amazed me. She could go from yelling at strangers to making fun of children in the blink of an eye.
After the hippies left, Mom and I unpacked. We got a few boxes in before our new landlord walked over.
Marjorie lived across the street in a slightly larger, slightly newer-looking house. It was twice as tall as ours, with rooms built on top of rooms, each floor wider as it stretched into the sky. It looked like a giant dreidel.
She had two German Shepherds with her. Their fur was so dark it was almost black. They were taller than her hip and had big yellow eyes. As she walked on our lawn, they started barking. Spit hung from heir jaws.
“I’m Marjorie,” she yelled over the barking.
She was standing on the other side of the lawn, but the dogs were out ahead of her. She didn’t bother pulling them back. They came within a foot of my face. I ducked behind Mom.
“Yes, Ms. Marjorie, hello,” Mom said.
Mom stuck out her hand, which made the dogs snap. Mom didn’t seem to notice. Somehow, she managed to scratch behind their ears.
“Miss Dog Whisperer,” Marjorie said.
Marjorie was an older woman with a short bob and big square glasses. She walked with a slight hunch, as if the wind was too heavy for her. But, despite looking weak, she couldn’t stand still. Every few seconds, she shifted from chewing her lip to kicking the grass to snorting air. Between her and the snapping dogs, there was never a moment of peace. They were like a fever that wouldn’t break.
“Rent’s due first of the month,” she said. “Don’t be like those tree huggers. All they wanted to do was accuse me of horrible crimes and pray to their shrubbery gods.”
Marjorie spat onto our lawn. Mom laughed, as if she admired her bravery. Who would do something as vile as spit on someone else’s lawn?
“You’re a tough lady,” Mom said. “I like that.”
This time, I rolled my eyes. I don’t know if Marjorie saw it, but I didn’t care. I didn’t like Marjorie for the same reasons I didn’t like my mom. They were dressed like twins at a funeral, both of their outfits the same shade of shapeless grey. I missed the hippies. I missed their hair, their bright clothes, their inflections. I wanted to be like that, but I knew I was no better than Mom and Marjorie. My sweater was white and my pants were an off-white shade of the same white. I was at least wearing my “fun shoes”—green slippers with pink soles. Mom always said clothes were supposed to cover you up, not show you off. Somehow, she let the green slippers slide.
Clothes were just one of the million ways Mom liked to keep me in line. We never ate dinner after 6PM.
I was only allowed to read C.S. Lewis books (Mom liked how the lion was a metaphor for Jesus). And, I could only watch the church TV channel or Mom-approved VHSs.
On the night of my stupid mistake, we had just finished a dinner of angel hair pasta and butter. We had watched Angels in the Outfield, then went to bed at 9PM. When I got in bed, I had the strangest feeling, like I was at the top of a waterslide. I pulled the bottle of pills out from under my pillow. When I found them the week before in the CVS parking lot, I thought they would give me interesting dreams. But as I stared at them, I thought about all the dreams I could have if I was dead. No more Mom. No more buttered noodles. No more VHSs. If I took enough pills, maybe I’d be reincarnated in a different life where I wore pink shirts and yellow pants and sang at the top of my lungs just because I wanted to.
Marjorie’s dogs threw me out of my trance. They were barking a few inches from my face now. I grabbed a box off the lawn and walked inside.
Our new home was mostly dust. It was on the walls, in the floorboards, covering the sinks. As the light came in through the windows, I saw it all around me. I was used to it, though. Mom always picked dusty houses.
Our new house in Twin Pines was our thirteenth rental. Mom would flip-flop between different types of houses (apartments, two-families, trailers, etc.), but dusty Victorians seemed to be her favorite. She liked fragile houses, ones where if you used something twice, it would break. In one of the houses, the sink looked like something out of a fairy tale, with gold gooseneck faucets and hand-drawn hot/cold script. But, after two uses, the water shot toward the ceiling.
I dropped the box in the kitchen and went up to explore my new room. The house came “pre-furnished”, but all I was given was a bed and a mirror. The bed still had the creepy boy’s Toy Story comforter. The mirror was tall and oval-shaped with metal, human-looking feet.
I sat on the corner of the bed and stared at my reflection.
I didn’t like looking at myself. Reflections were like words you repeat so much they lose their meaning. After a few minutes, my whole body looked like a sack of potatoes. The only thing non-potato-like was my hair. I always liked my hair, even if I fantasized about shaving it off. One time, we were in a bookstore and I saw a Sinead O’Connor CD. I thought her shaved head was badass. She looked like an angry baby, but in a cool way.
I looked again in the mirror. I reached up and grabbed a clump of blonde. “One day,” I said.
I let go of it and stood up. I needed to get back to moving boxes. But, as I got to my feet, I heard something.
Footsteps.
They were inside my room. I turned to look, but no one was there.
The birds flew into my throat. All of a sudden, I felt terribly alone. Mom and Marjorie’s conversation fell quiet. The wind pushed against the window. The sun ducked behind a hill.
All that was left were me and the sound. It moved closer and closer. It was behind me.
I closed my eyes and scrunched my face. I took a long, slow breath, then whipped around, my hands out like a shield. I slapped the air.
I opened my eyes. No one, or nothing, was there. But, the sound grew louder. And closer.
ernnnnn
creeeeeak
ernnnnnn
creeeeeak
“Hello?” I said. My mouth was a sandbox. I put my hand on my chest. My heart was going crazy. Calm down, Emma. Breathe. Remember what that doctor told you? If you panic, you just need to breathe.
Each breath felt like licking sandpaper.
The footsteps came closer. Dust kicked up into clouds.
ernnnnn
creeeeeak
It was a few feet away now. Then, closer. Then inches.
I wanted to throw up, or scream, or cry. All of a sudden, the house felt huge. There were shadows holding shadows holding shadows. I was in dark water. How many rooms were here? Two? Three? Ten? One hundred? How many floors? Mom had never said. It was the biggest house we’d ever lived in. I wasn’t safe.
I didn’t know what I wasn’t safe from, but I knew I was in danger.
I looked down. The sound stopped right in front of my green slippers. It lingered there. I felt it breathe on my ankles. It was warm and wet.
“Please,” I whispered. “Don’t hurt me.”
There was a long pause. The sound didn’t move. An icky feeling ran up my arms. It was like a thousand fingertips.
I took a step back. I moved my right foot. The sound didn’t attack. I lifted my left.
Then…
SLASH!
The pain flew up my leg. I screamed and jumped back, landing hard on my butt. I crawled backward, desperate to move as far away as I could from that thing. I kicked. I swung. I spit. All of my nerves fired at once.
“Get away from me!”
I looked down at my ankle. Dark blood fell in lightning bolts down to my toes. My skin pulsed. There were three cuts. They weren’t deep, but it didn’t matter. I’d never been hurt by the air before. I felt naked. It could be behind me, above me, below me – crawling through my suitcase, tangled in my hair, hiding under the bed. I was surrounded, but, at the same time, totally alone.
I slid into the corner and curled into a ball. My eyes welled. I couldn’t stop it. I felt it all at once.
The new town.
The new house.
The new neighbors.
The thing, whatever it was.
The pain in my foot.
I slapped myself in the head. Why did I have to do such a stupid, stupid thing? I could be back in my old school, ignoring my teachers and eating lunch alone like a normal kid.
After a few minutes, my ankle stopped bleeding. I stood up and checked myself for more wounds. I was unscathed, but my hands wouldn’t stop shaking. I held my breath and listened for more footsteps. They were gone. The thing was gone. All I heard was Mom and Marjorie’s small talk. The dogs were still barking.
I wiped away my tears with the Toy Story comforter. I let the blood dry on my foot. Maybe Mom would see and ask me about it.
As I reached the top of the staircase, I hooked the sides of my mouth and pulled my face into a smile. Then, I walked downstairs to finish unpacking.
After a few hours of unpacking, Mom heated up two TV dinners and we watched Flubber. When the movie ended, Mom announced it was bedtime. The sun was still up, but I didn’t mind. Sleep would do me good. Maybe that thing was just an exhaustion-induced hallucination.
As Mom washed off our plastic trays, I watched her from the doorway of our new kitchen. I contemplated telling her about my ankle. It’s not like it was some sort of secret. If she looked at me, she’d see it. My foot was caked in blood. But, she didn’t look at me. She only looked at me when she had too. Instead, she hummed a gospel song and scrubbed like the marinara was devil’s blood.
So, I grabbed a glass of water, walked upstairs, and collapsed onto the bed.
I dug my face into the Toy Story comforter. It smelled like a home. Not quite my home, but someone’s home, and that was enough to relax me. My shoulders melted. My eyelids grew heavy. My breathing slowed. Outside, I heard the distant hum of thunder. A summer storm was on its way.
Darkness came in waves as the thunder moved closer. I knew sleep was coming. I felt so relaxed, eerily relaxed. I hadn’t been this relaxed since I was a little kid, before the incident, or the incident’s pre-incident, or the incident before that. There were too many to count. I just settled on the fact that I was cursed.
But, at this moment, I was at peace.
Unfortunately, it didn’t last long.
Someone knocked on the door.
“Emma?”
It was a familiar voice.
“Come in,” I said.
The door opened and Mom appeared. Her hair was brushed and she was wearing her flowing, white nightgown. Normally, that meant she wasn’t leaving her room for the night. She never came out to see me like this.
She sat on the edge of my bed.
“I was doing some reflecting,” she said, “and I just want you to know that all strength comes from God. Give him your time, and you will receive his strength.”
I nodded, like I always did. I’d heard this one before.
But, as she rambled, something felt different. She smiled, rubbed my arm, and spoke in a soft whisper.
It was like someone took my mom and smoothed the edges. I remembered a version of her like this, before Dad left. She would bake pies and sing Motown songs and wear sundresses. But, I hadn’t seen that Mom in a long time.
Then, I noticed something.
It was my mirror, the one with the weird, human feet. It held Mom’s reflection, or at least a version of her reflection. The back of her nightgown had tears in it. Mom never wore anything that wasn’t perfect.
“Maybe the move to Twin Pines was God’s plan,” she went on. “Do you feel that way?”
Mom cleared the hair from my face.
“Gosh, I love your hair,” she said. “So blonde and beautiful. Like an angel.”
I tried to look her in the eyes, but I couldn’t. The mirror kept drawing me in.
The Mom in the reflection was also leaning over me in bed. But, slowly, she turned her face back toward the mirror. I looked at the real Mom. Her head wasn’t moving. Mirror Mom kept going through. Her chin crossed her shoulder. She twisted like an owl. I could see a sliver of face, then half, then all of it. Her head was turned completely around. I looked at her eyes. A shiver crawled down my neck.
I looked away.
I was getting that feeling again, that flutter of panic, that scattering of birds. I tried to breathe. I tried to collect myself. I turned to look out the window.
Outside, dark clouds moved over the hills. Rain fell slow at first, then faster and faster until it was pounding on the windows. Wind shoved the walls. I heard the house’s frame shift. I’d been in old houses before, but none this old. One more gust and the whole thing could fall over.
The more I thought about it, the stranger it seemed that Mom was here. Whenever there was a storm, Mom locked herself in her room and blasted her Jesus tapes. She said rain made her think of all the evils in the world.
I looked back at the real Mom.
“Do you hear me, little angel?” Mom asked.
“Yes.”
“So answer.”
“Answer?”
“Answer my question.”
“What was your…”
“Do you feel moving to Twin Pines was God’s plan?”
“Oh,” I said.
Her face moved closer to mine. When did her teeth get so white?
“Yes, I do.”
“So you never want to leave here?”
She kept running her hands through my hair. Her fingertips were freezing.
I looked at the mirror Mom. She wasn’t smiling. She had a hard stare, her eyes as bright as the moon. She didn’t blink. I keep watching. Blink. Please blink. Mom, please. But, she never did. Her face was a statue.
“Is this a dream?” I asked the real Mom.
She didn’t answer.
“My sweet angel tried to go back to Heaven,” she whispered.
I pinched my thighs. I felt the pain. It was real. I was awake. I tried to sit up, but Mom pushed me back down. “Where are you going?” she asked. Her smile kept growing, closer and closer to her ears. I looked over at mirror Mom. The smile was inverted, her frown dripping toward the floor like melting wax.
“I need to pee,” I said.
“Are you lying to me?”
“No, I…”
“You wouldn’t lie to your mother, would you? Not again?”
“No, Mom,” I said. “I just…I…”
Mom didn’t like talking about why I did what I did, but she loved making me promise I’d never do it again. Not again. She’d make me repeat it. Not again, not again, not again. I wouldn’t lie to her. I wouldn’t hurt myself. I wouldn’t let the devil in.
The mirror woman started to change. She raised her arms then flipped them behind her, looking like one of the Barbies I used to torture. As she stood up, she walked closer to the mirror, lifting her backward hands and bringing them to her backward face. She grabbed two fistfuls of hair.
I wanted to warn the real Mom, but I couldn’t speak. It was that same feeling I always felt—powerless, scared, frozen in a dumb state of terror. All I could do was watch.
The mirror woman stood in front of her reflection and pulled on her hair. At first, she’d only rip out a strand or two. Then, it came in handfuls. The sound made me sick. It was like Velcro. Her frown kept sinking. Her face was saggy and bruised, with lips covered in scars. Drops of blood ran from her forehead down to her chin.
She started mouthing something.
NOT AGAIN.
NOT AGAIN.
NOT AGAIN!
She was screaming now, but there was no sound. She was silent.
“Not again, right?” real Mom said. She kept brushing my hair with her hand. It was starting to hurt. With each pull, small strands broke loose and tangled in her fingers.
“Stop, please,” I whispered.
“It’ll never stop, will it angel?” She chuckled.
Thunder rolled through the bed frame. The storm was here. We couldn’t run away. The storm was here. Tears streamed down my cheeks.
“I didn’t mean to do it,” I said.
“Do what, honey?”
“It,” I said. “You know, it. It was a stupid mistake.”
I looked back at the mirror. Mirror Mom was almost bald. All that remained were a few tufts of hair, the last stalks of a torched cornfield. Her frown stretched down to her clavicle.
“Are you cold?” Mom asked.
“What?”
She pulled the blankets up to my chin. She pressed down on my neck. I coughed, but she pressed harder.
“Moh—”
“You look so cold, angel.”
I gasped for air, pushing at the blanket. Mom pressed harder, using her body weight. She never stopped smiling.
“Angels shouldn’t be so cold. So blue. So frozen. Angels should be white and warm and flying. Why is my angel so blue?”
The thunder roared every few seconds—BAM, BOOM, CRASH. Mirror Mom dropped to her knees. She ran her hands across her bald head. She mouthed those same horrible words, the words Mom worked into her prayers loud enough so I would hear, the words she made me promise whenever I had a bad day or cried or didn’t laugh during the funny part in the movie.
My breaths came few and far between. The room went black. I saw stars. I kicked and pushed and squirmed, but I only sank deeper, and deeper, and deeper, and…
CRASH!
A flash of lightning filled the room. It sounded like our house was hit. It was the loudest crash I’d ever heard, like a car coming through my window.
The pressure left my neck. I gulped fresh air and pounced forward.
“Stop!” I yelled.
I looked up at Mom, but she was gone. The room was quiet. All that was left was the sound of rain.
I looked at the mirror, but it was empty too.
I was alone.
It was a nightmare.
I wiped the sweat off my forehead and reached down to grab my glass of water. It had a thin layer of dust on it, but I didn’t care. I was medically thirsty. As I drank, I placed my hand on my heart. It was galloping. How much could a heart really take? It was going to explode if I kept up with these nightmares and ghosts.
I looked at myself in the mirror. I was still intact. My head was not popped off. My hair was not torn to shreds. My mouth was not contorted in a horrific smile or frown.
I was okay.
I finished the water and put the empty glass on the ground. I went to lay back down, but I noticed something.
My reflection was disappearing.
A cloud of darkness came over it. It climbed around the edges of the mirror like black ink, swallowing me in its pulses. It kept eating me until the mirror was an oil spill, nothing but black.
Then, like the first stars of night, two yellow dots appeared. They were towards the bottom of the mirror, right at ankle height.
The darkness fled from the top down to the yellow circles. Black dots appeared in their centers. They were eyes. Two yellow eyes. Black ink circled around them in the vague shape of a head.
The face disappeared below the mirror’s rim.
Then, I heard it.
ernnnnn
creeeeeak
ernnnnnn
creeeeeak
It was moving toward me.
The footsteps would start, then stop, then start again. They went near the walls, under the bed, by the glass of water, near the door. But, they never left the room.
Meanwhile, the storm moved over our house. Rain pounded the roof. It wanted to be let in. Drops of water raced down the wall. The house was falling apart. Everything was falling apart.
I tried to focus on my breathing.
I didn’t want to think about the thing.
I looked out the window. It was a trick I learned in the hospital. Everything was always so loud. I’d hear my friends getting taken to the “quiet rooms” or parents yelling at the caretakers. I never wanted to be where I was, so I looked out the window. The hospital was in New Brunswick, right across from Rutgers University. I watched frat boys play frisbee. Girls with tattoos smoked cigarettes. I wanted to be there, to be older, to be in life instead of just watching other people live it.
But, in our new town, there were no college kids to fantasize about it. All I had were hills. So, I imagined I was in the Swiss Alps with the friends I made at the hospital. There were three girls I really connected with. We ate lunch together. They showed me their scars and visible rib cages. We made fun of the therapists. We had all been struggling, but now we were struggling together. Out in the Alps, we weren’t gloomy anymore. We were all drinking wine and smoking long cigarettes. The breeze was soft. Animals climbed the hills. My head was shaved. We were all happy, just like goats along the cliffs.
I closed my eyes and pulled the blanket over my face. Marjorie’s dogs were barking. The rain became like white noise.
For a moment, I felt myself fall asleep.
But then…
hessssssssssssssss
I opened my eyes.
The sound was high-pitched, like hissing. It started out soft. Then it built, higher and higher, rising from a match to a wildfire.
hesssSSSSSSSSS HEEESSSSSSS
I covered my ears. The sound cut through everything. I felt it in my stomach. It rattled the birdcage.
I kicked off the blankets and ran for the light switch. I flicked it on, but nothing happened. Everything was still dark.
I looked around. I was still alone. Was Mom hearing this kettle? It was like a train crashing into my temple. I felt like puking.
HEEEESSSSSS
HEEEEESSSSSS
I opened my suitcase and searched for a flashlight. Did I pack it? Did I even own a flashlight? Where do people buy flashlights?
The sound kept building. It was already stupidly loud. How was it getting louder? Yet, simultaneously, it grew deeper, churning from a hiss to a growl. It shook the house. I couldn’t tell what was from the storm or the thing. Rain ran down the walls in streams. The floor was covered in puddles.
I kept digging through my suitcase. I didn’t find a flashlight, but I did find my dad’s electric razor. It was the only thing he left behind. I always brought it with me in case he ever wanted it back.
I clicked it on and held it in front of me. It was my only protection.
I looked under my bed. Nothing.
In the closet. Nothing.
Behind the mirror. Nothing.
The sound kept building. I stood in the center of the room and spun around. This was it. This was the moment I get ripped apart, the moment I die. I couldn’t back out of it this time. I thought about Mom finding me, my jaw hanging off, my eyes chewed out, my guts scattered like confetti. Would she scream? Cry? Walk back into her room? Would she ever recover? What would happen when the paramedics found me? Would they jigsaw my limbs into a human shape? Would they go home and cry in their spouse’s arms? Would I be the worst day of their life?
It was always me.
Everything came back to me.
I was the root cause of every problem in the world.
“What did I do?!” I yelled.
I couldn’t hear my own voice. The room was too loud.
I kept spinning around, my puny razor in front of me.
“I’m sorry,” I went on. “Whatever I did, I’m sorry about it.”
Lightning struck our shed. The backyard filled with smoke.
I was getting dizzy from twisting around. I just wanted the noise to stop. I couldn’t take it anymore. I turned and turned and turned until…
All of a sudden…
THWAAAAAP!
Light passed through my skull. My eyelids snapped shut. The floor hit my back.
Everything went dark.
At first, it felt like my face was glued shut. The darkness was a weighted blanket. But, after a few attempts, I was able to open my eyes.
I looked up at the ceiling. There was a black web in the corner, the wood splintered and filled with pulsing embers. Smoke crowded the windows.
We’d been hit.
Lightning had hit our house.
I had to tell Mom. I tried to stand up, but my whole body was in pain. My legs were wet cement.
I laid back down.
I stared at the lightning strike. As the rain had attacked the roof, debris fell into the room. Black ash covered the bed. If I was sleeping, the coals would have smothered me. I imagined that death—my skin peeling back, burnt wood filling my mouth.
The clouds of smoke started to shrink. They were regathering, vacuuming back to the impact point.
It didn’t take long for the shape to appear.
First, I saw its head. The top of its skull was flat, with two horns on either side. The smoke reformed to fill the rest of its body. Two arms. Two legs. A massive, arched back. There were three claws on the end of its hands, just like the three slashes on my ankle. Only, this time, they were ten times the size. If the thing attacked me now, I’d be ground beef.
“What…do…you…want…?” I mouthed.
With each swell of the storm, the thing grew taller. Its eyes hovered over me. The smoke widened. It enveloped me. I couldn’t see. My spit turned to black sludge. My bedroom smelled like a campfire.
Then, slowly, the creature slunk through the shattered window and moved through the storm, right towards Marjorie’s house. In the distance, her dogs whimpered. Their violent barking was gone.
Now, they sounded sad, almost nervous, like they were about to be punished.
Once the shock from the lightning strike wore off, I was able to stand. I kept walking in small circles, chewing on my fingernails. The creature hung over Marjorie’s house like a thousand swarming bats.
The dogs stopped barking. There was a long, grueling silence. The rain grew soft as the thunder fell to a dull whisper. The storm was now a breeze.
Yet, I couldn’t help but feel like I was at the start of something much worse.
The cloud made a sound like a foghorn, then shifted. It broke into Marjorie’s windows and swarmed through her house, purring something deep and horrendous. This was not a please-pet-me purr. This was loud. End of the world loud. I felt the vibration run up my legs.
The monster twisted and turned as it went from room to room, rushing through doorways. Every once in a while, its eyes appeared. It was searching for something.
All of a sudden, Marjorie’s living room window shattered. Glass rained onto the lawn as the black cloud gathered on the first floor.
Then, something yelped.
An object flew through the shattered window. It rolled through the grass like a crash test dummy, thrashing and lifeless. It landed on the road.
The fog thinned out. An upstairs light turned on. I heard Marjorie’s voice.
“Beezle? Bub? Boys? Where are you!?”
I grabbed Dad’s razor and ran downstairs. I was still in my pajamas. I didn’t have time to change to confront this monster in some badass getup. No cape or steel-toed boots. Not even a rain jacket. Just me, Emma, in all my poorly prepared glory.
I ran through the house and pounced through the front door, my razor out in front of me like a sword. As I leaped through the muddy yard toward the road, I got a clearer picture of what flew out of Marjorie’s house. When I walked closer, I knew for sure; it’s black fur was unmistakable. I stopped running. The razor buzzed in my hand as my brief feeling of power went away. It clicked it off. I was too late.
I knelt beside the German Shepard and put my finger on its neck.
No pulse.
I couldn’t look at the animal for long. The sight of it made me sick. It was as if all of its features shifted a few inches in different directions. I never loved Marjorie’s dogs, but no crime justified this kind of punishment.
I stood up and looked at Marjorie’s house. The thing was gone. Marjorie walked from room to room, calling out for Beezle.
I let out a long sigh. Again, I was useless. Again, I lost. The monster won. Marjorie’s dog was dead.
Throughout the battle, I just stood and watched. Just like so many things in my life, I waited around for a better version of me to show up.
I turned to go back into our house, my head down. As I moped through the grass, I noticed something strange. There was a stream of mud running from our house to the road. In it, there were little specks of white. I reached down and grabbed one. It was pencil-thin, but dull at the ends.
It didn’t take me long to realize.
It was a bone.
I followed the bones to their origin, a dank space under our front steps. I knelt down in the mud and inspected. The bones multiplied as I crawled behind the cinder blocks. I couldn’t get my whole body through, just to my hips. But, I got far enough.
The skeleton was small, about purse-sized. It had a collar around its neck. I read the tag.
L-Y-S-S-A.
My eyes grew wide.
I imagined the little boy. I pictured him in the months leading up to this morning, running around the house, calling out with all his might.
Lyssa! Lyssa? Where are you?
I felt his cold hand on my own.
If you find Lyssa, tell her we moved to the city.
I don’t know what I thought Lyssa was when he said that, but I didn’t think she was a dead cat. But, somehow, I had found her anyway.
I was halfway inside the dead cat’s grave when I heard my mom’s voice.
“Emma?”
I squeezed my torso out from under the stairs. Mom was standing over me. There was mud on the bottom of her nightgown, and her hair was soaked. She crossed her arms over her chest—her yelling stance.
“Why are you out here?!”
I stood up and slapped the mud off my pajamas. It only made it smear.
Mom took a step closer. “I said why are you out here?”
My mind was racing. I couldn’t focus on Mom or my soon-to-be punishment. I kept thinking about Marjorie’s dog. I imagined its face, its look of confusion, dismay, regret. I pictured its broken teeth.
There was so much anger in its injuries, such revenge.
I imagined the thing, my ankle, the way it moved around my room, the way it purred, its shape in the upper corner of my room. I remembered how those dogs snapped at me, how prone to violence they were.
The pieces came together.
“Marjorie’s dogs killed Lyssa,” I blurted.
“That is not an answer to my question,” Mom said. “And who? What?”
“It was Marjorie’s dogs,” I said. “They killed the dead cat. Well, it wasn’t dead then. They made it dead.”
“Whose dead cat? What? Are you on drugs?”
“Lyssa,” I said. “Remember? The little boy?” I grabbed Mom by the wrist, so she’d know how serious I was. “He had a cat, Lyssa. I found it. I think Marjorie’s dogs killed it.”
“First of all, you shouldn’t get involved in other people’s problems,” Mom said. “That’s too messy for a little girl.”
I shuttered when she said it.
Little girl.
My thoughts ran off.
I was back in the hospital, in those first few days after my accident. I kept going in and out of consciousness. It was all blurred. It’s not like I had visitors to mark the days by. All I saw were nurses, strangers.
It wasn’t that no one wanted to see me. No one visited me because Mom didn’t tell anyone I was in the hospital. Mom didn’t visit me either. She said she would pick me up when I was “done”.
To this day, she’s never told anyone what happened.
Not even Dad.
So, the only people I saw were the hospital staff. There was one woman I saw a lot—she was old with a round face and soft, plump fingers. She spoke in an annoyingly cheerful Midwest drawl. She would adjust my pillow and give me medicine and hum lullabies—Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, Mary had a Little Lamb, Ring Around the Rosy. At first, I thought it was creepy. Then, I remembered I was in the children’s ward.
One day, she leaned in real close to my face. I don’t know if she thought I was sleeping, but I was wide awake. I kept my eyes closed. I didn’t want to scare her. She smelled like peppermint and sweat. For a moment, I was scared. I thought she was going to hurt me. But, she didn’t. Instead, she whispered directly into my face.
“This is too much pain for a little girl.”
Little girl.
Now, standing in the rain, I heard that old woman’s voice again.
Little girl.
Little girl.
Little girl.
That’s how Mom saw me. That’s how the world saw me. But, it wasn’t true. The things I felt were far from little. They were big and dark and thundering.
I turned back and looked at Lyssa. Her body was broken by the rain. She was little, even for a cat. But still, I felt her power, her rage, her revenge. In that state, she was bigger than me, the dog, our house, her pain. She could consume galaxies. She had my attention in the deepest, darkest way.
She wasn’t little.
And, neither was I.
I turned back to Mom. I pulled the razor out of my pocket and clicked it on.
“Honey?” she said.
She stepped toward me. I stepped back. She started to say something else, but I couldn’t hear her. The buzzing was too loud. I brought the razor to my forehead and went across my scalp. It was a rough, ticklish feeling. Wet hair fell into the mud, right around Lyssa’s bones. Mom lunged at me, but I jumped away. I kept shaving.
When Mom realized she couldn’t stop me, she clasped her hands in prayer and looked at the stars.
“God, please shine your light on Emma. Please just…”
She paused for a moment. Then, she shook her head and unclasped her hands. She looked confused, then sad. I could tell she wanted to say something. She looked at me, her eyelids flickering. But, she didn’t say it. Instead, she bit her fist and walked back into the house.
As I finished, lightning struck in the distance. The storm was now towns away. All that remained was a drizzle. It was cold as it hit my newly bald head.
Even after I finished, I stayed outside. The birds in my stomach whistled something cheerful. My hair was tangled in the razor. The morning sun was peeking over the hills. Marjorie was in her backyard, calling Beezle’s name into the wind.
I was happy, and sad, and confused.
But, more than anything, I was feeling, and that felt good.
Really, really good.
I looked out at Twin Pines, my new hometown. Everyone was still asleep. On normal mornings, most people stayed asleep. People didn’t wake up in a sleepy town. They were forever yawning, forever on the verge of sleep, forever wrestling with the dark. But, tomorrow morning, that would change. In the morning, the town would look into the eyes of a dead dog and wonder: what happened when we were all asleep?
I kept rubbing my newly shaved head. I smiled. It hurt my face. I don’t think I’d smiled in three years.
It was a new feeling, a new me.
Even if this town was forever sleepy, I was finally awake.
​
​
This story is part of a larger dark fantasy series I wrote. The entire thing is free on Amazon through the end of the week. You can check out the link on my site:

I'm trying to make a list of all of the things to do in Denver for this summer. Does anyone know of anything I should add?
DOUBLE CHECK BEFORE YOU GO. THIS LIST MAY NOT BE UP TO DATE

Music Festivals

• Saturdays 05/27-09/02 Swingin Under the Stars - 7:30PM-10PM FREE All Ages Swing Dancing, Lessons, Ice Cream, Live Music Little Man Ice Cream, 2620 16th Street Denver, CO 80211
• 06/03 Denver Day of Rock - 1:15PM-9:30PM FREE All Ages 15 Bands, 3 Stages; Mainly Rock; Food Trucks LODO Denver
• 06/07 Holiday Theater Music and Poetry Showcase - 7PM FREE All Ages Guitar, Low-Rock, Spoken Word, Poetry, Jazz MCA Denver at the Holiday Theater 2644 West 32nd Avenue Denver, CO 80211
• 06/10 Five Points Jazz Festival - 12PM-8PM FREE All Ages 140+ Jazz Performances Five Points, Denver
• 06/17 First Harvest Music Vestival - 4PM-8PM $10 12 and Below; $35 1+ All Ages Various Musicans Including the Flobots, The Snakes, and Brothers of Brass; Foodtrucks, To Show Solidarity for Refugees DeLaney Community Farm 170 South Chambers Road Aurora, CO 80017
• 07/14-07/16 Compost Heap Music Festival - Times TBA FREE (Suggested Donations) Underground Music of Various Genres Seventh Circle Music Collective, 2935 W 7th Ave, Denver CO
• 07/15 Blues & BBQ Festival – 10AM-6PM $10 All Ages Live Blues Music and BBQ Citizen’s Park, 5560 W 24th Ave, Edgewater, CO 80214
• 07/21-07/22 Global Dance Festival – 3PM-11PM $99/Day All Ages EDM, Art Installations, Circus Performers, Silent Disco. Performers Include Kaskade, Deadmau5, Loud Luxury, Surf Mesa, Troyboi, Zedd and Many More! Empower Field. 1701 Bryant St, Denver, CO 80204
• 07/28-07/30 Underground Music Showcase - 3PM-12AM $120 Weekend Pass *Independent Music of Various Genres - Broadway // 6th Ave to Alameda, 21 S Broadway, Denver, CO 80209
• 08/25-08/27 Meow Wolf Vortex Music and Art Festival - 2:30PM-?? $60-$100 / Day, -$229 Weekend Pass Electronic Music Festival Feat. Griz, Armani White, BLOND:ISH and many more The Junkyard, 2323 W. Mulberry Place, Denver, CO 80204
• 08/12 Ghost Canyon Fest – 6PM-12AM $50 21+ Noise, Punk, and Post Punk Bands Hi Dive, 7 S Broadway, Denver, CO 80223
• 09/09 Sunnyside Music Festival – 12PM-7:15PM FREE All Ages Local Bands, Food, Vendos Chaffe Park near 2001 W 44th Ave, Denver, CO 80211
• 09/16 Viva Southwest Mariachi Fest – 4:30PM-10PM FREE All Ages Mariachi Bands, Food, Vendos Levitt Pavilion, 1380 W Florida Ave, Denver, CO 80223

Culture Festivals

• 06/02 Chrom - 5PM-10PM FREE All Ages A Pride Queer Art Showcase and Vendor Market, Live DJ Skylight, 833 Santa Fe Drive, Denver, United States
• 06/09-06/11 ayA Con - F 4PM-7PM; Sa 10AM-6PM; Su 10AM-5PM $15-$30 All Ages Indigenous Comics, Art, Fashion, Performance, Film, and Music McNichols Civic Center Building, 144 W Colfax Ave, Aver, CO 80202
• 06/09-06/11 Denver Greek Festival - F 11AM-11PM; Sa 11AM-12AM; Su 11AM-7PM FREE All Ages Celebration of Greek Heritage with Food, Music, Vendors, and Art Assumption of the Theotokos Greek Orthodox Cathedral, 4610 E Alameda Ave, Denver, CO 80246
• 06/17-06/18 Juneteenth Festival - 12PM-8PM FREE All Ages Celebration of Black Culture and Liberation with a Parade, Live Music, Vendors Five Points, Denver
• 06/17-06/18 Cherry Blossom Festival - 5k Sa 8AM; Parade Sa 9:30AM FREE All Ages Celebration of Japanese Heritage with Taiko Drumming, Teriyaki Chicken, Sake, Japanese Art Sakura Square, Denver
• 06/24-06/25 Denver Pridefest - Sa 11AM-6PM; Su 11AM-4PM FREE All Ages Celebration of LGBTQ+ Culture with 5k Run, Parade, Venors, Concerts, Drag Events Civic Center Park, 101 W 14th Ave, Denver, CO 80202 (Parade Starts at Cheeseman Park)
• 07/07 -07/09 Colorado Black Arts Festival - F 1PM-8PM; Sa 11AM-8PM; Su 11AM-7PM FREE All Ages * Celebration of Black Culture with Performances, Visual Art, Scavenger Hunts, Food, Parade, Vendors* City Park, 2001 Colorado Blvd, Denver, CO 80205
• 07/15-07/16 Mile High Global Bazaar - 11AM-7PM FREE All Ages Cultural Exhibits and Vendors from around the World Skyline Park, Denver, CO 80202
• 07/22-07/23 Colorado Dragon Boat Festival – Races Start 8AM; Festival Sa 10AM-7PM. Su 10AM-5PM FREE All Ages *Dragon Boat Races, Food, Vendors, Performances – FREE – Sloan's Lake Park W Bryon Pl, Denver, CO 80212

Food / Drink Festivals

• W-Th 05/15-09/?? Civic Center Eats - 11AM-7PM Free All Ages 10-20 Food Trucks of Various Cuisines Civic Center Park, 101 W 14th Ave, Denver, CO 80202
• 05/14, 06/04, 07/09 A Taste of Colorado 10AM-6PM Free All Ages Live Music, 6 Food Trucks, Drinks, Live Music, Kids Activities, Vendors Civic Center Park, 101 W 14th Ave, Denver, CO 80202
• 05/27-05/28 BBQ Fest 11AM-8PM $35 Under 20; $109 Adult All Ages * All You Can Eat BBQ, All You Can Drink, Cooking Demos, Live Music* Empower Field at Mile High, 1701 Bryant St, Denver, CO, 80204
• 05/27 Taste Around the World! Spring Wine Event - 3PM-6:30PM $90 All Ages * Tastings for 25 Bottles of Wine with Help From Wine Experts* Ironton Distillery (RiNo) - 3636 Chestnut Pl, Denver, CO 80216
• 07/20 The Big Eat - 6PM-9PM $85 21+ 50+ Restaurants All You Can Eat, Live Music* Denver Performing Arts Complex, 1400 Curtis St, Denver, CO 80204
• 07/22 - Summer Brewfest - 1PM-10PM $55 Advance, $60 Day of Only Allowed Half of Time) 21+ *Unlimited Tastings of Local Beer Brews Mile High Station, 2027 West Colfax Avenue, Denver Co 80204
• 08/03 Denver Burger Battle - Price TBA 21+ 20+ Restaurants Best Burger Competition; Unlimited Drinks and Burgers* Tivoli Quad, 1000 Larimer St, Denver CO 80204?
• 08/19 Sloan’s Lake Beer Fest - $5 DD, $35 if Drinking 21+ 1970s Themed Beer Tasting with Live Music* 1610 Raleigh Street Denver, CO 80204
• 08/26 Denver Summer Whiskey Tasting Festival - 2:30PM-6PM $45 21+ Tasting of 20+ Whiskey, Tasting Lessons, Live Music, Food Location TBA
• 09/06-09/09 Denver Food and Wine Festivals 11AM-8PM $60-$95 21+ * Food and Wine Showcase, Tastings, Seminars, Cocktail Competition* Tivoli Quad on the Auraria Campus, 1000 Larimer St, Denver

Art / Crafts / Shopping Festival

• 05/05, 06/02, 07/07, 08/04, 09/01 Sante Fe First Friday Art Walks - 5:30PM-9PM FREE All Ages Galleries , Vendors, Food Trucks, Music Sante Fe // 5th Ave to 11th Ave, Denver, CO 80204
• 05/05, 06/02, 07/07, 08/04, 09/01 RiNo First Friday Art Walks - 5:30PM-9PM FREE All Ages Art,Vendors Larimer St // Broadway to Downing
• 05/05, 06/02, 07/07, 08/04, 09/01 Dairy Block First Friday Art Walks - 5PM-9PM FREE All Ages Art, Vendors 1800 Wazee St, Denver, CO 80202
• 05/05, 06/02, 07/07, 08/04, 09/01 Lakewood First Friday Art Walks - 6PM-9PM FREE All Ages Galleries, Drinks, Music 6501 W Colfax Ave, Lakewood, CO 80214
• 05/20-05/21 Spring Bazaar - 12PM-6PM FREE All Ages 80+ Vendors, Live DJ, Food Hall Outside Zeppelin Station, 3501 Wazee St #100, Denver, CO 80216
• 05/27-05/28 Denver Arts Festival - Sa 10AM-6PM, Su 10AM-5PM FREE All Ages Local Art Conservatory Green, Central Park, 8304 E. 49th Pl. Denver 80216
• 06/08-06/11 Denver Fringe Festival - Hours Vary $15 (Some FREE Street Performances) All Ages 55+ Shows of Performance Art, Plays, Comedy, Improv, Cabaret, Magic, Dance, Aerial, Immersive Experiences, & More Across 12 Venues RiNo and Five Points Denver
• 06/10-06/11 Denver Chalk Art Festival - Sa 10AM-10PM; Su 10AM-8PM FREE All Ages Chalk Art on the Street 123 W. 12th Avenue, Denver, CO 80204
• 07/01-07/03 Cherry Creek Arts Festival Sa-Su 10AM-8PM; M 10AM-6PM FREE All Ages Art Vendors Cherry Creek North, 2401 E 2nd Ave #150, Denver, CO 80206
• 07/22-07/23 Cheeseman Park Art Festival – 9AM-5PM FREE All Ages 150+ Artists, Live Music, Food & Drinks Cheeseman Park, 1599 East 8th Avenue, Denver CO 80218
• 05/14, 05/22, 06/11, 06/25; 07/09, 07/23, 08/13, 08/27 Thrift Pop – 12PM-5PM FREE All Ages Vintage Clothing, Thrifting, Collectibles Denver Central Market 2669 Larimer St, Denver CO

Other Festivals

• 05/18-05/21 Somebody’s Friend Movement and Music Festival – Times Vary FREE All Ages Dance and Live Music Festival Denver Central Market 2669 Larimer St, Denver CO
• 05/20 Rocky Mountain Tree Festival – 12PM-6PM FREE All Ages Live Music, Art Vendors; All Funds Go to Planting Trees New Terrain Brewing Co, 16401 Table Mountain Pkwy, Golden, CO
• 05/12; 06/04; 07/09; 08/06 !Viva! Streets – 8AM-2PM FREE 3.5 Miles of Car Free Streets; Food; Crafts Broadway, Denver From Alameda to 20th
• 06/10-06/11 Unicorn Festival – 10AM-5PM $25 All Things Fairy and Unicorn Including the Unicorns Themselves Clement Park, 7306 W Bowles Ave, Littleton, CO 80123
• 06/10-06/11 Big Gear Show – Sa 10AM-6PM; Su 10AM-4PM FREE Outdoor Goods Consumer Show Colorado Convention Center, 700 14th St, Denver, CO 80202
• 06/30-07/02 Fan Expo – F 4PM-9PM; Sa 10AM-7PM; Su 10AM-5PM $38-$58 / Day; $90 3-Day Pass All Ages Convention for Fans of Comics, Sci F, Horror, Anime, Gaming Colorado Convention Center, 700 14th St, Denver, CO 80202
• 07/15-07/16 Lavender Festival – 9AM-5PM $13 Adults, $11 Seniors, $9 Children All Ages Lavender Fields, Artists, Live Music, Demonstrationsof Dye Garden and Blacksmith ShopDenver Botanic Gardens - Chatfield Farms, 8500 W Deer Creek Canyon Road, Littleton, CO 80128

Farmers Markets

Sundays

• Sundays 05/07-11/12 South Pearl Street – 9AM-1PM 1527 S Pearl St, Denver, CO 80210
  
• Sundays 06/25-10/08 Central Park – 8:30AM-12:30 PM South Green 7601 29th Ave, Denver, CO 80238
  
• Sundays 04/07-10/29 Metro Denver Famers Market - Highlands Ranch – 10AM-2PM 9288 Dorchester St, Highlands Ranch, CO 80126
  
• Sundays 06/04-09/24 Arvada Farmer’s Market – 9AM-1:30PM Olde Town Square, 5702 Olde Wadsworth Blvd. Arvada, CO 80002
  
• Sundays 05/21-10/15 HighlandsSquare – 9AM-1PM 3600 W 32nd Ave, Denver, CO 80211
  
• Sundays 05/14-10/29 Parker – 8AM-1PM – 19565 Mainstreet, Parker, CO 80138
  
• Sundays 05/28-10/15 Festival Park – 9AM-2PM – 300 2nd St, Castle Rock, CO 80104
  
• Sundays 06/04-09/24 People + Produce – (Food Trucks Beer Garden Live Music) - 9AM-1PM – 4190 S Newport St, Denver, CO 80237
  
• Second Sundays May-Aug Stanley Summer Series Farmer’s Market - 1PM-6PM Stanley Marketplace, 2501 Dallas St, Aurora, CO 80010
  

Tuesdays

• Tuesdays 05/30-09/26 Evergreene – 10AM-2PM 1036 El Rancho Road, Evergreen, CO 80439

Wednesdays

• Wednesdays 06/07-08/30 Green Valley Ranch – 5PM-8PM Green Valley Ranch Town Center Park, 4890 Argonne St., Denver, CO 80249
  
  • Wednesdays 06/14-08/16 Cherry Creek – 9AM-1PM Cherry Creek Shopping Center, 3000 E 1st Ave, Denver, CO 80206
• Wednesdays 06/14-09/27[Littleton]((https://www.denverfarmersmarket.com/) – 10AM-2PM 7301 S Santa Fe Dr, Littleton, CO 80120
  

Thursdays

• **Thursdays 05/11-09/3140 - Real Farmers Market - Erie – 5PM-8PM – Briggs Street // Wells and Moffatt, Erie 80516

Saturdays

• Saturday 05/06-11/04 Cherry Creek Fresh Market – 9AM-2PM Cherry Creek Shopping Center, 3000 E 1st Ave, Denver, CO 80206
  
• Saturdays 05/13-10/28 University Hills – 9AM-1PM – 2500 S Colorado Blvd, Denver, CO 80222
  
• Saturdays 06/10-09/30 [Lakewood]((https://www.denverfarmersmarket.com/) – 10AM-2PM Mile Hi Church. 9077 W Alameda Ave, Denver, CO 80226
  
• Saturdays 04/06-10/28 Southwest Plaza – 8AM-2PM 8501 W Bowles Ave, Littleton, CO 80123
  
• Saturdays 05/13-09/30* Southland – 8AM-1PM – 6155 S Main St, Aurora, CO 80016
  
• Saturdays 06/03-09/16 Union Station – 9AM-1PM 1701 Wynkoop, Denver, CO 80202
  
• Saturdays 5/13-10/28 City Park – 8AM-1PM 2551 E Colfax Ave, Denver, CO 80206
  
• Saturdays 06/03-10/07 Golden 8AM-1PM 1019 10th St, Golden, CO 80401
  
• Saturdays 5/13-10/14 Real Farmer’s Market - Louisville – 9AM-1PM 824 Front Street, Louisville, CO 80027
  
• 1st and 3rd Saturdays 5/13-10/21 Rebels in the Garden - 9PM-1PM Activist Group Rebel Marketplace, S Del Mar Circle, Aurora, CO, USA
  

Denver.org List of Farmers Markets

Concerts

LIST OF ALMOST ALL CONCERTS AND LIVE MUSIC IN DENVER SUMMER 2023
Free Outdoor Concerts

• Sundays 06/04-08/06 City Park Jazz - 6PM-8PM FREE All Ages Jazz, Blues, Brass, and More City Park Pavilion, Denver
  
• Dates Vary 05/19-09/29Levitt Pavilion Free Concerts Series - Times Vary FREE All Ages Free Concerts, Various Genres Levitt Pavilion, 1380 W Florida Ave, Denver, CO 80223
  
• Central Park Concert Schedule - 6PM or 6:30 PM FREE All Ages Central Park, Denver
  
• Green Valley Ranch Sunday Concerts in the Park - 4PM-6:30PM FREE All Ages Green Valley Ranch Town Center Park, 5050 Argonne St, Denver, CO 80249
  
• Downtown Lakewood Summer Concert Series - 6PM-8PM FREE All Ages Belmar Shopping Center, Downtown Lakewood, 7337 W Alaska Dr, Lakewood, CO 80226
  
• Orchard Town Center Til’ Dark 3rd Friday’s Concert Series - 6:30PM-8:30PM FREE All Ages The Orchard Town Center, 14697 Delaware St, Westminster, CO 80023
  
• Highlands Ranch Community Association Summer Concert Series - 6:30PM-8:00PM FREE All Ages Highland Heritage Regional Park, 9651 S Quebec, Highlands Ranch, CO 80129
  

Outside Paid Venues

• Red Rocks Event Schedule 303-319 CO-8, Morrison, CO 80465
  
• Empower Field Event Schedule 1701 Bryant St, Denver, CO 80204
  
• Fiddler’s Green Event Schedule 6350 Greenwood Plaza Blvd, Greenwood Village, CO 80111
  
• Denver Botanical Gardens Music at the Gardens Schedule Denver Botanic Gardens, 1007 York St, Denver, CO 80206
  
• Evenings El Pastor at the Denver Botanic Gardens Small Ensembles Hidden Throughout the Gardens Denver Botanic Gardens, 1007 York St, Denver, CO 80206
  
• Civic Center Park Concert Schedule Civic Center Park, 101 W 14th Ave, Denver, CO 80202
  
• Dick’s Sporting Goods Park Concert Schedule Dick’s Sporting Goods Park, 6000 Victory Way, Commerce City, CO 80022
  
• Arvada Center Outdoor Amphitheater & Front Porch Concerts Arvada Center for the Arts and Humanities, 6901 Wadsworth Blvd, Arvada, CO 80003
  
• Shady Grove Concert Series at Four Mile Historic Park - 6:30PM $15 Four Mile Historic Park, 715 S Forest St, Denver, CO 80246
  
• Mile High Music Series - 6:30PM-10PM Ticket Comes with 1 Free Frink Four Mile Historic Park, 715 S Forest St, Denver, CO 80246
  

Paid Indoor Venues

• List of Venus in Denver

Concert Lists (by Genre, Search, Etc)

• Songkick
  
• Concertfix
  
• Concertful
  

Parks / Nature

National Parks

• Rocky Mountain National Park $15-$35; $70 Annual; $80 Interagency All Ages 415 Square Miles of Mountain Environments FREE DAYS: 08/04, 09/24, 11/11
  
• Mesa Verde National Park $15-$30; $55 Annual; $80 Interagency World Heritage Site of Pueblo Ruins FREE DAYS: 08/04, 09/24, 11/11
  
• Great Sand Dunes National Park $25; $40 Annual; $80 INteragencyFREE DAYS: 08/04, 09/24, 11/11
  
• Black Canyon of the Gunnison National Park $15-$30; $55 Annual; $80 Interagency FREE DAYS: 08/04, 09/24, 11/11
  

State Parks

• Barr Lake
  
• Cheyenne Mountain
  
• Crawford
  
• Eleven Mile
  
• Jackson Lake
  
• John Martin
  
• Lake Pueblo
  
• Mancos
  
• Ridgway
  
• St. Vrain
  
• Staunton
  
• Steamboat Lake
  
• Trinidad Lake
  

City Parks

• City Park Lake, Science Museum, Zoo, Golf 17th and York, Denver, CO
  
• Skyline Park * Beer Garden, Ice Skating Rink in Winter* 16th and Arapaho, Denver, CO
  
• Civic Center Park * Lots of Festivals, Art Museum, Library, Government Buildings* 101 W 14th Ave Pkwy, Denver, CO, 80203
  
• Confluence Park Aquarium, Children’s Museum, Elitch Gardens, S Platte River 2250 15th St, Denver, CO
  
• Centennial Flower Gardens Gardens, S Platte River, Elitch Gardens 1101 Little Raven St, Denver, CO
  
• Commons Park S Platte River, Sand Prairie 17th and York, Denver, CO
  
• Sloans Lake Park Lake, Festival 1700 Sheridan Blvd, Denver, CO
  
• Washington Park Lakes, Boat Rentals, Gardens, Playgrounds, Sports, Tennis Courts, Soccer Field Virginia Ave and Downing St, Denver, CO
  
• Cheeseman Park Paths, Playgrounds 1599 E 8th St, Denver, CO
  
• Bear Creek Park 2,600 Acres, Hiking, Biking, Horseback Riding, Swim Beach, Boat Rentals 15600 W Morrison Rd, Lakewood, CO
  
• Paco Sanchez Park Hilly expanse with unique playgrounds 1290 Knox Court, 3240 W 14th Ave, Denver, CO 80204
  
• Ruby Hill Bike Park 7 Acre Park for Bike Riders with Ramps and Tracks W Jewell Ave, Denver, CO 80223
  
• Smaller / More Distant City Parks include: Berkeley Lake Park, Rocky Mountain Lake Park. McDonough Park, City of Cuernavaca Park, Benedict Fountain (Triangle) Park AND MANY MORE…
  

Hikes

• Day Hikes Near Denver Great List with Many Categories to Sort From
  
• Top 10 Day Hikes Near Denver * Made by guides at Day Hikes Near Denver .com*
  

Water Activities

Beaches

• Cherry Creek State Park Swim Beach Smoky Hill Trail, Aurora, CO 80015
  
• Aurora Reservoir Swimming Beach S Powhaton Rd, Aurora, CO 80016
  
• Aurora Reservoir SCUBA Beach E Reservoir Dam Rd, Aurora, CO 80016
  
• Platte River Highlands Bridge and Swimming in Confluence Park 2250 15th St, Denver, CO 80202
  
• Soda Lake Beach in Bear Creek Lake Park Near 15600 W Morrison Rd, Lakewood, CO 80228
  
• Chatfield Park Swim Beach Near Perimeter Rd, Littleton, CO 80128
  

Pools

• List of Public Denver Outdoor Pools
  
• List of Public Denver Indoor Pools
  

Splash Parks

• List of Splash Parks in the Denver Metro Area May be out of date

Water Parks

• List of Water Parks in the Denver Metro Area May be out of date
  
• 05/29-09/04 Island Kingdom Waterpark at Elitch Gardens - Varies between 9AM and 8:30PM (Closes at Dusk) $50/Day, $75/Season All Ages Water Park with Thrill Slides, Family Slides, Wave Pool, and Lazy River; Attached to Theme Park (No extra cost) 2000 Elitch Cir, Denver, CO 80204
  
• 05/26-09/04 Water World - Varies between 9AM and 6PM $28-$55 Adults, $24-$45 Children All Ages Water Park with Thrill Slides, Family Slides, Wave Pool, Lazy River, and Surf Wave 8801 N Pecos St, Federal Heights, CO 80260
  
• 05/27-08/13 The Splash at Fossil Trace - 10AM-5:30PM Park; 10AM-5PM Pools $12.50 Day Pass, $194 Season Pass All Ages Pools and Water Slides 3151 Illinois St, Golden, CO 80401
  
• 05/27-09/04 Pirate’s Cove - 10AM-5:30PM $18 Day Pass; $120 Season Pass All Ages Pools and Water Slides 1225 W Belleview Ave, Littleton, CO 80120
  

Amusement

Theme Parks / Roller Coasters

• Year Round, Dates Vary Elitch Gardens - Varies between 9AM and 9PM $50/Day, $75/Season All Ages Theme Park and Water Park 2000 Elitch Cir, Denver, CO 80204
  
• 05/13-09/10 Lakeside Amusement Park - Varies between 1PM and 11:30PM $30 All Ages Theme Park Built in 1908 4601 Sheridan Boulevard, Lakeside, CO 80212
  

Themed Festivals

• Saturdays & Sundays, 06/17-08/06 Colorado Renaissance Festival - 10:30AM-6:30PM $28 Adult, $12 Child All Ages Renaissance Themed Food, Drink, And Entertainment including Comedy, Sword Swallowing, Fire Breathing, Music, Jousting, and More 650 Perry Park Ave, Larkspur, CO 80118

Outdoor Movies

Local Projections

• Denver.org List Mostly not announced yet List of Outdoor Movie Showings in Denver Including: Avanti, Town Center Park Auditorium, Ironton Distillery & Crafthouse, Elitch Gardens (in the Wave Pool), South Green in Central Park
  
• Denver.org List Mostly not announced yet List of Outdoor Movie Showings Near Denver Including: Red Rocks, Stanley Marketplace, Parfet Park in Golden, Parks Across Westminster, Backcountry Base Camp in Littleton, Memorial Park in Northglenn, Infinity Park in Glendale, Citizen Park in and Edgewater
  

Drive Ins

• 88 Drive In - 7PM $12 Double Features Drive in Theatre, Film Schedule 5 Days in Advance 8780 Rosemary Street, Commerce City, CO 80022

Theatre / Opera / Symphony Shows

• Denver Center for the Performing Arts Big Performing Arts Complex with Several Auditoriums for Plays, Concerts, Symphonies, Shows, and More 1350 Curtis Street, Denver, CO 80202

• 04/14-06/18 The 39 Steps- Singleton Theatre
  
• 05/31-06/04 Riverdance - Buell Theatre
  
• 06/13-06/18 Aladdin - Buell Theatre
  
• 06/21-07/02 Book of Mormon - Buell Theatre
  
• 08/16-08/19 Jagged Little Pill - Buell Theatre
  
• 09/01-10/08 A Little Night Music - Wolf Theatre
  
• 09/15-09/17 Beetlejuice - Buell Theatre
  

• Miners Alley Playhouse Local Children’s Theatre 1224 Washington Ave, Golden, CO 80401

• 05/19-06/11 The Oldest Boy
  
• 05/27-06/24 Robin Hood
  

• Adams Mystery Playhouse Full-time Murder Mystery Theatre 2406 Federal Blvd, Denver, CO 80211

• 05/02-05/27 Bootlegger’s Murder
  
• 05/13-05/31 A Dark and Stormy Murder
  
• 06/02-08/03 Mystery in Pirate’s Cove
  
• 06/02-08/05 Murder on Pirate’s Island
  
• 08/10- 09/16 An Artful Murder
  
• 09/22-09/30 They Came From Below
  

• Arvada Center for the Arts and Humanities Local Playhouse for Concerts and Plays 6901 Wadsworth Blvd, Arvada, CO 80003

• ** 09/08-10/15** Beautiful: The Carol King Musical

• Vintage Theatre Local Play House Specializing in Revival and Contemporary Musicals and Play 1468 Dayton St, Aurora, CO 80010

• 06/02-07/09 Driving Miss Daisy
  
• 07/22-07/30 In the Heights
  

• Firehouse Theatre Company at The John Hand Theatre Performance Art Group 7653 E 1st Pl, Denver, CO 80230

• 06/03-07/01 A Mexican Trilogy: Charty

• Curious Theatre Company Cutting Edge Theatre 1080 Acoma St, Denver, CO 80204

• 05/18-06/15 Cullud Wattah

• 06/11-08/13 Colorado Shakespeare Festival Prices Vary; $18 For Standard Bundle **Festival Showing Many of Shakespeare’s Plays Over a Few Weeks 972 Broadway, Boulder, CO, 80302
Theatres Without Current Shows That You Should Still Keep an Eye On
• The Source Theatre Company Local Performing Arts Theatre 721 Santa Fe Dr, Denver, CO 80204
• Lone Tree Arts Center Contemporary Center Which Hosts Plays, Concerts, and Events 10075 Commons St, Lone Tree, CO 80124
• Cherry Creek Theatre Performance Art Center 350 S Dahlia St, Denver, CO 80246

Dance / Performance Art / Burlesque / Etc

• 05/18-06/04 Strange Natures - TH-Su 7PM $20 Immersive Dance Theatre Show 1801 Brentwood St., Lakewood, CO 80214
• 07/05-08/13 Cirque du Soleil: Kooza - 7:30PM $54- $64 All Ages Circus and Gymnastics Show Ball Arena, 1000 Chopper Circle, Denver, CO 80202
• 07/06-07/08 Colorado Burlesque Festival - 7PM-10PM $25- $35 / Day, $75 / Weekend 18+ Burlesque, Drag, Aerial, & Variet Performance Reelworks, 1399 35th St, Denver, CO
• 07/02 -07/31– Central City Opera’s 2022 Festival – (Opera and Theatre) – Central City Opera House

Museums / Exhibits / Gardens

Art

• Denver Art Museum - 10AM-5PM $12-$19 ALL AGES Daily 10AM-5PM General Art Museum 100 W. 14th Avenue Pkwy Denver, CO 80204 - FREE DAYS: 05/09, 05/14, 06/13, 07/11, 07/30, 09/09, 09/12, 10/10, 11/04, 11/14, 12/12)
  
• Museum of Contemporary Art Denver - T-F 12PM-7PM; Sa-Su 10AM-5PM $7-$10 All Ages Contemporary and Modern Art 1485 Delgany St Denver, CO 80202 - FREE DAYS: 06/03, 07/01, 08/05, 09/02, 10/07, 11/04, 12/02
  
• Meow Wolf - Su-Th 10AM-10PM; F-Sa 10AM-12AM $40-$55 ALL AGES Psychedelic Immersive Alien Art Experience 1338 1st St, Denver, CO 80204
  
• Spectra Art Space: Spookadelia - 11AM-9/10PM $12-$30 ALL AGES * Psychedelic, Immersive Local Art Experience* 1842 S Broadway Denver, CO 80210
  
• Clyfford Still Museum - 10AM-5PM $6-$10 ALL AGES Art by the Artist Clyfford Still 1250 Bannock St Denver, CO 80204 - FREE DAYS: 05/31, 06/25, 07/23, 08/18, 09/06, 10/05, 11/04, 12/03
  
• Museo de las Americas - 12PM-5/6PM $5-$8 ALL AGES Latin American Art 861 Santa Fe Dr, CO 80204 - FREE DAYS: 06/02, 07/07, 08/04, 09/01, 10/06, 11/03, 12/01
  
• American Museum of Western Art 10AM-4:30PM $5 All Ages Art Depicting the American West from 1800s to Present 1727 Tremont Place, Denver, CO 80202
  
• Kirkland Museum of Fine and Decorative Art- T-Sa 11AM-5PM; Su12PM-5PM $10-$12 All Ages Fine and Decorative Art 1201 Bannock St Denver, CO 80204
  

History

• History Colorado Center - 10AM-5PM $14 ALL AGES General History Museum with Emphasis on Colorado History 1200 Broadway Denver, CO 80203
  
• Four Mile Historic Park 10AM-4PM $6-$8 ALL AGES Celebration of Denver’s Western Heritage 715 S Forest St, Denver, CO 80246 - FREE DAYS: 05/26, 06/23, 08/25, 09/22, 10/27, 11/24, 12/22
  
• Black American West Museum - 10AM-2PM $10-$15 All Ages History of Black and African American in the Wild West 3091 California St Denver, CO 80205
  

Science / Nature

• Denver Museum of Nature and Science - 9AM-5PM $17-$23 All Ages Nature, Science, Technology, and History; Planetarium; Laser Fantasy 2001 Colorado Blvd Denver, CO 80205 - FREE DAYS: 06/28, 08/16, 09/06, 09/18, 10/15, 12/04
  
• Botanical Gardens - York St (Downtown) - 9AM-8PM $15 Gardens with Plants from All Over the World 1007 York St, Denver, CO 80206 - FREE DAYS: 06/06, 07/05, 08/15, 11/24
  
• Botanical Gardens - Chatfield Farms) - 9AM-8PM $10 Gardens and a Full Working Farm 8500 W Deer Creek Canyon Rd, Littleton, CO 80128 - FREE DAYS: 06/06, 07/05, 08/15, 11/24
  
• Plains Conservation Center M-F 8AM-4PM; Sa 9AM-5PM $10 All Ages Prairie Conservation Center / Activities / Educational Experiences 21901 E Hampden Ave Aurora, CO 80013
  

Animals

• Denver Zoo - 9AM-5PM $24 Adults, $18 Kids All Ages Animals, Conversation, Education 2300 Steele St, Denver, CO 80205 - FREE DAYS: 10/07, 11/07, 11/12
  
• Butterfly Pavillion - 10AM-5PM $15 Adults, $10 Kids All Ages Butterfly Garden, Insect Exhibits, Tarantula Holdings, Education 6252 W 104th Ave, Westminster, CO 80020
  
• Denver Downtown Aquarium - M-Th 10AM-8:30PM; F-S 11AM-10PM; Su 11AM-8PM $19-$25 Plus Add-ons All Ages Aquarium / Restaurant / 4D Theatre / Mermaid Shows 700 Water Street Denver, CO 80211
  
• Wild Animal Sanctuary - 10AM-5PM $50 Adults, $30 Kids All Ages Learn About Wildlife Rescue and See Animals from Elevated Platforms - Stresses It's Not a Zoo but you can see many "zoo" animals 2999 Co Rd 53, Keenesburg, CO 80643
  

Things to Do Year Round

• WIP of Places to Eat, Drink, and Have Fun Around Downtown I'm still building this. Please let me know if you have anything to add or change!
• Eat Around the World in Denver Join us over at /denverfood where we're trying to make a list of restaurants that represent each of the world's countries all in the larger Denver area!

Other Resources

General Compilations
• Mile High on the Cheap
• 303 Magazine Events Calendar
• Colorado.com Events Schedule
• Denver-Co Events
• Vesta Events
• AllEvents
• Metro Denver
• Dairy Block Event Calendar 1800 Wazee St, Denver, CO 80202

Series Page - Read 8 weeks ahead on Patreon - Read the story so far on Royal Road
*
​
Chapter Nine - Coppers and Carrots Bump. Ren started, opening his eyes, and sunlight flooded in, filling them with water. He groaned, half-blind, and clamped them shut again. ‘Awake?’ His grandfather asked. ‘I am now.’ He opened his eyes again, slower this time, squinting. The fields of the South Realm spread out around him like dye seeping across paper, bucking and rolling in step with the cart wheels. The smell of fresh carrots was rising from the bed behind him, heavy sacks shifting with every jolt. He looked up at his grandfather, still squinting. ‘You did that deliberately.’ ‘You’ve been asleep long enough.’ Derin told him with mock-sternness, moustache twitching. ‘What time is it?’ Ren asked groggily. The cart was a very disorienting place to wake up. It clattered, lurched across the uneven road, groaning, and Ren groaned with it, still clearing away sleep like ice from a window-pane. That is to say, slowly. In front of him somewhere, or maybe behind, above, below, Wil snorted gamely against his harness, pulling them onward into the blur. ‘Not noon, yet.’ His grandfather had turned back to the road. Ren sat up slowly, rubbing at his eyes. Above, a half-clear day, and a sky shredded with little half-broken furrows of wispy grey cloud. Around, grass still wet with gleaming dew. And ahead, pressed close against the horizon, the low hill of Overwood, rising out of a ring of trees, crowned with a swarm of distant buildings. Tugging smoke into the clear air, like thread drawn from a loom. ‘Not far, now.’ Ren murmured happily. ‘Journey always seems shorter when you sleep through it.’ Ren took a deep breath and blew steam into the swaying air, tucking himself deeper into his cloak. The sun may be shining, but autumn was nearing its end, and even the South Realm was starting to feel the cold fingers of winter, twisting through the breeze like ice. It had taken some stern words to raise him from his bed that morning, when the sun was barely grazing the eastern fields, and he had been asleep again the moment his backside touched the cart. It was seldom now that his grandfather rode out himself to market, so it had been some time since Ren had gone with him. Had he known this visit was planned, he might have spent more time in his bed the night before, and less time wandering around the hill outside the farm looking for climbing spots. Might have, anyway. The miller and his wife had been visiting for dinner, and he always made a habit of being as far from home as possible when the old soldier with his scarred face came calling. ‘When was the last time you went to the market?’ He asked, yawning. ‘A year, almost.’ Derin answered, frowning, as if thinking of it himself for the first time. 'Too long.' 'Remember the time we took Trin?' Ren asked, smiling. ‘How could I forget!’ Derin chuckled. ‘Wailed half the way there, then hid behind me like a scared kitten 'til it was time to go.’ ‘He doesn't like being so far from home.’ ‘It's not twenty miles from the farm to here!’ Derin snorted. ‘He just doesn’t like being out of his ma’s sight. Boy’s hen-pecked.’ ‘Well, maybe he should be.’ Ren told him. ‘I hear she knows everything.’ His grandfather chuckled, rolling his eyes. ‘South Realmers.’ ‘You’re a South Realmer, too.’ ‘Shame on me.’ Derin thought for a moment, staring off over the fields. ‘Trin’s a good lad, though. Hardly his fault where he's from. Just scared enough of his own shadow to keep you out of trouble, too.’ ‘Mostly.’ Ren smiled. Then he looked out over the fields, frowning. ‘Anyway, he’s the only one that doesn’t look at me funny. Faia and him.’ He said quietly, still looking away. ‘Only one that talks to me, when he doesn’t have to. Even the other boys; it’s like I’m not there, when they’re around. Or like they’re pretending I’m not.’ He felt his grandfather’s eyes on him for a long moment, then there was a hand on his shoulder. ‘One day, they won’t be able to pretend.’ Derin told him, giving it a squeeze. ‘Anyway, it’s far too nice a day for this talk. What would Trin say?’ Ren gave him a smile. ‘Something about the old man planning to turn all the farmers into a toads next time he appears.’ His grandfather hesitated, stiffening for a moment, then grinned. ‘Who says he won’t?’ He asked. He chuckled, dropping his voice into a lazier drawl. ‘Don’t you trust them Greycloaks! Turn you to stone for a penny.’ Ren laughed with him, and the cart rumbled on. They went on that way for a while, talking of nothing in particular, happy in the sharp gleam of the sun, speaking, and not speaking, of their lives with the comfortable ease only family can. The cart rumbled on, and the minutes drew past without thought. Neither one noticed the time passing. They talked of home, of a new book his grandfather had bought from a travelling peddler, the way the author rambled on about rocks having eyes or some such nonsense. They spoke of the rare treats they might find at the market, of the feast they would have when they got home. And they spoke in low voices of his grandmother and her nagging, knowing in their hearts that they would not change her for all the gold in the Valia. ‘Hector says there’ll be storms before winter.’ His grandfather was saying. ‘Hector always says that.’ ‘If you say something enough you’ll be right eventually.’ Derin grinned. Ren frowned. ‘He doesn’t like me, much.’ ‘I’m not sure he much likes anyone.’ ‘You know what I mean.’ Derin frowned. ‘What did he say, now?’ ‘Just… the usual.’ Ren replied, lowering his eyes. ‘Thought that would’ve stopped, after I knocked his tooth out.’ His grandfather told him. Ren smiled in spite of himself. ‘Grandmother says you shouldn’t have done that.’ ‘Grandmother is probably right.’ Derin winked at him, moustache twitching mischievously. ‘Felt pretty good at the time, though.’ Ren hesitated. ‘What was she like?’ He asked. ‘My mother, I mean.’ It was not something he would normally have asked. Black Breath had been hard on the farm, the other adults always said. Took near a dozen of them. But that was the year before she passed, and Ren figured it was even harder, losing someone without warning. He shouldn’t have asked. But Derin just stared off into the fields, eyes distant. He looked all of a sudden very sad, drawn, and tired beyond measure. ‘She was…’ He began, then hesitated, frowning. ‘She was very kind. Kindest person I ever knew. Had a laugh that’d make a stone crack a smile.’ Ren watched him for a moment, then looked away. He took a breath, and felt it catch in his throat. ‘You don’t ask about her, very much.’ His grandfather said quietly. Ren lowered his eyes again. ‘I know you don’t want to talk about her.’ Derin hesitated, then nodded, looking away. ‘I suppose that’s fair.’ Ren opened his mouth, then closed it again. ‘What… What about my father?’ His grandfather frowned. ‘Nothing worth talking about. Gone long before she was.’ Ren looked at him for a long moment, then away into the grass again, swallowing something hard. ‘Hey, now.’ His grandfather said after a moment, soft again. He put a hand on the back of Ren’s head and pulled him close, so that his hair was pressed against his shoulder. ‘You’ve not got it so bad. Don’t let Hector get to you with all this death mark nonsense. Just an angry old man who’s never learned the difference between kindness and cruelty.’ Ren smiled in spite of himself, and felt suddenly a little foolish. He had learned to hide the ache, by now. Didn’t help anyone, dwelling on it. ‘That’s better.’ Derin told him, shoving his grandson away playfully and smoothing his curling moustache. ‘Almost there, anyhow.’ The hill of Overwood was starting to rise beneath the cart-wheels, and the fields were sprouting trees either side of the road. Branches reached out like fingers, bare in the autumn breeze, slicing the sun into gleaming shafts of pale light. Ren did not like trees so well in the winter months. He always thought they looked empty without their leaves, like spider webs stretched out in brown across the sky, and it made them much harder to hide in. Ahead, the way curved right around the base of the hill, and he could see the first low houses peering out from the empty branches. The road was better here, near the town, even and unbroken, and the cart rumbled on, Wil snorting steam into the cold air. There were others on the road, now, townsfolk and farmers and fishermen in warm coats carrying their wares over their shoulders, bound for the market. Other carts, too, laden with all manner of goods; vegetables of all shapes and sizes, chickens squawking in their coops, furs, cloth, even one wagon lined with rows of short blades, keen as the cold, glittering in the sun. Soon they were slowed to walking by the traffic, and they drew past the first of the buildings at a crawl. Walkers picked their way through the queue of wagons and carts, water finding its way through the rocks, ebbing and flowing with the breeze. One of the more enterprising merchants was stalking through the melee, hawking little paper bundles of sweetmeats to the impatient travellers. The air was full of the noise of the crowd, the snorting of the horses, the rap of boots against the road, the rising murmur of voices on the air. Ren always liked that noise. It was the sound of life, the bustle of the crowd; a tale to spin, wares to sell. ‘Careful!’ There was an audible crunch as a neighbouring cart veered sideways into their own, setting the timber shaking. Derin cursed under his breath, hopping down to inspect the damage. Ren looked up to find a dark-haired man with a knotted beard jumping from the seat of the other cart, scowling angrily. He stomped over to Ren’s grandfather, poking him in the chest with an accusatory finger. ‘You not see me coming, you old fool?’ He demanded furiously. ‘Apologies.’ His grandfather replied calmly. Ren looked at him, frowning. It hadn’t been his grandfather who’d veered off-path. ‘No harm intended, friend.’ ‘I’m not your friend, old man!’ The man snarled, poking him again. He pointed at splintered wood on the side of his cart. ‘Who’s going to pay for this?’ Derin opened his mouth to reply, then spluttered, coughing into the dark-haired man’s face. The cart-driver flinched, trying to step back, but Derin had already doubled over, falling against his chest, body wracked with shaking coughs. The man cursed, shoving him off and backing away, wiping at his face. Derin fell hard against their cart, slumping into another fit of coughing, and Ren leapt down from the cart in alarm, rushing to his side. ‘Damn black lung!’ The other cart-driver swore, jumping back into his seat and steering himself away into the throng. Ren ignored him, arms around his grandfather’s shoulders, trying to help the old man upright. ‘I’m… I’m alright. I’m alright.’ Derin told him, breathlessly, leaning heavily on his arm. He put a hand against the cart to steady himself, straightening slowly, and dabbed at his mouth with a handkerchief, grimacing. ‘Why did you do that?’ Ren demanded, cheeks hot, glaring after the other cart as it disappeared into the throng. ‘Do what?’ Derin asked weakly. ‘Say sorry? It was his fault!’ ‘It’s too early for arguing.’ Derin replied with a weary smile. ‘There’ll be plenty of that later.’ Ren opened his mouth to protest, then closed it again, pursing his lips. His grandfather chuckled dryly, dabbing at his mouth again. ‘Find me an angry man that’s reasonable.’ Derin told him, letting go of his arm and looking at him seriously. ‘Don’t be so quick to look for a fight, boy. Sometimes that’s exactly what they want.’ ‘Yes, grandfather.’ Ren replied quietly. ‘Still…’ Derin said, thoughtfully, inspecting the damage. A splintered dent in the wood, but nothing that a quick bit of work back at the farm wouldn’t fix. ‘Don’t remember the road to Overwood being so unfriendly.’ Ren looked around them. The crowd sifting through the wagons and carts did seem for a moment a little different than he remembered, dark eyes downturned, smiles hidden. Changed. But he shook himself, and the sound of the crowd rushed back in around him, bubbling and cheery in the sun. He was imagining things. ‘You sure you’re alright?’ He asked as they climbed back onto the cart. ‘Yes, yes. Stop worrying, boy. You sound like your grandmother.’ His grandfather told him. ‘It’s just the cold. Gets stuck in my throat.’ It took them some time to reach the town proper. Past the smaller houses first, beamed and thatched, modest even by Ren’s reckoning, but with each tug of the reins the roofs rose higher about their shoulders. Slowly, at first, then more urgently, as though the hill wasn’t high enough on its own to reach the sunlight above. Soon the houses were more grand affairs, three stories of sturdy wood and high beams, with new thatching and shutters painted bright in as many colours as Ren could think of. Signs hung swinging from their sides, turned by the breeze; inns, blacksmiths, tanners, tailors, apothecaries, bakers, anything and everything a South Realmer could need, and plenty more they’d probably scowl at. To a boy from a small farmstead where a smithy felt like a luxury, Overwood had always been a different world. He breathed it in, staring, craning his ears, his nose, and realised he was smiling. The smell of fresh pastry on the air, the wavering sound of a lute spilling out of a swinging inn door, traders flogging their wares to the wind. All of it in fragments, half-glanced and quarter-listened, a mosaic of piecemeal colour and sound. Wil snorted in his harness and the carrots shifted in the bed behind them as his grandfather steered them off in search of a berth. Ahead, caught in glimpses, the market, perched atop the very crown of the hill, a scaly mass of lurid canvas, flapping like birds to their feed. * They found what they sought in a nearby stables, guarded by a couple of dour-faced men with stubbled cheeks and heavy shoulders, and stowed the cart for a down-payment of two coppers. Ren’s grandfather extracted several promises of diligence from the stable-guards before they took their leave, muttering about daylight robbery as they reemerged from the side alley and into the bustle of the markets periphery. A blink, a breath, and they were submerged, surrounded by the modest chaos of it all. Derin’s practiced eyes went searching for the right buyer, and Ren did his best not to get lost. 'Ren!' Ren started, looking up. His grandfather was several yards away, looking back at him impatiently through the maze of market-goers. Ren hesitated, taking one last breath of the pork sizzling beside him. Then he turned on his heel hurried after his grandfather, stomach rumbling. ‘Just one copper?’ He pleaded. Derin laughed, shaking his head. ‘Eating can wait ’til after we've got a decent price.’ He turned and continued on through the crowd, Ren hot on his heels. Overwood’s market square was little more than a broad, open space between the houses at the top of the hill. In truth, it wasn’t much bigger than the ponies’ grazing paddock back at the farm, but when the market was in town, the square might as well have been Uldoroth itself in miniature. The stalls were laid out in rough lines across the narrow space, green for vegetables, blue for drink, red for meat, yellow for Dali spices, even, and so on through all the rest, flapping in the breeze, steaming, smoking, rumbling, clanging. Food stalls gasped heady clouds of flavour into the air, tanners waved their leathers like flags, trinket traders jingled with copper, silver and brass, gleaming in the sun. Coins passed from purses to counters, counters to hands, and back again, coppers, silver pennies, even a gold val or two, if you were watching closely, which Ren was. The crowd ebbed and flowed through it all like wind through a maze, men and women, dogs, pigs, foul of all varieties, flitting through the colour and sound, children darting about their feet, laughing and singing for treats. Ren reeled, stared, spun, drinking it in. He had always loved the market, and it was not long before he had forgotten the unpleasant incident on the road altogether. He followed his grandfather as patiently as he could, energy spilling from every impatient step. It was like a living creature, an animal fed by coin and sound, and it was a hungrier beast than even big Red. ‘What you selling?’ Ren looked up to find his grandfather stopped in front of a small stall with a tall, green frontage, an assortment of barely identifiable vegetables stitched roughly into the canvas. The shopkeeper was standing behind several rows of turnips, potatoes, cabbages, squashes, and more than a few beets, looking back at the newcomer with a merchant’s irritable frown under his shock of red hair. Ren couldn’t see any carrots. ‘What you buying?’ Derin replied, smiling pleasantly. ‘Anything but more potatoes.’ The man grumbled. ‘If that's all you've got, you're about a two weeks late.’ ‘You're in luck.’ Derin told him, eyeing the rows of vegetables on display. ‘Got a cart-load of carrots but a stones-throw away, fresh from the best farmlands in the South Realm.’ The shopkeeper looked at him dubiously. ‘Have you, now?’ ‘On my ma’s honour, Nine rest her soul.’ Derin told him earnestly. 'Just south of the Swiftwater. No better earth this side of the Carnolm.’ ‘Sounds expensive.’ The man said cautiously. Derin smiled. ‘Everything has a price, my friend.’ He turned to Ren, bending down to meet his eye. ‘Here’s your copper.’ He told his grandson, slipping something cold into his open hand. Ren stole a glance, and found three shiny coppers against his palm. He grinned, and his grandfather winked at him. ‘Be good.’ ‘Yes, grandfather.’ He said obediently, then turned and darted away into the crowd, leaving him to his haggling. Running, tripping, dodging. The people around him seemed less tall than they once had, and he found that it was more difficult than he remembered to pick a safe path through the maze of legs and shoulders. More than once he bumped into startled market-goers in his hurry, stuttering apologies as he rushed on towards the narrow plumes of smoke that marked the cooking stalls. A lamb skewer? A string of Carnolm sausages? Maybe some fresh cherries? He licked his lips as he went, waiting for a decision to be made for him. When he finally picked his way through the last few yards of the crowd and came upon the stalls he was looking for, he had already made up his mind. A few moments later, and a copper lighter, he stepped back into the throng, a clutch of strawberries wrapped in thin cloth in one hand. He took one out as he walked, and bit into it, savouring the sweetness as the juice dribbled down his chin, then wandered idly for a time, enjoying his prize, listening to the sounds of the market as the sun rose on past midday. The heat of it was baking into the hot breath of the air until it swelled against the coloured canvases like a wave, and Ren began to feel damp beneath his arms. He spotted a gap in the stalls, and stepped through it, seeking shade and quiet to finish his treat. As soon as he stepped out through the tents, the heat vanished, and autumn was back in earnest. He wiped his brow on his sleeve, and stood for a moment, savouring the cold air on his face. He was standing in a small clearing behind the market, walled on three sides by a tall stone wall, and the market stalls on the other. He frowned. There, in the shade of the wall, a low tent, not square as he knew them, but with nothing short of a dozen faces, a rough circle of dark cloth, steepled about a narrow point at its centre. The side closest to him was hanging ever so slightly ajar, flapping faintly in the breeze. Beside it, a wagon. A rickety old thing, its canvas roof topped with a lidless eye, daubed in a pentagram of white paint. He blinked at it, frowning. He’d seen that wagon before. He hesitated. The sun was barely touching the gloom of the tent doorway, and he could see only darkness beyond it. He looked back over his shoulder. The market swelled and grumbled through the gap in the stalls, indifferent to his absence. His grandfather would be done by now. He should be getting back. But then he looked back at the strange dark tent shifting in the breeze, white eye blinking at him from the wagon, and his curiosity got the better of him. He folded up his remaining strawberries, tucking them away into his shirt. One step. Another. That’s all it took. A moment later, he was inside, swallowed by the gloom, and the flap slid closed behind him. For the first few moments, he saw nothing at all. But his eyes were adjusting, and there was some small light in the strange dark tent after all. Tiny pinpricks of sky bled through the canvas overhead like a canopy of minute stars, and narrow beams of sunlight stabbed down through the shifting moats of dust on the air, leaving a dim, pale glow in the room below. There were shapes all around him, big ones, little ones, twisted like roots and smooth as glass. He frowned. The edge of the room was lined with shelves, filled to the brim with trinkets and baubles, glinting and glittering in the dancing beams, gold, silver, jet and amber, everything in between. Ren looked around himself anxiously. The sounds of the market seemed suddenly very far away, and, in the tent, nothing stirred. He stood for a long moment, listening to the silence, the sound of his heart in his chest. There was a small, smoking brazier on a low table at the centre of the room, but it was only embers. No one had tended them for some time. Incense hung heavy on the air, and the smell of it drifted thick and spiced in the shifting strings of light, filling Ren's nose. He sniffed at it, blinking, and looked nervously towards the doorway. But he was alone, and he was inside, now. Might as well take a look. He turned to the nearest row of shelves, frowning at the dim gleam of them. Row upon row of oddities. Some he recognised, others he could barely guess at their purpose; vases cast from jet carved with letters in languages and letters he didn’t recognise, pendants glittering with jewels of blood and sapphire, maps edged in silver and coloured with all the shades of the sky, books and scrolls and knives and goblets in every colour of steel and gold. He moved around the room, brushing his fingers against the each item in turn. There was a medallion hung from one shelf, a wooden circle adorned with pale feathers, turning slowly on its string. Beside it, a small knife in a sheath of dark leather. Strange letters traced the gleaming hilt like red vines, and the blade that showed through the gap at its base was pale and cold. He paused. There was something dark lying on the shelf beside the dagger. He reached out, brushing his fingers against it. A face of black wood, polished smooth, eyes leering emptily, mouth twisted into a grotesque, toothless smile. It didn’t fit, somehow. There was no craft, no silver letters or flowers etched in gold. Just a mask, frozen and staring. Ren felt very unnerved by it. The blank eyes chilled his skin with their touch, and the soundless grin set something cold twisting in his gut. ‘Who are you?’ He froze. He had not heard anyone come in. The voice was low and gravelly, like the creak of an old oak in the wind, but it was not angry. He snatched his hand back from the mask, turning to the door. Standing there, framed against the pale light of the tent-flap, was a small, hunched man in a tattered cloak, glaring back at him with dark eyes. Ren almost flinched to look at him. He’d never seen a man quite so ugly. Not another, anyway. The fortuneteller looked exactly as he remembered, face broad and uneven as a cracked plate, criss-crossed with pale scars, nose twisted and broken beyond repair. His eyes were two small, dark beads beneath his low brows, and his jutting forehead was lined like folded parchment. A thick beard striped with silver fell almost to his chest, and a mane of dark grey hair knotted itself over his head like an abandoned bird-nest. He could not have been much more than four foot tall, but his hunched shoulders filled the doorway. The cloak around his deformed back was in shreds at the hem, spattered with dirt and faded with use. Ren felt the cold weight in his stomach sink deeper. ‘No one.’ He replied quietly, trying not to stare. The hunched man glared at him for a moment longer. Then he grunted, and stepped into the room, letting the flap fall shut behind him. Darkness rushed back in, whispering, and the strange little man came forward to the brazier, blowing softly on the embers. An orange glow swelled against his twisted face, and he stepped back, scratching at his beard. ‘I know you.’ Ren told him. ‘Is that so, boy.’ The man growled back, not looking up. ‘You came through the farm. When I was a boy.’ Ren told him. ‘You’re a fortuneteller.’ The man snorted, spitting at his feet. ‘Am I, indeed?’ ‘You promised me a thousand eyes.’ ‘Ah, yes.’ The fortuneteller replied, turning away and rummaging in one of the shelves. ‘I remember you. The boy with the death mark. Still have your watcher’s stone?’ Ren hesitated, touching the nightglass pendant at his neck. ‘Yes.’ ‘That’s good, boy.’ The strange man replied, hunched back still turned. ‘Not all signs are for your seeing.’ Ren didn’t know what to say to that. ‘You weren’t the only one, you know.’ ‘The only what?’ ‘The only fortuneteller.’ Ren told him. ‘Had another, the year after you. Had her own wagon, too. So full of trinkets baubles you could hear her coming from a mile away.’ ‘And what did she tell you?’ The fortuneteller grumbled back. ‘Said I’d be lost all winter and found by summer.’ The hunchback snorted. ‘Sounds like a professional.’ He still hadn’t turned. Ren hesitated. For a moment he thought of leaving, back the way he had come, back to the market where his grandfather would be waiting. For a moment, anyway. ‘Will you read it for me?’ He asked suddenly. ‘What?’ The strange man said, turning towards him. His matted hair seemed to suck in the light of the brazier like a shadow, and his grotesque face was filled to bursting with them. ‘My fortune.’ ‘Ah.’ He made a strange gargling sound then, and Ren realised that he was laughing. A low, throaty sound that made him shiver. He fixed his eyes on Ren, and they gleamed gold in the light of the brazier, twinkling. ‘I might.’ The hunchback told him, and his ruined nose flared when he breathed, tugging at his scars. He smiled, a small dry smile, and his torn lips creased beneath his tangled beard. ‘You might not like what I see.’ ‘I’m not afraid.’ Ren said stubbornly, folding his arms. ‘And I’ve money.’ ‘Not every price is paid in coin.’ The man told him. ‘A man cannot fear his fortune until he hears it.’ ‘All the same.’ The twisted little man stared at him for a moment longer, eyes flickering. Then he inclined his head slightly, a movement so small Ren almost missed it. ‘As you wish.’ He stumped over to the brazier, and Run followed him eagerly. The smell of incense was stronger here, and it made him feel dizzy. His vision blurred for a moment, and he blinked, swaying. ‘Ready, boy?’ ‘How does it work?’ Ren asked. ‘How many questions do I get?’ ‘Questions?’ The hunchback grumbled. ‘Questions.’ Ren repeated. ‘Like… Like where will I travel? Will I do great things? Will I…’ ‘No questions.’ The hunchback stood still as a statue, glaring at him with dark eyes. Ren swallowed. This close, he could see that the bald expanse of head at the top of the man’s birds-nest mane, barely as high as his own chest. ‘Now, I’ll ask again. Are you ready, boy?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Good. Come.’ The man placed two stools either side of the low table with the brazier, and Ren obediently lowered himself into place, watching him closely. The fortuneteller sat down opposite him, laying a small box down on the table. It was carved with great care from a dark block of nightwood, and the lock was wrought from a grey metal he did not recognise, carved to gleaming with an indecipherable scrawl of runes and symbols. The fortuneteller drew out a small key from his cloak and turned it in the lock, opening it with a creak, then lifted out a little cloth pouch, setting it on the table. ‘Fortune changes in the telling, wrote in words for seldom spelling.’ The fortuneteller sang softly in his broken voice, fixing him with those gleaming eyes once more. ‘Let’s begin.’ Ren felt a small chill run down his back as he nodded. The fortuneteller reached a hand inside his cloak, and drew it back out, casting a cloud of powder into the brazier. The embers gave a hiss, and Ren recoiled as a gout of silver flame rushed up through the grated metal. The fortuneteller didn’t flinch, and a moment later, the strange flame dropped away, flickering like a candle just above the hissing embers, bright and strong. Ren settled back into his seat, and the man continued. He opened the pouch, tipping its contents onto his open palm, and held them up to the grey flames. A half-dozen black gemstones, no larger than coins. The flames flickered off a hundred uneven faces, dancing and blurring the light like a broken mirror. Ren touched the nightglass pendant over his heart self-consciously. The air felt suddenly very heavy, full of the promise of sound in the heavy silence of the tent. The fortuneteller had closed his eyes, and the shadows twisted around his broken face, shifting. Then he lowered his hand and deliberately, almost reverently, cast the stones onto the table. They clicked and rattled for a moment, tumbling across the wood, then skidded to a halt. The silence rushed back in, smothering the air, and the flames of the brazier rumbled. Ren watched, transfixed, as the silver light flickered against the black stones, and for a moment he thought of the Swiftwater, of sunlight gleaming off the surface of the water. He waited. He fancied he could see shapes in the flickering light, faces peering back at him from the depths of the stones. He realised he was holding his breath. The hunchback’s dark eyes were fixed on the table. The air was heavy with smoke. Ren blinked, and the hazy air around him swirled and shifted. Then the fortuneteller grunted. Ren flinched, looking up at him. Just where he had been, sitting on the stool opposite him, knotted hair glinting silver in the firelight. But when he spoke, his voice seemed very distant, as though heard through a thick mist, tugged into obscurity by the smoke. ‘The stones are true.’ He said, looking up at the boy before him. Ren did not reply. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. The shelves seemed to shift around him, turning like the face of an enormous sundial, clicking. ‘I see a woman in a storm.’ The fortuneteller told him. ‘She is dying.’ Ren heard him through the mist. His eyes were alive with the fire, and his scars were silver ink. ‘I see a night that lasts for two days, where shadows walk and the moon fears to tread.’ Ren could feel his blood thumping through his veins, and the hunched man’s face contorted, writhing in the shifting air. ‘I see…’ The fortuneteller paused, and Ren saw that he was not looking at the stones, but directly at him, eyes gleaming gold. ‘What?’ Ren asked. His heart was pounding like a drum in his chest, beating like thunder in his ears. His head ached. Still the fortuneteller watched him, and the fire hissed. ‘What is it?’ ‘I see a mask on fire.’ Ren started. The sound of his heart fell away, and they were once again sitting before the brazier, swaddled in the dim blur of the tent. The silver flames were gone. Smoke moved softly through the air, and sunlight glittered on the shelves. Outside, he could hear the market bubbling, swelling in breeze, and the embers of the brazier stirred, whispering faintly. A mask on fire. ‘Why are you here, boy?’ The fortune teller was still staring at him. Ren thought of the mask on the shelf, the black face leering back at him, empty eyes stabbing at his skin, and his gut filled with ice. Before he knew it he was on his feet. He fumbled in his pocket, throwing down a copper on the table. ‘For your trouble.’ He said abruptly. Then he turned on his heel and hurried away from the brazier, away from the fortuneteller, away from the trinkets and daggers and masks without eyes. Out, out of the tent he went, back into the heat of the midday sun, looking for his grandfather and for home, chased by phantom shadows as he vanished again into the crowd.

Previous Chapter - Read 8 weeks ahead on Patreon - Read the story so far on Royal Road
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Chapter Nine - Coppers and Carrots
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Bump.
Ren started, opening his eyes, and sunlight flooded in, filling them with water. He groaned, half-blind, and clamped them shut again.
‘Awake?’ His grandfather asked.
‘I am now.’ He opened his eyes again, slower this time, squinting. The fields of the South Realm spread out around him like dye seeping across paper, bucking and rolling in step with the cart wheels. The smell of fresh carrots was rising from the bed behind him, heavy sacks shifting with every jolt. He looked up at his grandfather, still squinting.
‘You did that deliberately.’
‘You’ve been asleep long enough.’ Derin told him with mock-sternness, moustache twitching.
‘What time is it?’ Ren asked groggily. The cart was a very disorienting place to wake up. It clattered, lurched across the uneven road, groaning, and Ren groaned with it, still clearing away sleep like ice from a window-pane. That is to say, slowly. In front of him somewhere, or maybe behind, above, below, Wil snorted gamely against his harness, pulling them onward into the blur.
‘Not noon, yet.’ His grandfather had turned back to the road. Ren sat up slowly, rubbing at his eyes. Above, a half-clear day, and a sky shredded with little half-broken furrows of wispy grey cloud. Around, grass still wet with gleaming dew. And ahead, pressed close against the horizon, the low hill of Overwood, rising out of a ring of trees, crowned with a swarm of distant buildings. Tugging smoke into the clear air, like thread drawn from a loom.
‘Not far, now.’ Ren murmured happily.
‘Journey always seems shorter when you sleep through it.’
Ren took a deep breath and blew steam into the swaying air, tucking himself deeper into his cloak. The sun may be shining, but autumn was nearing its end, and even the South Realm was starting to feel the cold fingers of winter, twisting through the breeze like ice. It had taken some stern words to raise him from his bed that morning, when the sun was barely grazing the eastern fields, and he had been asleep again the moment his backside touched the cart. It was seldom now that his grandfather rode out himself to market, so it had been some time since Ren had gone with him. Had he known this visit was planned, he might have spent more time in his bed the night before, and less time wandering around the hill outside the farm looking for climbing spots. Might have, anyway. The miller and his wife had been visiting for dinner, and he always made a habit of being as far from home as possible when the old soldier with his scarred face came calling.
‘When was the last time you went to the market?’ He asked, yawning.
‘A year, almost.’ Derin answered, frowning, as if thinking of it himself for the first time. 'Too long.'
'Remember the time we took Trin?' Ren asked, smiling.
‘How could I forget!’ Derin chuckled. ‘Wailed half the way there, then hid behind me like a scared kitten 'til it was time to go.’
‘He doesn't like being so far from home.’
‘It's not twenty miles from the farm to here!’ Derin snorted. ‘He just doesn’t like being out of his ma’s sight. Boy’s hen-pecked.’
‘Well, maybe he should be.’ Ren told him. ‘I hear she knows everything.’
His grandfather chuckled, rolling his eyes. ‘South Realmers.’
‘You’re a South Realmer, too.’
‘Shame on me.’ Derin thought for a moment, staring off over the fields. ‘Trin’s a good lad, though. Hardly his fault where he's from. Just scared enough of his own shadow to keep you out of trouble, too.’
‘Mostly.’ Ren smiled. Then he looked out over the fields, frowning.
‘Anyway, he’s the only one that doesn’t look at me funny. Faia and him.’ He said quietly, still looking away. ‘Only one that talks to me, when he doesn’t have to. Even the other boys; it’s like I’m not there, when they’re around. Or like they’re pretending I’m not.’
He felt his grandfather’s eyes on him for a long moment, then there was a hand on his shoulder.
‘One day, they won’t be able to pretend.’ Derin told him, giving it a squeeze. ‘Anyway, it’s far too nice a day for this talk. What would Trin say?’
Ren gave him a smile. ‘Something about the old man planning to turn all the farmers into a toads next time he appears.’
His grandfather hesitated, stiffening for a moment, then grinned.
‘Who says he won’t?’ He asked. He chuckled, dropping his voice into a lazier drawl. ‘Don’t you trust them Greycloaks! Turn you to stone for a penny.’
Ren laughed with him, and the cart rumbled on. They went on that way for a while, talking of nothing in particular, happy in the sharp gleam of the sun, speaking, and not speaking, of their lives with the comfortable ease only family can. The cart rumbled on, and the minutes drew past without thought. Neither one noticed the time passing. They talked of home, of a new book his grandfather had bought from a travelling peddler, the way the author rambled on about rocks having eyes or some such nonsense. They spoke of the rare treats they might find at the market, of the feast they would have when they got home. And they spoke in low voices of his grandmother and her nagging, knowing in their hearts that they would not change her for all the gold in the Valia.
‘Hector says there’ll be storms before winter.’ His grandfather was saying.
‘Hector always says that.’
‘If you say something enough you’ll be right eventually.’ Derin grinned. Ren frowned.
‘He doesn’t like me, much.’
‘I’m not sure he much likes anyone.’
‘You know what I mean.’
Derin frowned.
‘What did he say, now?’
‘Just… the usual.’ Ren replied, lowering his eyes.
‘Thought that would’ve stopped, after I knocked his tooth out.’ His grandfather told him.
Ren smiled in spite of himself. ‘Grandmother says you shouldn’t have done that.’
‘Grandmother is probably right.’ Derin winked at him, moustache twitching mischievously. ‘Felt pretty good at the time, though.’
Ren hesitated. ‘What was she like?’ He asked. ‘My mother, I mean.’
It was not something he would normally have asked. Black Breath had been hard on the farm, the other adults always said. Took near a dozen of them. But that was the year before she passed, and Ren figured it was even harder, losing someone without warning. He shouldn’t have asked. But Derin just stared off into the fields, eyes distant. He looked all of a sudden very sad, drawn, and tired beyond measure.
‘She was…’ He began, then hesitated, frowning. ‘She was very kind. Kindest person I ever knew. Had a laugh that’d make a stone crack a smile.’
Ren watched him for a moment, then looked away. He took a breath, and felt it catch in his throat.
‘You don’t ask about her, very much.’ His grandfather said quietly.
Ren lowered his eyes again.
‘I know you don’t want to talk about her.’
Derin hesitated, then nodded, looking away. ‘I suppose that’s fair.’
Ren opened his mouth, then closed it again.
‘What… What about my father?’
His grandfather frowned. ‘Nothing worth talking about. Gone long before she was.’
Ren looked at him for a long moment, then away into the grass again, swallowing something hard.
‘Hey, now.’ His grandfather said after a moment, soft again. He put a hand on the back of Ren’s head and pulled him close, so that his hair was pressed against his shoulder. ‘You’ve not got it so bad. Don’t let Hector get to you with all this death mark nonsense. Just an angry old man who’s never learned the difference between kindness and cruelty.’
Ren smiled in spite of himself, and felt suddenly a little foolish. He had learned to hide the ache, by now. Didn’t help anyone, dwelling on it.
‘That’s better.’ Derin told him, shoving his grandson away playfully and smoothing his curling moustache. ‘Almost there, anyhow.’
The hill of Overwood was starting to rise beneath the cart-wheels, and the fields were sprouting trees either side of the road. Branches reached out like fingers, bare in the autumn breeze, slicing the sun into gleaming shafts of pale light. Ren did not like trees so well in the winter months. He always thought they looked empty without their leaves, like spider webs stretched out in brown across the sky, and it made them much harder to hide in. Ahead, the way curved right around the base of the hill, and he could see the first low houses peering out from the empty branches. The road was better here, near the town, even and unbroken, and the cart rumbled on, Wil snorting steam into the cold air. There were others on the road, now, townsfolk and farmers and fishermen in warm coats carrying their wares over their shoulders, bound for the market. Other carts, too, laden with all manner of goods; vegetables of all shapes and sizes, chickens squawking in their coops, furs, cloth, even one wagon lined with rows of short blades, keen as the cold, glittering in the sun.
Soon they were slowed to walking by the traffic, and they drew past the first of the buildings at a crawl. Walkers picked their way through the queue of wagons and carts, water finding its way through the rocks, ebbing and flowing with the breeze. One of the more enterprising merchants was stalking through the melee, hawking little paper bundles of sweetmeats to the impatient travellers. The air was full of the noise of the crowd, the snorting of the horses, the rap of boots against the road, the rising murmur of voices on the air. Ren always liked that noise. It was the sound of life, the bustle of the crowd; a tale to spin, wares to sell.
‘Careful!’
There was an audible crunch as a neighbouring cart veered sideways into their own, setting the timber shaking. Derin cursed under his breath, hopping down to inspect the damage. Ren looked up to find a dark-haired man with a knotted beard jumping from the seat of the other cart, scowling angrily. He stomped over to Ren’s grandfather, poking him in the chest with an accusatory finger.
‘You not see me coming, you old fool?’ He demanded furiously.
‘Apologies.’ His grandfather replied calmly. Ren looked at him, frowning. It hadn’t been his grandfather who’d veered off-path. ‘No harm intended, friend.’
‘I’m not your friend, old man!’ The man snarled, poking him again. He pointed at splintered wood on the side of his cart. ‘Who’s going to pay for this?’
Derin opened his mouth to reply, then spluttered, coughing into the dark-haired man’s face. The cart-driver flinched, trying to step back, but Derin had already doubled over, falling against his chest, body wracked with shaking coughs. The man cursed, shoving him off and backing away, wiping at his face. Derin fell hard against their cart, slumping into another fit of coughing, and Ren leapt down from the cart in alarm, rushing to his side.
‘Damn black lung!’ The other cart-driver swore, jumping back into his seat and steering himself away into the throng. Ren ignored him, arms around his grandfather’s shoulders, trying to help the old man upright.
‘I’m… I’m alright. I’m alright.’ Derin told him, breathlessly, leaning heavily on his arm. He put a hand against the cart to steady himself, straightening slowly, and dabbed at his mouth with a handkerchief, grimacing.
‘Why did you do that?’ Ren demanded, cheeks hot, glaring after the other cart as it disappeared into the throng.
‘Do what?’ Derin asked weakly.
‘Say sorry? It was his fault!’
‘It’s too early for arguing.’ Derin replied with a weary smile. ‘There’ll be plenty of that later.’
Ren opened his mouth to protest, then closed it again, pursing his lips. His grandfather chuckled dryly, dabbing at his mouth again.
‘Find me an angry man that’s reasonable.’ Derin told him, letting go of his arm and looking at him seriously. ‘Don’t be so quick to look for a fight, boy. Sometimes that’s exactly what they want.’
‘Yes, grandfather.’ Ren replied quietly.
‘Still…’ Derin said, thoughtfully, inspecting the damage. A splintered dent in the wood, but nothing that a quick bit of work back at the farm wouldn’t fix. ‘Don’t remember the road to Overwood being so unfriendly.’
Ren looked around them. The crowd sifting through the wagons and carts did seem for a moment a little different than he remembered, dark eyes downturned, smiles hidden. Changed. But he shook himself, and the sound of the crowd rushed back in around him, bubbling and cheery in the sun. He was imagining things.
‘You sure you’re alright?’ He asked as they climbed back onto the cart.
‘Yes, yes. Stop worrying, boy. You sound like your grandmother.’ His grandfather told him. ‘It’s just the cold. Gets stuck in my throat.’
It took them some time to reach the town proper. Past the smaller houses first, beamed and thatched, modest even by Ren’s reckoning, but with each tug of the reins the roofs rose higher about their shoulders. Slowly, at first, then more urgently, as though the hill wasn’t high enough on its own to reach the sunlight above. Soon the houses were more grand affairs, three stories of sturdy wood and high beams, with new thatching and shutters painted bright in as many colours as Ren could think of. Signs hung swinging from their sides, turned by the breeze; inns, blacksmiths, tanners, tailors, apothecaries, bakers, anything and everything a South Realmer could need, and plenty more they’d probably scowl at. To a boy from a small farmstead where a smithy felt like a luxury, Overwood had always been a different world. He breathed it in, staring, craning his ears, his nose, and realised he was smiling. The smell of fresh pastry on the air, the wavering sound of a lute spilling out of a swinging inn door, traders flogging their wares to the wind. All of it in fragments, half-glanced and quarter-listened, a mosaic of piecemeal colour and sound. Wil snorted in his harness and the carrots shifted in the bed behind them as his grandfather steered them off in search of a berth. Ahead, caught in glimpses, the market, perched atop the very crown of the hill, a scaly mass of lurid canvas, flapping like birds to their feed.
*
They found what they sought in a nearby stables, guarded by a couple of dour-faced men with stubbled cheeks and heavy shoulders, and stowed the cart for a down-payment of two coppers. Ren’s grandfather extracted several promises of diligence from the stable-guards before they took their leave, muttering about daylight robbery as they reemerged from the side alley and into the bustle of the markets periphery. A blink, a breath, and they were submerged, surrounded by the modest chaos of it all. Derin’s practiced eyes went searching for the right buyer, and Ren did his best not to get lost.
'Ren!'
Ren started, looking up. His grandfather was several yards away, looking back at him impatiently through the maze of market-goers. Ren hesitated, taking one last breath of the pork sizzling beside him. Then he turned on his heel hurried after his grandfather, stomach rumbling.
‘Just one copper?’ He pleaded.
Derin laughed, shaking his head. ‘Eating can wait ’til after we've got a decent price.’
He turned and continued on through the crowd, Ren hot on his heels. Overwood’s market square was little more than a broad, open space between the houses at the top of the hill. In truth, it wasn’t much bigger than the ponies’ grazing paddock back at the farm, but when the market was in town, the square might as well have been Uldoroth itself in miniature. The stalls were laid out in rough lines across the narrow space, green for vegetables, blue for drink, red for meat, yellow for Dali spices, even, and so on through all the rest, flapping in the breeze, steaming, smoking, rumbling, clanging. Food stalls gasped heady clouds of flavour into the air, tanners waved their leathers like flags, trinket traders jingled with copper, silver and brass, gleaming in the sun. Coins passed from purses to counters, counters to hands, and back again, coppers, silver pennies, even a gold val or two, if you were watching closely, which Ren was. The crowd ebbed and flowed through it all like wind through a maze, men and women, dogs, pigs, foul of all varieties, flitting through the colour and sound, children darting about their feet, laughing and singing for treats.
Ren reeled, stared, spun, drinking it in. He had always loved the market, and it was not long before he had forgotten the unpleasant incident on the road altogether. He followed his grandfather as patiently as he could, energy spilling from every impatient step. It was like a living creature, an animal fed by coin and sound, and it was a hungrier beast than even big Red.
‘What you selling?’
Ren looked up to find his grandfather stopped in front of a small stall with a tall, green frontage, an assortment of barely identifiable vegetables stitched roughly into the canvas. The shopkeeper was standing behind several rows of turnips, potatoes, cabbages, squashes, and more than a few beets, looking back at the newcomer with a merchant’s irritable frown under his shock of red hair. Ren couldn’t see any carrots.
‘What you buying?’ Derin replied, smiling pleasantly.
‘Anything but more potatoes.’ The man grumbled. ‘If that's all you've got, you're about a two weeks late.’
‘You're in luck.’ Derin told him, eyeing the rows of vegetables on display. ‘Got a cart-load of carrots but a stones-throw away, fresh from the best farmlands in the South Realm.’
The shopkeeper looked at him dubiously. ‘Have you, now?’
‘On my ma’s honour, Nine rest her soul.’ Derin told him earnestly. 'Just south of the Swiftwater. No better earth this side of the Carnolm.’
‘Sounds expensive.’ The man said cautiously.
Derin smiled. ‘Everything has a price, my friend.’ He turned to Ren, bending down to meet his eye.
‘Here’s your copper.’ He told his grandson, slipping something cold into his open hand. Ren stole a glance, and found three shiny coppers against his palm. He grinned, and his grandfather winked at him. ‘Be good.’
‘Yes, grandfather.’ He said obediently, then turned and darted away into the crowd, leaving him to his haggling.
Running, tripping, dodging. The people around him seemed less tall than they once had, and he found that it was more difficult than he remembered to pick a safe path through the maze of legs and shoulders. More than once he bumped into startled market-goers in his hurry, stuttering apologies as he rushed on towards the narrow plumes of smoke that marked the cooking stalls. A lamb skewer? A string of Carnolm sausages? Maybe some fresh cherries? He licked his lips as he went, waiting for a decision to be made for him.
When he finally picked his way through the last few yards of the crowd and came upon the stalls he was looking for, he had already made up his mind. A few moments later, and a copper lighter, he stepped back into the throng, a clutch of strawberries wrapped in thin cloth in one hand. He took one out as he walked, and bit into it, savouring the sweetness as the juice dribbled down his chin, then wandered idly for a time, enjoying his prize, listening to the sounds of the market as the sun rose on past midday. The heat of it was baking into the hot breath of the air until it swelled against the coloured canvases like a wave, and Ren began to feel damp beneath his arms. He spotted a gap in the stalls, and stepped through it, seeking shade and quiet to finish his treat.
As soon as he stepped out through the tents, the heat vanished, and autumn was back in earnest. He wiped his brow on his sleeve, and stood for a moment, savouring the cold air on his face. He was standing in a small clearing behind the market, walled on three sides by a tall stone wall, and the market stalls on the other. He frowned. There, in the shade of the wall, a low tent, not square as he knew them, but with nothing short of a dozen faces, a rough circle of dark cloth, steepled about a narrow point at its centre. The side closest to him was hanging ever so slightly ajar, flapping faintly in the breeze. Beside it, a wagon. A rickety old thing, its canvas roof topped with a lidless eye, daubed in a pentagram of white paint. He blinked at it, frowning. He’d seen that wagon before.
He hesitated. The sun was barely touching the gloom of the tent doorway, and he could see only darkness beyond it. He looked back over his shoulder. The market swelled and grumbled through the gap in the stalls, indifferent to his absence. His grandfather would be done by now. He should be getting back. But then he looked back at the strange dark tent shifting in the breeze, white eye blinking at him from the wagon, and his curiosity got the better of him. He folded up his remaining strawberries, tucking them away into his shirt. One step. Another. That’s all it took. A moment later, he was inside, swallowed by the gloom, and the flap slid closed behind him.
For the first few moments, he saw nothing at all. But his eyes were adjusting, and there was some small light in the strange dark tent after all. Tiny pinpricks of sky bled through the canvas overhead like a canopy of minute stars, and narrow beams of sunlight stabbed down through the shifting moats of dust on the air, leaving a dim, pale glow in the room below. There were shapes all around him, big ones, little ones, twisted like roots and smooth as glass. He frowned. The edge of the room was lined with shelves, filled to the brim with trinkets and baubles, glinting and glittering in the dancing beams, gold, silver, jet and amber, everything in between. Ren looked around himself anxiously. The sounds of the market seemed suddenly very far away, and, in the tent, nothing stirred. He stood for a long moment, listening to the silence, the sound of his heart in his chest. There was a small, smoking brazier on a low table at the centre of the room, but it was only embers. No one had tended them for some time. Incense hung heavy on the air, and the smell of it drifted thick and spiced in the shifting strings of light, filling Ren's nose. He sniffed at it, blinking, and looked nervously towards the doorway. But he was alone, and he was inside, now. Might as well take a look.
He turned to the nearest row of shelves, frowning at the dim gleam of them. Row upon row of oddities. Some he recognised, others he could barely guess at their purpose; vases cast from jet carved with letters in languages and letters he didn’t recognise, pendants glittering with jewels of blood and sapphire, maps edged in silver and coloured with all the shades of the sky, books and scrolls and knives and goblets in every colour of steel and gold. He moved around the room, brushing his fingers against the each item in turn. There was a medallion hung from one shelf, a wooden circle adorned with pale feathers, turning slowly on its string. Beside it, a small knife in a sheath of dark leather. Strange letters traced the gleaming hilt like red vines, and the blade that showed through the gap at its base was pale and cold.
He paused. There was something dark lying on the shelf beside the dagger. He reached out, brushing his fingers against it. A face of black wood, polished smooth, eyes leering emptily, mouth twisted into a grotesque, toothless smile. It didn’t fit, somehow. There was no craft, no silver letters or flowers etched in gold. Just a mask, frozen and staring. Ren felt very unnerved by it. The blank eyes chilled his skin with their touch, and the soundless grin set something cold twisting in his gut.
‘Who are you?’
He froze. He had not heard anyone come in. The voice was low and gravelly, like the creak of an old oak in the wind, but it was not angry. He snatched his hand back from the mask, turning to the door. Standing there, framed against the pale light of the tent-flap, was a small, hunched man in a tattered cloak, glaring back at him with dark eyes. Ren almost flinched to look at him. He’d never seen a man quite so ugly. Not another, anyway. The fortuneteller looked exactly as he remembered, face broad and uneven as a cracked plate, criss-crossed with pale scars, nose twisted and broken beyond repair. His eyes were two small, dark beads beneath his low brows, and his jutting forehead was lined like folded parchment. A thick beard striped with silver fell almost to his chest, and a mane of dark grey hair knotted itself over his head like an abandoned bird-nest. He could not have been much more than four foot tall, but his hunched shoulders filled the doorway. The cloak around his deformed back was in shreds at the hem, spattered with dirt and faded with use. Ren felt the cold weight in his stomach sink deeper.
‘No one.’ He replied quietly, trying not to stare.
The hunched man glared at him for a moment longer. Then he grunted, and stepped into the room, letting the flap fall shut behind him. Darkness rushed back in, whispering, and the strange little man came forward to the brazier, blowing softly on the embers. An orange glow swelled against his twisted face, and he stepped back, scratching at his beard.
‘I know you.’ Ren told him.
‘Is that so, boy.’ The man growled back, not looking up.
‘You came through the farm. When I was a boy.’ Ren told him. ‘You’re a fortuneteller.’
The man snorted, spitting at his feet. ‘Am I, indeed?’
‘You promised me a thousand eyes.’
‘Ah, yes.’ The fortuneteller replied, turning away and rummaging in one of the shelves. ‘I remember you. The boy with the death mark. Still have your watcher’s stone?’
Ren hesitated, touching the nightglass pendant at his neck. ‘Yes.’
‘That’s good, boy.’ The strange man replied, hunched back still turned. ‘Not all signs are for your seeing.’
Ren didn’t know what to say to that.
‘You weren’t the only one, you know.’
‘The only what?’
‘The only fortuneteller.’ Ren told him. ‘Had another, the year after you. Had her own wagon, too. So full of trinkets baubles you could hear her coming from a mile away.’
‘And what did she tell you?’ The fortuneteller grumbled back.
‘Said I’d be lost all winter and found by summer.’
The hunchback snorted. ‘Sounds like a professional.’ He still hadn’t turned. Ren hesitated. For a moment he thought of leaving, back the way he had come, back to the market where his grandfather would be waiting. For a moment, anyway.
‘Will you read it for me?’ He asked suddenly.
‘What?’ The strange man said, turning towards him. His matted hair seemed to suck in the light of the brazier like a shadow, and his grotesque face was filled to bursting with them.
‘My fortune.’
‘Ah.’ He made a strange gargling sound then, and Ren realised that he was laughing. A low, throaty sound that made him shiver. He fixed his eyes on Ren, and they gleamed gold in the light of the brazier, twinkling.
‘I might.’ The hunchback told him, and his ruined nose flared when he breathed, tugging at his scars. He smiled, a small dry smile, and his torn lips creased beneath his tangled beard. ‘You might not like what I see.’
‘I’m not afraid.’ Ren said stubbornly, folding his arms. ‘And I’ve money.’
‘Not every price is paid in coin.’ The man told him. ‘A man cannot fear his fortune until he hears it.’
‘All the same.’
The twisted little man stared at him for a moment longer, eyes flickering. Then he inclined his head slightly, a movement so small Ren almost missed it. ‘As you wish.’
He stumped over to the brazier, and Run followed him eagerly. The smell of incense was stronger here, and it made him feel dizzy. His vision blurred for a moment, and he blinked, swaying.
‘Ready, boy?’
‘How does it work?’ Ren asked. ‘How many questions do I get?’
‘Questions?’ The hunchback grumbled.
‘Questions.’ Ren repeated. ‘Like… Like where will I travel? Will I do great things? Will I…’
‘No questions.’ The hunchback stood still as a statue, glaring at him with dark eyes. Ren swallowed. This close, he could see that the bald expanse of head at the top of the man’s birds-nest mane, barely as high as his own chest.
‘Now, I’ll ask again. Are you ready, boy?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good. Come.’ The man placed two stools either side of the low table with the brazier, and Ren obediently lowered himself into place, watching him closely. The fortuneteller sat down opposite him, laying a small box down on the table. It was carved with great care from a dark block of nightwood, and the lock was wrought from a grey metal he did not recognise, carved to gleaming with an indecipherable scrawl of runes and symbols. The fortuneteller drew out a small key from his cloak and turned it in the lock, opening it with a creak, then lifted out a little cloth pouch, setting it on the table.
‘Fortune changes in the telling, wrote in words for seldom spelling.’ The fortuneteller sang softly in his broken voice, fixing him with those gleaming eyes once more. ‘Let’s begin.’
Ren felt a small chill run down his back as he nodded. The fortuneteller reached a hand inside his cloak, and drew it back out, casting a cloud of powder into the brazier. The embers gave a hiss, and Ren recoiled as a gout of silver flame rushed up through the grated metal. The fortuneteller didn’t flinch, and a moment later, the strange flame dropped away, flickering like a candle just above the hissing embers, bright and strong. Ren settled back into his seat, and the man continued. He opened the pouch, tipping its contents onto his open palm, and held them up to the grey flames. A half-dozen black gemstones, no larger than coins. The flames flickered off a hundred uneven faces, dancing and blurring the light like a broken mirror. Ren touched the nightglass pendant over his heart self-consciously. The air felt suddenly very heavy, full of the promise of sound in the heavy silence of the tent. The fortuneteller had closed his eyes, and the shadows twisted around his broken face, shifting.
Then he lowered his hand and deliberately, almost reverently, cast the stones onto the table. They clicked and rattled for a moment, tumbling across the wood, then skidded to a halt. The silence rushed back in, smothering the air, and the flames of the brazier rumbled. Ren watched, transfixed, as the silver light flickered against the black stones, and for a moment he thought of the Swiftwater, of sunlight gleaming off the surface of the water. He waited. He fancied he could see shapes in the flickering light, faces peering back at him from the depths of the stones. He realised he was holding his breath. The hunchback’s dark eyes were fixed on the table. The air was heavy with smoke. Ren blinked, and the hazy air around him swirled and shifted.
Then the fortuneteller grunted. Ren flinched, looking up at him. Just where he had been, sitting on the stool opposite him, knotted hair glinting silver in the firelight. But when he spoke, his voice seemed very distant, as though heard through a thick mist, tugged into obscurity by the smoke.
‘The stones are true.’ He said, looking up at the boy before him.
Ren did not reply. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. The shelves seemed to shift around him, turning like the face of an enormous sundial, clicking.
‘I see a woman in a storm.’ The fortuneteller told him. ‘She is dying.’
Ren heard him through the mist. His eyes were alive with the fire, and his scars were silver ink.
‘I see a night that lasts for two days, where shadows walk and the moon fears to tread.’
Ren could feel his blood thumping through his veins, and the hunched man’s face contorted, writhing in the shifting air.
‘I see…’ The fortuneteller paused, and Ren saw that he was not looking at the stones, but directly at him, eyes gleaming gold.
‘What?’ Ren asked. His heart was pounding like a drum in his chest, beating like thunder in his ears. His head ached. Still the fortuneteller watched him, and the fire hissed. ‘What is it?’
‘I see a mask on fire.’
Ren started. The sound of his heart fell away, and they were once again sitting before the brazier, swaddled in the dim blur of the tent. The silver flames were gone. Smoke moved softly through the air, and sunlight glittered on the shelves. Outside, he could hear the market bubbling, swelling in breeze, and the embers of the brazier stirred, whispering faintly.
A mask on fire.
‘Why are you here, boy?’
The fortune teller was still staring at him. Ren thought of the mask on the shelf, the black face leering back at him, empty eyes stabbing at his skin, and his gut filled with ice. Before he knew it he was on his feet. He fumbled in his pocket, throwing down a copper on the table.
‘For your trouble.’ He said abruptly. Then he turned on his heel and hurried away from the brazier, away from the fortuneteller, away from the trinkets and daggers and masks without eyes. Out, out of the tent he went, back into the heat of the midday sun, looking for his grandfather and for home, chased by phantom shadows as he vanished again into the crowd.

A special thanks to u/bluefishcake for the wonderful original story and sandbox to play in.
A special thanks to my editors LordHenry7898, RandomTinkerer, Swimming_Good_8507, CatsInTrenchcoats, and KLiCKonthat.
And a big thanks to the authors and their stories that inspired me to tell my own in this universe. RandomTinkerer (City Slickers and Hayseeds), Punnynfunny (Denied Operations), CompassWithHat (Top Lasgun), CarCU131 (The Cook), and Rhion-618 (Just One Drop)
Hy’shq’e Ay Si’am (Thank you noble friends)
​
Chapter 29: Knowing a Good Deal When You Hear One
The days that followed the party were a bit of a blur to Andy. The ‘work’ seemed barely worth it to him, but the Vaidas and several of their Team Leads swore up and down that his services and knowledge were invaluable. The first few days had been spent crawling through their Terraria labs and all over the Oppression Palace finding and removing all the noxious weeds he could think of and identify. Mostly it amounted to the satisfying task of hacking away Himalayan Blackberry thickets with machetes and ‘sanitizing’ them with a special kind of flamethrower. It was cathartic work, broken up only by the strange sensation of having to teach little ‘classes’ about how to identify them out in the wild.
Puck was fast becoming a beloved mascot with all the field teams and scientists, and Andy suspected they’d been sneaking him treats behind his back. Andy knew Puck was getting extra food from somewhere with all the weight he was putting on, and he had no short list of suspects with the way Puck was always reluctant to leave the Commissary.
Andy hadn’t seen much of Narny or Sitry outside of meals in the Commissary, given their schedules being so different. Naranjo was busy helping his father in the Climatology Labs, while Sitry was busy shadowing her Kho-mother Sakalbi out in the Pacific, taking water samples and measuring oxygen levels in the open water west of Vancouver Island. Kalai had disappeared, and from the grumbling of Sitry and Naranjo, she was out on vacation with her father. That fact was confirmed when Kalai had started sending pictures and writing honest to goodness email letters to him. They’d spent a few days sailing from New Bedford to Nantucket, and Dr. He’osforos had taken both of them tuna fishing. The last couple days they’d spent snorkeling out at the Great Barrier Reef. She talked of all the sea creatures she’d encountered, and there had been a delivery a few days after that of fresh tuna, and Andy had happily turned that into steaks, sandwiches, salads, even sushi rolls when he’d looked up a recipe. They were a huge hit with the Vaidas when he’d been able to share them, and it wasn’t long before Maestro Pae’ella had put in a formal request for Andy to spend some time in his kitchen for ‘a cultural exchange of culinary traditions’.
‘Culture’ and ‘tradition’ seemed to be the new buzzwords in the Warren, and outreach programs were already in development to engage with ‘indigenous’ peoples around the world. Andy pointed them in the direction of other nations and peoples they could work with, and entire teams had been formed preparing for ‘introductions’. From what Andy’d heard, the initial outreach to the Catalans and the Basques in France and Spain had gone well, and the team that had made an outreach to the Ket peoples of Siberia were reporting successes.
“I’m not sure about some of these peoples in the Amazon… but the Maori and the Mayans have always been good friends and allies to us. You’ll also probably have good luck with the Sami in the northern part of Sweden, Norway, and Finland. They used to be regular visitors to some of the big international gatherings, according to Grandma.” It was a bit surreal, looking up at a map of the world with colored lights indicating field teams that were either in the process of or planning to make contact with known indigenous groups that they’d identified.
“Almost two hundred and thirty seven positive interactions across four continents so far. The only thing hampering us is the bottleneck on field teams!” Aftasia was ecstatic about the progress they were starting to make, and new data was starting to pour in from all over.
The real coup was the Ojibwe Elder who had been a professor at the University of Minnesota. Through her, they’d been starting to make contact with other out-of-work professors, indigenous and non-native, and the Vaidas were on a virtual hiring spree.
“What I don’t understand is, why didn’t you all talk to the Universities first? I’d assumed you’d have done that the moment the majority of the gunfire stopped.”
“In hindsight, it was pretty stupid, but much of the data collected by your climate scientists that we were able to look at prior to the invasion was either incomplete, lacked historical context, or was flat out falsified. The sheer amount of conflicting data analysis and inconsistencies in the collection and reporting process didn’t exactly engender a great deal of confidence in your climate sciences.” Aftasia gave Andy a sheepish look as the main monitor of the control center switched views. The control center was far busier these days than it had been since the atmospheric scrubbers had been installed, and Aftasia led Andy back to her office overlooking the whole room so they could continue their conversation without having to raise their voices over the din.
“Of course, after we’d landed, our military and several corporate interests had raided anything deemed ‘of value’ and took people and data troves Empress alone knows where. By the time we were getting started on ecological restoration, there wasn’t much of anything that was usable. Academics for the most part wouldn’t speak to us.” Aftasia offered Andy a cup of coffee. It had been a gift from one of their teams working in Cuba and everyone in the Warren had learned the hard way that a small amount of Cuban coffee went a long way. “But that’s all changing thanks to you!” Her smile was bright and genuine, but Andy felt a pang of anxiousness when she did.
Andy shifted a bit nervously, as Aftasia pulled her omnipad out and opened the map again. “We’re also looking into making contact with several of the tribes and peoples in Africa and Southern Asia as well. Would you be able to help us there?”
“I’d be as lost and as foreign as you with their protocols and traditions… but if you can make inroads with the people who’ve been living in their home with their traditions still intact like you have, you’ll be able to restore their home to the way it’s supposed to be.” Andy shrugged, which caused Aftasia to adopt a muted version of her daughter’s pout. It still didn’t seem to register, sometimes, that Andy didn’t know all the tribal peoples around the globe. He’d noticed that if he didn’t remind them, they’d unintentionally start treating him like a Pan-Indian expert on all things indigenous; no matter where that particular type of indigenous was located.
“You’re right, of course. Oh, I missed yesterday’s briefing. How’s our tower ecosystem looking these days?”
Andy thought about it for a minute before answering. “It’s coming along. We’ve ripped up most of the invasives I could find, so now it’s just down to maintenance and seeing if anything went to seed. We’ve also removed most of the gray squirrels, but there’s this one little clever bast… uh, what I mean to say is… smart little rodent that keeps evading the capture teams on level twenty nine. Other than that, the feeder installation for the hummingbirds and the tree trimming for the Balds and the Goldens is coming along nicely. We should be done right when the autumn rains really get going.”
“Good, good! So I think today is the day when we stock the first of the Hwatcom Hatcheries from our clone stock. I know today is normally your day to run the Invasives Identification course, but since all our field teams are deployed around the globe, could I ask you to be the liaison between our crews and your people again?”
Andy gave a half laugh and a nod. When he wasn’t crawling around the giant labs and the tower’s self-contained forests, or talking to thankfully small groups of Erbians, Rakiri, and Shil’vati, Andy was out at the Hwatcom Reservation. Officially he was there as a liaison, but the reality was for him to sit to the side, bored out of his skull while the actual engineers and experts did the work of bringing the Fishery back to life.
There was one perk though. He’d gotten the message on his old email account from Willy about a race, and he wanted to know when he’d be available for practice. Andy knew he’d have little trouble slipping away from the jobsite to meet up with Tribe’s Warchief.
“Yeah, I’ll hitch a ride on one of the shuttles, when’s the next one leaving?”
--------------------
Andy walked up the little deer path into the woods and away from the Hatchery he was supposedly overseeing. He’d told the Rakiri Forewoman that he was going to stretch his legs and he’d be on his omnipad if they needed him. She understood, and told him to have a nice walk.
The war meeting was being held in one of the ancient village sites that had been swallowed by the forest gone wild. As Andy reached the little clearing, he saw several people, mostly his age, sitting around a flat, open piece of ground where one of their Longhouses used to stand. Andy could see the old corner-post logs still upright and charred from where they’d been burned during the Shil’vati invasion.
Uncle Willy looked up from where he leaned against an old cedar tree as Andy approached. “Ah, good, the Sheloksets are here, now we can begin." The old man had ditched his walker and he motioned for Andy to take a seat next to Chuck.
“So the purp lover got permission to take a break at last. What’s it like getting paid to sell out your soul?”
Andy looked over at the speaker. He wore dirty jeans and an old faded gray sweatshirt, giving nothing away about his Clan or Band. Andy didn’t recognize him at all. Must be one of those northern or eastern Salishians from over the mountains.
“I sleep well on a bed made of money, cuz. Enough to buy back what you couldn’t take back, *s’tuduk*!” Andy spat back and glared down at the man. He was Andy’s size, and if he was anything like the rest that Uncle Willy had gathered, an experienced and formidable fighter.
The man jumped up and looked ready to charge, but a growl from Willy stopped him cold. “Enough, save the insults for the enemy. We have the work of the people to do now.” Andy had been chomping at the bit for some stress relief. The drinking and the smoking could only do so much, and playing the part of the gentle giant around the hwun’eetums had meant that he could find no real outlet these days. Willy motioned for Andy to take a seat next to Chuck.
“The fuck’s wrong with you? Do you know who that is?” Chuck whispered in his ear as Andy stared the man down. Andy could tell he was being sized up, and in his head he knew there was going to be a fight today.
“Do I look like I give a shit?” Andy murmured back, appraising the man and trying to gauge what he could and couldn’t get away with.
Andy heard Chuck heave a sigh, “Your funeral, cuz, you didn’t have to call him that.”
Andy looked around at the gathering of young men and women that surrounded him. He knew most of them, and he was on mostly good terms with everyone. There were representatives from fourteen different Clans there, and though they were a minority, he was relieved to see that he wasn’t the only tumulh in attendance. One of his friends that had survived the residential school with him, Dean-oh, was there and so were his three cousins. All of them were tumulhs like he was. The throng of about thirty stilled to silence as Willy walked into the center.
“We got word through the grapevine: Scarface is on the warpath again. She and her militia goons are gearing up for a major raid against Quil Ceda, Red Wind, Skagit, Silver Reef, Clearwater, Emerald Queen, and Muckleshoot. In total, all seven of the southern casino caches, and they’re going to be hitting us in five days.” Andy and Chuck flashed each other a quick look but stayed silent. If Scarface was coming for all seven, then this was going to be an ‘All Hands On Deck’ knock-down-drag-out with the purps.
“How much of the Council’s assets are there?” Dean-oh’s voice broke the pregnant pause and everyone, including Willy, stared.
Before Willy could speak, the filthy unknown spoke again. “Should we even be talking about it with the purp lover here?”
“Talk shit again, and see what happens,” Andy growled and leaned forward, ready to engage. That beast that lay inside him started to stir, and Andy could feel all the small and large stressors in his life pour into it, feeding it and making it stronger than ever. Yup, gonna get in a fight today!
“Enough!” Uncle Willy’s words were directed at the both of them, but his steel gaze wasn’t directed at Andy. He felt a hand on his shoulder as Chuck held onto him, trying to pull him back. “About a third, along with several ancient masks and other artifacts that the Shil claim belong to them as prizes of war,” Willy continued after the two of them had complied and stood down.
The story of the last great raid of the Salish and their victory against the Shil’vati Imperium came back to him. Just after Grandpa split the Tribe, and Uncle Willy was selected as Warchief, the Shil’vati had been on a tear, removing all the humans in the area and looting everything they could get their hands on. Salishian Art Collections, especially those that had been on loan or were under litigation in the archives and galleries of the White Universities and Museums were being systematically robbed. They’d even ransacked the masks, blankets, and artifacts from the homes and smokehouses of the- then empty- Reservations.
Uncle Willy had planned and led his first official raid as Warchief to recover the Tribe’s artifacts, masks, artwork, and carvings from the depots where the conquerors were gathering them up. It had been one of the few joint raids with the Exiles. Grandpa Wiley and Uncle Willy had coordinated an attack that hadn’t even touched off the hwun’eetum’s alarms. By the time they realized their loot had been taken back, the heritage of the Tribe and a massive stockpile of wealth the Shil had seized was hidden away in safe storages for the day the Tribe would be able to return.
In the beginning, it had been the Exiles that had maintained the only Tribal presence in the ancestral homelands, and they had made the purps pay in blood for every indignity they’d suffered. Andy was proud of the fact that the whole reason the Imperials had seemingly stationed so many regiments along the west coast was directly because of the damage Grandpa Wiley and his Exiles had caused.
“So we’re moving ‘em north. We’ll be calling in the Exiles to kick in too, and that’s where you two come in.” Andy gave a start as Uncle Willy turned and looked dead at Andy and Chuck. “You and Charles’ll put the Exiles to work on the diversion while we move our gear out.”
There was murmuring from the crowd at that pronouncement. Andy held Uncle Willy’s gaze, unfazed by the assignment. The others might have feared to be associated with Exiles, but Andy and Chuck had participated in and led enough raids with them that the threat of being cut off and lumped in with them was passé. The effect of their assignment on the others, however, was immediate. The fearful stares and sudden tenseness around the gathering was so thick you could cut it with a knife.
“You will inform the Exiles that they’re to hit the Militia supply depot outside North Bend and Tanner where we know the purps are gathering the supplies for this raid and others. Remember the proscriptions when dealing with the Exiles. You can fight alongside, but you cannot assist or render aid, unless you want to join them permanently.” Willy’s warning was one Andy had heard before, and had at times ignored when out on a raid. To hell with that, they’re still our family and I won’t leave ANYONE to our enemies, regardless of status.
Andy looked over at Chuck and they shared a look that conveyed their mutual feelings on the matter. “We got this, Unck. Point ‘em at the enemy and cut ‘em loose,” Chuck spoke while Andy nodded.
Willy nodded appreciatively, “Steal whatever isn’t nailed down, destroy the rest. Once you’ve kicked the hornet’s nest, fall back to the foothills moving towards Lake Kanim. Anticipate you’ll be pursued with drones and hunting reex, so pull them along the old Bessemer logging road where the Resistance will be waiting to take care of any of those pesky little problems.”
“We’re working with the whites now? When did that happen?” Chuck chimed in.
“On my authority, and only when we need a patsy,” Willy replied before continuing. “We want their fingerprints on this, not ours. You’ll link with the Resistance, who’ll get you over the mountains and into Chelan. Let them spray their tags and throw a few rounds at your pursuers so they feel like they helped.” Willy took a breath and tilted his head a bit as he regarded Andy. “That fancy new lightbox of yours. Does it have a number?”
Without waiting for Andy to respond, he continued. “Give me a call on my cell and wait for contact information from our new buddies.” Andy nodded and pulled his omnipad out and dialed Willy’s number before quickly hanging up.
“You’ll give them half the take for safe passage and break up there. Head to the Kootenai Band to the east or the Upper River Halkumenum in the north. They’ll give you your alibis and move you back home safe. Go war masked, to stop any positive identification. Do you have any questions?”
Andy thought for a moment, and looked over at Chuck. He was thankful that Chuck was on assignment with him, because it meant that he wouldn’t be in charge. A sense of relief washed over him the more he thought about it. Hell, Chuck could probably handle the real planning. All I’ll have to do is be a Witness and a backup. “How much of the Tribe’s arsenal do we have access to?” Chuck’s question brought Andy back to the present.
“None; the Exiles supply their own,” Willy answered in a serious tone before moving to stand over Andy. Andy looked up and a sudden wave of apprehension fell over him. “Neph, given the circumstances, normally I’d tell you to wait at the Rendezvous point with the hwun’eetum but…” Andy looked up, and a pit of anger and fear grew into a solid leaden weight in his chest. Willy looked over at the man on the other side of the circle that had spoken earlier before looking back at Andy, “But there’s quite a few folks who would like to see you prove you remember which side you’re on. You’ll go in with Chuck as your battle buddy and you keep the Exiles in line. Witness any that fall, and keep the whites from turning on us out there.”
Andy had a sudden sense of foreboding, and he felt his heart start to race. He focused for a moment on controlling his breathing to try and calm himself down.
“Charles, I know you’re the Stommish, but Andy has more experience leading these attacks than you do. Andy, you’ll be in charge.” Willy’s words crashed down on Andy’s soul and he felt the whole world tumble out from under him. Although it was a breach of protocol, Willy wasn’t exactly wrong. Andy had led his fair share of raids in the last six years, but they’d all been hit and runs. Lob a few molotovs and set an ambush for Wendigos or snooping marines here and there, or break into the Cambrian supply depots for food, weapons, medicine, and ammunition. Andy had been on point for those little jaunts not because he was better qualified, but because he’d had the right last name and Clan affiliation. Willy had said as much the first time he’d sent twelve year old Andy out to a protest with a bottle full of homemade naphtha and a lighter. “You are a Shelokset. Your lineage is one of warriors and leaders. Your family blazed a path into battle for the rest of our people to follow… And you? You survived the hwun’eetums trying to break you. Show us the way, Ts’uti’tsi’uqw. Take back your voice and your spirit from the colonizers!”
Willy’s words and a nudge from Chuck brought Andy back to the present again where the Elder was hovering over him. Willy put a steadying hand on Andy’s shoulder and the two locked eyes for a moment. That steel gaze transfixed him, and there was no give in the order or its intent. “The plan is yours, Shelokset, and you are permitted to speak and meet with the Exiles… by Council dispensation.”
Andy’s roiling emotions took a back seat as the analytical part of his mind began to take over. Just get through this. Plan it well and no one needs to die. The permission to openly meet with the Exiles was novel. Normally Andy would have to sneak off and meet with Jackie and her goons on the sly to make sure their raids were planned properly and to get good recon on a target so it could be hit without turning into a firefight. Andy looked about the gathering at the stoney faces surrounding him before he looked back at Willy. In a moment of sudden clarity, it struck Andy as to why Uncle Willy was breaking protocol. “So this comes from Grandma?”
Willy nodded gravely, “You should go visit with her. She and the rest of the Council are worried about you… best not leave that off too much longer.” Willy’s implication stung. Andy knew what he was doing, and even though he’d not had Grandma’s or the Council’s permission to work with the Vaidas, it was all working out in their favor. How can they doubt me when we have land and money coming back to the people?
“If you get your hands dirty out there, so much the better.” Andy’s heart stilled at those words. That’s the price of acceptance. They want me to kill someone to prove I’m still a Salishian.
Andy’s jaw tightened enough that he could have crushed diamonds in his teeth. He glared up at the Elder with open hatred. “I’ve never had a problem getting my hands dirty, Uncle Willy; you of all people know that to be true. I am a Shelokset and a Bear… The Tribe always comes first, always.” Andy felt insulted to his very core, and cold fury bubbled up in his soul.
“If he remembers which side he’s fighting for, there shouldn’t be any problems.” The silence was broken by the man who’d antagonized him before. Though he spoke to his buddy next to him, the words were loud enough that he meant them to be heard.
Andy rocketed up to his feet, no longer willing or able to contain himself. “Ok, motherfucker, you got something to say, say it like a fucking man to my fucking face!” Willy backed away and made a motion for everyone else to stay out of it. The other man rose evenly to his feet and smiled.
“Fuck you, you colonized fucking Fort Indian!” The man began walking in a circle in an easy and relaxed way. Even his words were relaxed. Andy could see through his ploy in an instant. He wants me mad and blind. Fucking amature hour.
Andy’s body switched to fight mode and suddenly everything in his mind went clear. His heart rate slowed and the cobwebs of doubt and fear fell away. “Let’s go! Right here, right now, crab-bait!” Andy played his emotions up. Let the moron think he had the upper hand.
Andy put his fists up into a guard, and the man did the same. He bounced and danced his feet back and forth like he knew martial arts. “Just so you know, Fort, my name is-”
Andy launched himself with blinding speed forward and sent a vicious kick into the idiot’s front knee. Andy felt the joint give at the surprise attack just as he was about to monologue and followed him to the ground, unleashing all his pent up frustration and anxiety on the bastard. Andy let loose a feral howl of rage as he felt two sets of arms arrest his own and drag him up and off.
“Meat! Your name is Dead Meat, dumbass!” Andy howled at the man on the ground, who was being helped up by his friends. Chuck and Uncle Willy held Andy fast as Andy struggled against them to re-engage. He looked down at Willy and at Chuck, “Let me go, let me the fuck go-”
Stars blossomed and his vision swirled. Andy’s head snapped back at the punch that hit him in the temple, followed by what felt like a sledgehammer blow to the chest that sent him tumbling backwards out of Chuck and Willy’s grip and onto the ground. Instinct caused Andy to lash out with a foot as he hit the ground and he felt it connect with something soft on somebody.
Andy rose back up to his feet just in time to catch a roundhouse punch to the ear. Andy leaned away and threw an uppercut that connected with his assailant’s jaw. It bought him enough time to regain his senses and take stock of his opponent. He was serious now, no more being relaxed, and no more quippy shit. This was a fight now, and the two of them circled, looking for an opening.
Andy feinted, drawing a flinch and Andy closed in. The two were toe-to-toe as they hammered away at each other. Andy acted on instinct and training as he attacked and defended as best he could, but his opponent was stronger and faster than he was. With every passing blow, Andy felt his strength sap and the pain threaten to overwhelm him. Just as he was about to break, a hand grabbed him by the collar and pushed him back. Through the blurry vision he could make out the shape of Uncle Willy, standing firm between the two of them and holding them both firm at arm’s length.
“Alright. You both have had enough and I can’t have my two best fighters injuring themselves!” The roar from Willy froze the pair of them, and Andy was able to get a look at his opponent. One of his eyes was swollen shut, and his entire front was stained in blood from his nose and mouth. He held his side and was leaning to the left as Willy held him up and back. Andy slowly became aware of a stinging feeling and the taste of copper in his mouth as the adrenaline from the fight wore off. He brought his hand up and checked his teeth to make sure they were all there. One of his molars felt loose, but otherwise they were all present. His nose was clogged and his chest and stomach ached but nothing felt broken.
“Now shake hands, damnit, or I’ll dump the both of you in a crab-pot and cut the buoy.” Willy shook them once and dragged them back together. Andy felt like he should apologize, but pride kept him from opening his mouth to make the first gesture. The two of them glared at each other through bleary eyes before Andy’s opponent thrust his hand out. Andy took it and masked a grimace as the bastard clenched his grip before yanking his hand back.
Andy only moved to return to his seat with Chuck after the other guy had returned to his own seat.
Uncle Willy continued with the plan to move their goods out of the casinos, but because it didn’t concern him, Andy let his attention wander as he took stock of his new collections of cuts, bruises, sores, and aches.
“Damn, Andy, when you make enemies, you sure don’t fuck around,” Chuck whispered in his ear which had only just stopped ringing.
Andy gave Chuck a side-eye. “The fuck’s that mean?”
“That’s fucking Dave Skwemai. Councilwoman Roselyn’s son, you mean-tempered jackass!”
“Well fuck him twice over then. It’s their family that fucked the tribe over, and calling me a fucking ‘purp lover’ is rich when his mother took it up the ass for Ta’naios and exiled the best of us in the first place.” Andy looked back over at Dave who was listening to Uncle Willy, before shaking his head and falling silent.
The sound of running feet caused the whole gathering to spring up and look at the breathless native woman running their way. “Andy, you better get down there,” she called. “Some hogface is talking all kinds of crazy and trying to tell us we don’t own the Hatchery. The dummy-bunnies are getting jittery and our people are ready to fight.”
The entire gathering turned to look at Andy and the silence that hung in the air was oppressive. Willy broke the silence. “Go speak good purp, neph; you already know what you're going to do.”
----------------------
The look of horror on the Rakiri Forewoman’s face just about summed up everything Andy needed to know about his appearance. He didn’t think she believed his quippy lie about slipping off the trail and tumbling down a tree studded hill, but she didn’t press all that hard either.
He was led quickly towards a heavy set Shil’vati woman in a pantsuit, standing next to a sleek black Shil’vati sized sedan. Her back was facing him, while she seemed to be trying to loom over a tan furred Erbian woman who was rapidly tapping her toe and glaring up at her. Her ears were pulled back in what Andy had come to recognize as annoyance or anger. Andy approached as silently as the Rakiri woman that flanked him until he stood quietly listening to the Shil woman talk. Andy stood for a moment and took stock of the woman. Her clothes were fancy and tailor made, but displayed no rank pins, badges, or any other symbols to identify her. Her hair was a conservative bob cut, but the beret in it was gold and jewel encrusted.
“-and I insist that you take me to the human or humans that own this property immediately. Failure to comply will-”
“What do you want, hwun’eetum?” Andy boomed his voice, sudden and loud enough that he knew he could have been heard over gale-force winds. It had the desired effect of causing the Shil’vati woman to screech and stumble to the ground. Andy enjoyed watching the play of emotions on the Shil woman’s face as she looked up from the gravel patch she’d fallen down on. Anger turned to confusion, to horror, and back to anger again before she managed to fake a mask of neutrality as she picked herself up and tried to brush herself off. A little crowd was starting to form behind Andy and he adopted his best stoic persona.
“Are you the human owner of this facility?”
“You might say he speaks for ‘em, hwun’eetum. What do you want?” A voice from the crowd shouted, and Andy folded his arms and cocked an eyebrow at the flustered woman.
“You have a message for the Salish? Speak, I’m listening.”
“I am Agent Lana Ti’lanis from I-TAD, and I’m here to make an appraisal on this business and assess the tithe owed to the Empress. You will kindly order a work stoppage until my investigation is complete.” The woman tried to look official and domineering, but it was hard to take her seriously with her suit mussed and off kilter, not to mention she lacked that gravitas and arrogance that Andy had come to expect from his run-ins with government agents. Still, she did crowd into his personal space, getting far closer than he was comfortable with.
Andy reached down into his pocket and pulled out his pack of Lucky Strikes. Without giving an inch to the woman, he jumped a cigarette up into his mouth and lit it. He took a quick drag and puffed the smoke into the woman’s face, causing her to cough and sputter before retreating a step or two.
“Sorry, about that, these things do have a tendency to reach out and grab ya.” Andy waved the cigarette around before popping it back in his mouth and letting it sit there. “So what’s dis here ‘eye-tad’ an’ why should we stop what we’re doin’ fur it?” He adopted his thickest Indian drawl as he slouched a little, shoving one hand in his pocket.
The woman gave Andy an appraising look and flashed him a predatory smile. “Well Mister…?”
“Injun. Joe Injun.”
She took out an omnipad and began typing. “Injun, Joe. Is that spelled with a ‘J’ or a ‘G’?”
“Two ‘J’s and an ‘E’ at the end.”
“Contact number?”
“Three six oh, eight six seven… five… three, oh, nine.”
“Ok, well, Mister Injun, I have some bad news for you. You see, when the Vaida Warren gifted this facility to your clients, they failed to give notice to the Imperial Government by filing form A-113. I’m sure your clients will be able to have this little issue resolved if you could provide me with the Government ITAD exemption number? Every government organization has one… You are a part of the Imperial bureaucracy, yes?”
“No. We… that is to say, my clients… are all Injuns, an’ the numbers we got come from the Government, innit?”
“Oh, I’m afraid that’s going to be a problem. If the Vaidas acquired the facilities with government funds and gifted them to a private entity, that’s going to trigger a 23-19. I’m going to need you to read over this file, Mr. Injun.” She held her omnipad up expectantly waiting to swipe over the file, but Andy took the whole omnipad out of her hand instead. He backed away and turned so that only he could see the screen; holding it up and pretending to try and change the angle so that he could read it in the sunlight, but Andy used the sudden screen privacy to minimize the file. Instead of reading, he began rifling through her contacts and login settings. It hadn’t escaped him that she hadn’t shown a badge, but the Shil weren’t known for always flashing those anyway.
“Uh, hmm, well yes, Mr. Injun… I could always send it to you-” She tentatively reached out to try and take back her omnipad, but Andy blew another puff of smoke in her face, causing her to recoil away from him without her property. Andy started slowly pacing while he started rifling through her camera gallery, social media, and even got her bank account open. One thing became very clear to him almost immediately. ‘Agent’ Lana was not from the government. Her direct deposit paychecks came from a ‘Mavri’petra Venture Capital Investments LLC’. Andy took a screenshot of her bank and personal information and sent it to himself before deleting the thread on her end and erasing the screenshot. He turned and pulled the file back open and put it at the bottom before handing it back to her.
“I’m sorry, I’m not sure I understan’ dis. Could you explain what a 23-19 is to me?” Andy adopted the most innocent and ignorant look he could. He almost tripped over his own accent and decided to dial it back some.
The woman gave Andy a patronizing look and an indulgent smile. “In short, Mr. Injun, it means that your clients would be responsible for not only the cost to the Imperial taxpayer, but for the appraised value of the property and business too.” She looked him up and down before running her gaze over the humans in the crowd behind him. “A property like this and the two others that were gifted to your clients? You could be looking at millions of credits, payable upon completion of the assessment. Would I be correct in assuming that your clients would be… hard pressed to make such a payment?”
Andy made a show of thinking by rolling his eyes up and pursing his lips. “Dat’s a lotta money for us Injuns, innit?” Andy called out to the crowd who had mixed reactions of laughter and serious affirmations.
“It’s my duty to inform you that standard bankruptcy laws wouldn’t apply to this assessment, and after full seizure of all assets, if the payment cannot be made, then the minimum sentence would be ten years for all of you and your families.”
Andy thought about shivering for effect, but thought better of it. Less is more. “That’s a bit steep for acceptin’ a gift, innit?”
“I know it can seem like it but… I’m not exactly supposed to do this, but…” The woman fished a card out of her blouse and offered it to Andy. “My Kho-wife is a member of Mavri’petra. It’s a philanthropic organization that specializes in helping citizens of newly acquired worlds protect their assets from government seizure by buying the titles of contested property or businesses and holding them under the LLC tax umbrella. It’s all quite technical and she could explain it far better than I can, but it does ensure that these little tax wrinkles are sorted out, while making the true owners partners with full shares in the organization. While I’m conducting my appraisal, you could give her a call. I’m sure she’d love to help you and the rest of the Injuns!”
Andy turned and gave the gathered crowd a look. The Erbian and Rakiri engineers were whispering, clearly worried about ITAD and any potential tax issues that could shut down the project. The Hwatcoms on the other hand, had a completely different reaction.
“Do you think your wife could help me? I just inherited this bridge out in Brooklyn and I don’t want to deal with the taxes, would your wife be willing to buy it too?”
Before the woman could answer, another voice from the Hwatcom side of the crowd behind Andy shouted out. “My family’s been in possession of this prime real estate in Florida. They want to build a mall there, and we want out before we can’t afford the taxes. Could your firm assist and buy it from us?” Several other questions in the same line flew out fast and furious as the alien engineers started to catch on to what was happening. The Shil woman however seemed completely oblivious.
”Listen, of course I’ll be happy to let my wife know about that bridge for sale and that land in Florida. I’ll tell you what, why don’t I ask and see if she’s willing to buy this place sight unseen? I’m sure I could get you around one and a half million credits worth of shares. It’d be worth ten times as much as the salary you’d make working for the Government Ecologists. What do you say?” she asked as she started to place a call on her omnipad.
The sudden laughter from everyone present stopped her in her tracks, and she stared in confusion as the whole crowd started to break up. The Forewoman started shouting that the break and the show were over, leaving only Andy standing with the now flustered woman.
“I think… you need to leave,” Andy growled as he looked over to the treeline and got in her face to blow smoke in it again. “You tell your greedy, colonial, slitlicking ‘wife’ that our land and our heritage aren’t for sale. So you best leave before they never find you again.”
“You can’t threaten me, I’m an Agent of-”
Andy grabbed her by her ear and dragged her back to her vehicle and shoved her in. “I just did, and if you have more than two functioning brain cells, you’ll see that my threat is intended to save your life; because you’d be safer trying to take a carcass from a pack of starving Rakiri than be standing right here, right now.” Andy looked up and nodded at Willy who was standing a ways off, watching the whole scene with the rest of his gathering.
“But I-” she sputtered as Andy slammed the door on her.
“Everybody gets one… and you just burned yours.”
​
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I 'm looking for suggestions for trails near Bristol County MA / Warwick RI.
What I'm after: So basically I work in the Warwick RI ish area, and I'm looking for some shorter trails I can hit between there and the MA border after work for an hour maybe two, ride time. Would prefer keeping it within 20 min of Warwick and the 95 / 195 interstate to the MA border. Then some for like an all day ride on the weekend, IE: up and out of the house at 8a, get to a place by 10a have 6+ hours worth of trails available, to be back home by 8p.
My skill level: I used to go mtn biking bout 20ish years ago through random wooded areas when I liven in AL. Like basically riding our bikes up a hiking trail on one of the mountains, then picking a random direction that was not the trail, and attempt to bomb down the side of a mountain and not die. Nothing professional, or ranked. Just a couple of friends being profoundly stupid. It was dangerous, and probably illegal . So I'd say beginner being it's been so long, but depending on on how fast my body remembers "the feels" I might be closer to an intermediate rider. Being we didn't ride trails that had a ranking, if I had to hazard a guess just watching videos on youtube I'd say I would have been somewhere between a blue and black on flow style trails and prolly a blue on tech heavy trails. As I said best estimate from watching videos. As for now I can ride on the road, hop my bike up curbs, kinda climb the hills in the city with some huffing and wheezing. But can easily ride and steer shallow turns with no hands. so *shrug* who knows?
My ride: It's the DRT 1.1 from REI coop. I did swap the pedals out for some raceface chester pedals, as the "stock" ones flexed under my weight. So entry level?
Information on any like "biking clubs" in the area would also be cool. Nothing with fees, just a casual group that may arrange meet up groups here and there.
Thanks for any suggestions.

“When you thrust, step in with your opposite foot,” Lex explained as Gregory mimicked her motions, “you’ll want to twist the spear slightly as you do, this’ll help you maintain a grip and provide better leverage.”
Gregory simply nodded along as he slowly stabbed out with the replacement spear Lex had given him. Apparently the convoy had quite a few, as they were expect to break or be thrown in usage, so each of the half dozen wooden carts had a few stashed in easily reachable locations. Rather than the steel tip that was all that remained of Gregory’s previous weapon these had cheaper iron ones, more prone to chipping but far cheaper.
Over the last couple days he’d gotten to know the various groups in the caravan, many were traveling traders, largely independent family owned carts but two of the wains were owned by a larger merchant’s guild that operated out of Templeholm. The differences between the two were easily noticeable, the guild carts led the caravan, had more horses, better maintained wagons and more goods in large wooden crates that bore a variety of official looking stamps. They were also the ones who’d originally hired people to serve as escort, with other traders pitching in so they could share the protection. Once word that a priest of Dalvos was taking part the size of the caravan had nearly doubled, apparently.
Not only did her presence offer greater protection than a handful of armed guards, but it have the convoy an air of legitimacy that some of the more conservative traders considered important. Open banditry wasn’t common, if only because of the threat of monsters, but each of the more cautious traders had stories of people who joined an ‘official’ caravan only to be robbed and left for dead by those who had created it. A priest of Dalvos made that impossible, since He would never allow such a perversion.
Gregory’s question about hiring a fake priest was laughed off by the traders. Later Lex explained to him that the god of truth had what sounded to him like an inquisition that hunted down those who pretended to be priests and, with rare exception, the clergy of every other god assisted them.
“No god wants their name tarnished,” she’d explained while implying that being targeted by this inquisition was to be marked for death. It didn’t matter how careful one was, if you falsely claimed a blessing, especially if you used that claim to mislead others, they would find you.
“Thanks,” Gregory said as the training session drew to a close, in the evenings Lex had begun teaching him the basics of how to fight with a spear in addition to lending him a spare.
“Last time I fought another ascender he,” Gregory paused, wondering how to describe it, “he won. Without much difficulty.”
“You’ll need more than some basic fighting skills to fight another Ascender,” Lex smirked at him, handing him a water skin after taking a long pull from it herself, “have you been testing out your abilities?”
“Ya,” he nodded, “I’ve found a couple of commands I can give that work. Like on that wolf… thing.”
During the day Lex had been busy with her escort duties, being the strongest local present, and the most trusted thanks to her status as a priest, people often turned to her for help. The rest of the time she would be scouting out the road ahead or ensuring everyone was keeping up. Occasionally she’d stop by and chat with Gregory but clearly took her job too seriously to slack off. So during that time Gregory had been messing around with his aura ability, and it’s apparent power to enforce his commands.
There were rather significant restrictions on what commands he could give. Most notably he could only manage one-word commands, and they had to be short words at that. The kind of thing he could bark at someone in a single breath. But they also had to be simple, the ones he found easiest were ‘stop’ and ‘come’ which arrested the movement of something or forced it towards him respectively. The command only lasted a few seconds, depending on how heavy what he was commanding was and how much it resisted. He could also tell that issuing commands in rapid sequence would reduce their effectiveness.
“That could be useful,” Lex noted as Gregory finished his explanation, “proper use of that ability could give you an edge.”
“I… don’t know,” Gregory replied, “seems too situational for regular use.”
“Hardly, I think it’s a very powerful ability,” she countered, “telling an enemy’s sword to stop, even for a fraction of a second, could turn around a fight. You could throw your spear and then order it to come back, or pull someone off balance.”
“I hadn’t considered that,” admitted Gregory.
“Never look down on any ability you have,” Lex told him, “every ability, no matter how minor, is an expression of your soul’s power. Your nature will guide you in how to use it, but to evolve it you must make it your own.”
*****
The church of Guidance looked almost like an afterthought, compared to the various grand cathedrals that covered the top of the massive stone of Templeholm. A small previously unused annex that had been converted into a proper, if small, church.
“The Church of Guidance isn’t very active this far from the World Wood,” the priest explained, “their presence here is more token than anything.”
“Easily the smallest,” Nathen nodded, then gestured over his shoulder to a cluster of six steeples that towered over the rest of the buildings, “especially compared to those.”
“Those are the temples to the elemental deities,” the bishop explained, “there weren’t many gods of man when Templeholm was founded, but those were, and remain, the most powerful.”
“Gods of man?” the ascender asked.
“Like the one you visited, they are aspects of man. Compared to the Gods of Nature, or the elemental gods, who represent the six foundational aspects of the world.”
“I thought there were only four classic elements.”
“Perhaps in your world,” the bishop chuckled, “here we have six, fire and water, earth and air, and light and dark. I am one of those few blessed by the god of air.”
“Shouldn’t the more powerful gods have more people with blessings?”
“The Gods of Nature aren’t like the Gods of Man, they don’t require worship. If every human is killed the Gods of Man would fade away but not the Gods of Nature, so long as the world exists so to shall they. This makes them powerful, but also unconcerned with the affairs of mortals.”
“So why hand out blessings at all?”
“Because of the Tempest King, have you not been told of the pact he made?” the older man looked at Nathen in confusion, “if not I suggest you ask your lady friend about it, or perhaps another member of the church of guidance. I’d tell you but I fear my views are somewhat biased.”
“Eh,” Nathen shrugged, despite his curiosity he figured this was all just lore. The Tempest king was just some historical figure on which aspects important to the setting could be based. Interesting to the lore of the game but not critical to his playtest.
“In any case, here we are,” the bishop said as they reached the entrance to the church of guidance. While it was smaller than the church of freedom it was much better tended with a well-lit interior and clean floors. The bishop said his farewell and left as Nathen strode into the small building.
“Nathen!” the woman he’d escorted shouted, waving to him as she emerged from a side room with a leather pouch, “here, your payment.”
“Ah, sweet,” he replied, opening it to inspect the various odd coins present, “what about that sword thing?”
“Oh, the sky blade?” she asked, looking uncomfortable, “about that…”
“It’s more complex than just scouring the archives,” another voice carried from the room the woman had emerged from and soon enough a middle-aged man emerged, wearing the same plain brown robes as the woman and a shiny, bald head.
“The Vault of the Sky Blade moves around, if legend is to be believed,” he continued, “it is also supposed to test those who do find it, only allow those worthy to wield the weapon. Many have gone searching for it, yet there have only been three confirmed instances of it being used since the Tempest King ascended.”
“I thought there were more,” the woman replied.
“There are dozens of people who have claimed to either have it or have seen someone who had it,” the man corrected, “but there are only three times it’s been confirmed. All we know about the vault, that is confirmed anyways, is that it is found in places with lots of monsters, tends to be atop large hills or mountains and is very difficult to breach. If you have only just arrived in this world I recommend you get stronger before you go looking, as simply finding the vault can be dangerous.”
“Mmmm,” Nathen hummed as he thought, with all of those qualifiers and lore the sky vault sounded like a high-level dungeon, the kind of thing you weren’t supposed to seek out until you reached level cap. But so far he’d seen no evidence that there was any kind of level, it could have been hidden behind the facet system but that seemed unlikely.
“Indeed, I would like to hire you for a job, seeing as you’re already involved,” the priest continued, “the claim that young Elizebeth here is of royal blood is concerning to me. If true it could cause trouble with our temple, but I have heard nothing that would indicate one way or the other.”
“It’s not true!” the woman insisted.
“And I tend to believe you,” he assured her, “but if we are to shelter you here we need to be seen at least making an attempt to ascertain the truth. If it is false then we can provide protection under the guise of protecting one of our own, but if it does turn out to the true then we can signal that you wish to withdraw your claim and are simply keeping you here to ensure you can’t be used either way.”
“If you can shelter me either way then why do you need to know which it is?”
“Because if we admit we don’t know, and aren’t attempt to look for the truth, then it looks like we’re deliberately interfering with kingdom politics. The protections afforded by the nature of Templeholm are great, but not infinite. If they can claim we’re interfering in secular politics they can demand we hand you over, or attempt to have us sanctioned.”
“That’s…” Elizebeth started, but didn’t argue, looking at the ground in despair.
“Which is why I’d like to hire you to investigate, Master Nathen,” the priest continued, looking at the Ascender, “you are already involved, giving you at least some insight into the matter. I also understand you may have offended the Holy Kingdom of Norwach, by taking on this task you might be able to regain some goodwill, as I’m sure many of their nobility are also interested to know the truth. At the very least they’ll be forced to accept that you mean well.”
“Please Nathen?” Elizebeth pleaded, “I just want them to leave me alone.”
“You will, of course, be paid for your service, either way,” the older priest added, “Guidance might be a small church, but we have plenty to offer a newly arrived Ascender.”
“I think I’ll pass,” Nathen said after a long moment’s thought.
“But you-,” Elizebeth started only to be silenced by a glare from the priest.
“Of course, we understand,” he said, “It’s late, so feel free to stay the night if nothing else.”
Nathen ended up taking them up on the offer, enjoying a night in a proper bed and a couple meals before leaving the next morning. The whole time Elizebeth avoided him, seeming either angry or ashamed, but Nathen didn’t think too hard about it.
In truth, the whole ‘investigation’ thing sounded like a puzzle quest of some kind, lots of traveling and working through dialog trees. Given there were no dialog prompts in this game, being very freeform, that promised to be even more tedious. If there were walkthroughs available then maybe, but it just sounded annoying. The quest for the Vault of the Sky Blade sounded much more exciting. He’d seen mountains north of the city, and he’d bet anything they were teaming with monsters. That sounded like exactly the kind of place the vault would be, the only clues given were that it was found around monsters and atop mountains.
Now that he had money from the escort quest he could stock up on extra weapons, since the durability system here was rough, supplies incase the drops didn’t favor him and perhaps even a proper set of armor. The leathers he was wearing were fine but more in line with rogues than warriors using long blades like him. There was no shopping to be found atop the massive pillar, so he made his way to the lift they’d taken to get up.
On the way there he ran into a familiar face, just getting off the lift.
“Oh, hey!” Nathen waved to the other Ascender he’d fought, “fancy seeing you here!”
“Uhhh…” Gregory looked panicked as their eyes met, the woman next to him looking confused.
“Sorry about that quest, PvP happens,” Nathen smiled, “No hard feelings?”
“Sure,” Gregory said slowly as Nathen stepped onto the elevator platform.
“Oh, the blessing system might not be working,” Nathen called out as the platform began to lower, “just word of warning.”
“What?” Gregory asked, but Nathen had turned to look out over the lower city as the platform took him down.
“You know him?” Lex asked.
“That’s the other Ascender I met… and fought.”
“The one who beat you?”
“Yup.”
“He seemed friendly enough.”
“What did he mean about the blessing system not working?” Gregory asked.
“No idea,” Lex shrugged.
***** Discord - Patreon *****

When I was around five years old, me and my mum lived in a house on the outskirts of town. The street we lived on ran along like five big hills in a row, and the property sat on one of those slopes.
I remember being so excited when we would drive down that road in the crappy old Holden that used to belong to my nana. It was steep enough that your stomach would do flips as you came down each side.
The house was a hundred years old at least. The rent was cheap because the owners couldn't be bothered to do it up. It was made up of solid wood darkened with age and peeling paint. It had creaky floors and mysterious drafts in every room.
Moldering dark green and velvet curtains framed every doorway. They were impregnated with decades of dust and would puff it everywhere at the slightest touch. The kitchen had that slightly greasy feeling really old ones get, and every fixture groaned like a fat zombie when we turned the taps.
We weren't wealthy, in case that wasn't already obvious. In fact, we were dirt poor, and so we had to have a flatmate to afford this place. Her name was Olive, and she was the same age as mum. She had a massive chocolate cake made for her birthday not long after we had moved in.
I didn't get sweets often, or at least not as often as I wanted. I engineered a window of time to be alone in the kitchen with it, and when she and mum returned I had taken great big bites out of it. Right out of the cake, no knife or fork. Kids are animals. Olive laughed it off, which was big of her.
We had been in the house for a few months when my mum first saw a prowler in the yard one night. She opened the front door and yelled obscenities into the dark, and he left. The next night he was back. This time, mum quietly called the police. By the time they got there, he was gone.
Weeks went by. Sometimes the prowler was there, sometimes he wasn't. The cops brought sniffer dogs. They found nothing. Mum and Olive were on edge. They talked of moving out. They talked about old boyfriends and creeps at bars. There were no suspects. I don't remember being unsettled by any of this, though I don't know why.
My bedroom was a smallish space that might once have been a study. I wanted it because the walls were painted blue, just like my room at my grandparent's house. There was a single window set low in the wall opposite the door, which looked out onto the countryside to the south of the property. I slept in a single bed underneath it.
One night I woke to a tapping sound, a finger or a knuckle rapping on a pane of glass. Peering up at the window, I could see nothing. Whoever was trying to contact me was crouched down beneath the sill. "Danny" they whispered. "Let me in" I don't know how they knew my name. I know I wasn't as frightened as I should have been. I got out of bed and went and told mum what had happened.
Looking back, the thing that's most unsettling about this is imagining what might have happened if I had unlatched the window when he asked me to. What unspeakable acts might have occurred in our home that night if the thing had been given unfettered access?
Mum woke Olive, and we went into her room and turned on all the lights. She made tea for the two of them, and they debated whether they should call the police. It wasn't that they didn't believe me. The cops hadn't been very effective in keeping the prowler away before, so they were deciding if it would be better just to ignore him.
I remember the next bit from a third-person perspective rather than through my own eyes. I guess it's easier to see it that way, analytically and divorced from the terror the memory might otherwise inspire. I had been describing what had happened again. Nobody had asked me to, but I talked a lot as a kid. I liked the sound of my own voice too much. Still do.
Suddenly, the blood drained from my face and I screamed. I pointed. "There he is! In the window right now!" The light from the room illuminated his face all pressed up to the glass. The rest of him was just a shadowy outline, barely differentiated from the yard. His features were unremarkable, a regular man's face. Mid-thirties perhaps, five o clock shadow, thinning but not bald.
Maybe it was the light, but his eyes were pitch black, and just a little too big to be entirely comfortable with. None of these details were disturbing by themselves. It was the expression. Or actually, the lack of expression.
His whole face was blank and hanging like he'd been given a tranquilizer, as if he'd never smiled or frowned in his life. An orb of slack, rubbery flesh floating in the night. I wondered if he was even looking at us.
Yes. If there was anything in that face, it was a glimmer in the eyes. A glimmer of Intent. He had plans and they involved us. He had plans, and I didn't want to know what they were. I was clutched tight as we all huddled together on Olive's bed, just looking at the face and screaming.
This is gonna be really annoying, and I am sorry, but I honestly don't remember anything after that. I have to assume the police were called and that the man left before they got there. I don't know. We lived in the house for at least another few months, and when we moved out, it was for mundane reasons.
I never saw the prowler again. My desk where I work from home is near the mail slot in my flat, and every so often I look over at it and imagine how scared I would be if I saw those black eyes looking back at me. So why am I writing about this online all of a sudden, thirty years later?
I saw headlines from my hometown this morning. "Tragic triple homicide: family butchered and home desecrated." The article described how a couple with two kids had been brutally tortured over three days in their own house. They had made several calls to the police before this describing a prowler in their yard, watching them and whispering in their windows.
They had seen the man. They said he was mid-thirties, with five o clock shadow, thinning but not bald. There was a picture of the place included. It's the same fucking house. Done up, but I checked google maps. Did I mention it's been thirty years? I'm at a loss with this. I'll tell you one thing though, I am never looking out of a window at night again.

Night Cycle New Jersey Information, Route, and Mutual Release
A. Meet up is at Rittenhouse Square, south east corner, 6pm. Roll out is at 6:30. If you want to start in NJ, you can jump on at Devil Creek Brewery in Collingswood at approximately 7:30. We’ll stop at Flying Fish brewery if it’s open when we pass it. There’s no food served at NJ breweries but you are free to bring your own. We’ll pass every PATCO station, but the only planned full stops are Haddonfield and Lindenwold. There’s no planned post-ride hang spot.
B. You can pick up a lot of speed riding down the Ben Franklin bridge and there’s a fun descent in Haddonfield, plus Camden’s streets are in rough shape: this is the kind of ride it’s smart to wear a helmet on. You need a front headlight because it’s the law and the streets after Haddonfield can be dark. You also need a red flashing rear light, a reflective vest, preferably both because of the nature of suburban roads and traffic. Remember: each town we pass through has its own police department with its own norms. They’re more likely to be inquisitive about a group ride at night compared to Philly cops and may not be tolerant or forgiving of public partying. Let’s be respectful and non-confrontational if we have interactions with them.
C. CYCLESCENE RIDING STYLE: We go out to enjoy riding with friends and go to fun places, not to make trouble. We take the whole traffic lane when appropriate, sometimes even when there is a frustrated car behind us – we have the right to the full traffic lane and we do it because sometimes that’s the safest, most pleasant, and best way to ride. We are traffic, so we we ride with traffic on the right hand side of the road. We don’t ride against traffic on a one way or on the left hand side of the road. We let cars pass on the left by moving to the right when safe and appropriate. The ride is a party, not a protest – we’re having too fun much to wreck the vibe by arguing with drivers and we let the little stuff slide for the sake of the safety and happiness of the others on the ride. We stay off the sidewalk, but if we have to hop on it for a moment, we are extremely deferential and respectful to the pedestrians. We respect traffic lights, road signs, and police instruction. We do our best to move through intersections as one, like a bus, so if we’re halfway through an intersection and the light turns, we stay together until the whole ride gets through, so long as its safe. We thank drivers when they extend us courtesy, show patience, and work with us. We show love for the neighborhoods we pass through. We don’t litter.
D. The Route (https://www.mapmyride.com/routes/view/5533213045) (subject to modification as necessary due to conditions)
PHILADELPHIA (PATCO Speedline Stops: 15/16 Locust; 12/13 Locust; 9/10 Locust; 8th & Market (passing on Chestnut); Franklin Square (under construction))

1. Exit park, head east on Locust
   
   1. Left on 9th
   2. Right on Chestnut
   3. Left on 7th
   4. Right on Race
   5. Left on 3rd
   6. Left on Vine
   7. Left on Larence

FULL STOP BEFORE CROSSING THE BRIDGE
CAMDEN (PATCO stops: City Hall (Market & 5th); Broadway (Walter Rand Transportation Center); Ferry Ave (passing on Venner)
FULL STOP AFTER THE BRIDGE

1. North on Fourth
   
2. Navigate the circle to get on Elm/Main
   
3. Navigate the circle to go under the bridge via 3rd
   
4. Cut through Rutgers
   
5. Right on 5th - the City Hall speedline station is on the right a block and a half up and is the best option to get home if you don’t want to do anything beyond the Ben Franklin Bridge
   
6. Left on MLK (train tracks and heavy traffic. Be careful)
   
7. Right on Haddon (train tracks and heavy traffic. Be careful)
   
8. Left on Pine
   
9. Wrap around the school and then left on Park Blvd
   
10. Right on Vesper
    
11. Left on Haddon
    
12. Right on Venner
    
13. Left on Ferry
    
14. Go under 130 via underpass
    

COLLINGSWOOD (PATCO stop: Collingswood)

1. Left on Narberth (different from the map my ride)
   
2. Right on Maple
   
3. Zig zag left and Right to stay on Maple
   
4. Right on Harvard
   
5. Left on Haddon Ave
   

MID POINT/REST STOP/NJ MEET UP: DEVIL’S CREEK BREWERY

1. Continue on Haddon Ave
   
2. Right on Stiles
   
3. Left on N Atlantic
   
4. Right on Conard
   
5. Left on Park
   

HADDON TOWNSHIP (PATCO Stop: Westmont)

1. Continue on Park after Cuthbert
   
   1. Left on Walnut
   2. Right on Westmont
   3. Right on Ardmore
   4. Zig zag right and left across Crystal Lake to cross by the speedline
   5. Right on Stoy
   6. Left on Westmont Ave

HADDONFIELD (PATCO stop: Haddonfield)

1. Continue on Westmont
   
2. Left on Euclid
   
3. Right on Rosedale
   

FULL STOP AT THE SPEEDLINE – FROM HERE ON THE RIDE IS INCREASINGLY IMPACTED BY SUBURBAN SPRAWL

1. Continue on Rosedale, around the bend
   

2. Left on Washington 

TAVISTOCK, LAWNSIDE, CHERRY HILL (PATCO stop: Woodcrest)

1. Continue on Washington
   
2. Right on Tavistock
   
3. Left on Warwick
   
4. Left on Oak
   
5. Cut through the industrial park
   
6. Right on Burnt Mill
   

VOORHEES/SOMERDALE/LINDENWOLD (PATCO stops: Ashland, Lindewold)

1. Right on 7th
   
2. Left on Railroad
   
3. Right on Evesham
   
4. Left into shopping plaza
   
5. Exit shopping plaza onto Kennedy
   

STOP AT FLYING FISH IF IT’S OPEN

1. Continue on Kennedy
   
2. Zig zag left and right across Somerdale to get on Osage
   
3. Left on Browning
   
4. Right on Colgate
   
5. Left on Station
   
6. Cross White Horse Rd Carefully
   

END: LINDENWOLD PATCO
YOU MAY BE OFFERED TO SIGN A VOLUNTARY MUTUAL RELEASE. Riding on the streets with a group, both in traffic and off road, sometimes at night, and stopping at urban explorer destinations, involves inherent and often unforeseeable risks of serious injury or worse. Even death. I know this – yet I still ride because it’s fun. I want to keep it fun and friendly no matter what. I’ve reviewed the ride information, talked to the organizers, and mingled with the rest of the ridership. If I didn’t like what I saw, I wouldn’t go on the ride. Therefore, I promise not sue anyone that has signed this agreement for their participation in group bike rides in exchange for their promise not to sue me for my participation in group bike rides. If I get hurt, I’m free to seek indemnification from third parties - but we the undersigned all agree that none of us sues each other in the event something bad happens. My signature indicates that I have assumed all risks and agree that to waive all claims as to anyone that has also signed this agreement, including claims of negligence against any co-signor that planned the ride, led the ride, or participated in the ride. IF YOU ARE NOT OFFERED THE MUTUAL RELEASE AND WOULD LIKE TO BENEFIT FROM ITS MUTUAL PROTECTION, OR WISH TO RESCIND YOUR MUTUAL RELEASE, SEND AN EMAIL TO [email protected]

Gray Hill - 1993
The first summer I came to Gray Hill to stay with my dad, it was after my parents divorce. Once the games and comic books got old, the only thing left was to explore. There was no rich side of town because everyone was poor. I hated that first summer, however my dad grew up there and had his rose tinted glasses on.
Even though there was a lake and people had docks as well as boats, no one used them. Now that I think about it I never saw anyone swim in Dead Horse Lake.
That winter my mother died and I had to stay with my dad.
I wasn't popular in school and people ignored me for the most part. In my class there were seven, and I don't think four of them knew my real name. I never tried out for sports and I sang like a chainsaw, so I never felt there was room for me in that small town.
The second summer I stayed in Gray Hill, there was a brand new gaming console being released, The Master Sphere and I had to have it. Much to my dissatisfaction my dad told me that I would have to pay for it myself. Being nearly eleven I complained and asked why. He said it was to build character and I still know what people mean when they say this.
Thankfully my dad's future wife, Linda, set me up with a job mowing lawns by putting up an ad in the local newspaper, Whisper Alley Echos. The pay was horrible and summers in Gray Hill were a wet blanket of humidity, and the mosquitos and ticks were the worst I ever experienced. However I really needed this gaming console.
Looking back on it I find it funny that by the end of that summer I preferred mowing for Miss Luther than sitting in front of the television with a controller in hand.
It was the end of July when Miss Luther called the house to offer me a job. My dad was the one who answered the phone and agreed that I would start the next morning at six. I wasn't too thrilled with waking up at that time, however when he told me that Miss Luther was filthy rich, wanted me on retainer and explained what “on retainer” meant, I couldn't wait to go to bed.
The next morning my dad made me some hot chocolate in a thermos and a few snacks for my shift. He was so excited for me that he reminded me of a kid on Christmas day. He told me that the construction of Miss Luthers house was big news when he was my age and that morning was going to be the first day he would get a chance to see it.
On the way to Miss Luther's house I asked dad what people did for jobs in Gray Hill but I don’t think he knew for sure because as he tried to explain it became the origins of the town. Apparently Gray Hill used to be a mining town but then the business went under. After that it was a logging town but that business went up in flames. Since then the town just sort of sat there, stagnant. I didn't know what stagnant meant and I didnt ask.
When I asked what Miss Luther did, dad smiled and told me that was one of the biggest and best secrets in Gray Hill.
After a mile or so after Fortune Summer Camp, dad pulled into a driveway I didnt even notice was there. A short while later though the road became wider and more noticeable. This place was once beautiful but over the years of no one taking care of the property, nature was fighting like hell to take it back. Gnarled trees lined both sides of the road, there was a swamp to my left and a field of grass as tall as corn on my right.
To my surprise my dad told me that when he was a kid the swamp was a lake and there was something called a vivarium in the field of grass.
When I asked what a vivarium was, dad told me it was a place where plants and animals that don't live in this climate can live.
“What kind of animals?” I asked.
My dad didn't know and shrugged. “If you work hard and don't slack off, you are going to find out,” he said with a smile. I could see that he was excited for me and wished that he was in my shoes.
A short while later we approached a large and very intimidating iron gate. My father whistled when he saw it, then parked next to a large stone and pushed a call button. When it was answered, no one spoke.
“Hello?” my dad asked, but before he could say anything else the gate started to creak open. “Welcome to the lifestyle of the rich and famous” my dad said in a terrible Robin Leach impression before pulling away.
Even though my father told me that Miss Luther had a mansion I didn't think he was serious. That was the last thing I expected to see in Gray Hill.
The building was huge. In some places it was three stories tall and in others it was five. It reminded me of something Bruce Wayne would live in, with all the gargoyles that were perched on the roof. The building was dark, almost as if it had survived a fire. There was a dried up fountain next to the driveway with two sets of steps that half encircled it. In the middle of the fountain was something that looked like a crane, though it's hard to say for certain because the years had not been kind to it.
“Holy poop,” my father said as he slowed down in order to take in the sight. He hadn't been able to stop talking about Miss Luther since he answered the phone the night before, even though he had never met the rich recluse. She was the talk of the town when he was younger than me.
Before I could do or say anything, a man walked out of the garage and waved us over. The man, as I later discovered, was far younger than he appeared. He wore a dirty white shirt that was stained yellow from sweat and grease covered overalls. He was tall and lean, but one look at him and you could tell he was strong. His arms were like tightly woven steel cables wrapped around itself. He kept his hair short but it was clear he was balding and his skin was leathery and beat red from the sun. In between his lip and gums was a large pinch of chew.
When my dad pulled up next to him, he rolled down the window. “Hey, here to drop off my boy,” he said with a smile.
The man nodded but it was clear that he either didn't care or already knew that. Perhaps both?
“Say hi, son.”
“Hi,” I said with a wave.
The man leaned down to look at me. I don't think he was impressed. There was an awkward silence that lasted only a moment but it felt much longer. “Alright” the man said. “Come on, now. Don't dawdle.”
I looked at dad for encouragement because I was nervous but he didn't notice and got out of the car to follow the man.
“My name is Peter” my dad said to the man's back.
“Otis.”
“Any chance I can get a tour of the place, Otis?” my dad asked. “I’ve been hearing about this place since I was a kid.”
The man groaned. “Not my place to say yes. But, I can tell you that this is the garage.”
Disappointed that he wouldn't get a tour, my dad made a pouting face and said “It's just that this is the first time I ever came here.”
“Loses its luster real quick” Otis said.
My dad waited for Otis to say more but Otis wasn't planning on elaborating.
As soon as I entered the garage I saw a large yellow behemoth with black and white lettering that read “Lawn Killer 9000”. It looked like a woodchipper on six wheels with an enclosed cab on top of it. Whoever made it must have really hated their yard.
“I didn't know he was going to be using a riding lawnmower,” my dad chuckled.
The man spit a large brown gob on the dirt floor. “Yeah, well. I didn't know his dad was going to hold his hand the whole time.”
My dad was at a loss of words but I couldn't help but to smile at that comment.
“Isn't it a bit dangerous for someone his age?” my dad asked.
Otis scoffed. “How? He will be sitting on it. The dangerous part is this” he answered as he pointed at the front of the Lawn Killer 9000.
My dad nodded, slowly seeing the sense of it. “Well, I guess I should be going,” he said as he placed his hand on my shoulder. “Son, I want you to work hard and be respectful.”
I nodded.
“Good” dad said before speaking again to Otis. “Do you know how long he is going—”
“We’ll call you, how about that?” Otis said, impatiently.
Dad nodded. “Alright. Well, I guess I’m off. Be good” he said as he rustled my hair and went to the car before driving off.
“Ever drive one of these before?” Otis asked, using his thumb to point at the Lawn Killer 9000. I shook my head so Otis explained everything to me after telling me to climb in and to get the feel of it. “I want you to go slow. Like, a quarter of walking speed, okay?” Otis asked.
“Sure” I answered, excited that I got to drive, even if it's just a lawnmower.
“Good. Now come” Otis said, waving me to follow him to the workbench. I did as I was asked and when I got to Otis’ side he pointed at a hand drawn map of Miss Luther's estate. “See this? I want you to mow G-7 and G-8. Can you do that?”
I looked closer at the map to determine where that was and found that both squares were surrounding the garage. “Sure” I answered.
“Good. Now get in and give me a minute to get ready.”
I hopped in the lawnmower and watched as Otis got ready. First he put on what looked to be hockey pads then he soaked a cloth in a yellowish green liquid and wiped himself off with it.
“What's that?”
“Jalapeno juice” he answered as he wiped himself with the cloth.
“Why?”
“Cover.”
Disappointed that he didn't answer my question I covered my mouth like he said and watched as Otis tied the cloth around his neck and put on a helmet with a glass visor that reminded me of something a member of SWAT would wear. He then walked over to a closet and pulled out a bandelier full of shotgun shells and a pump action shotgun.
“Forgot to mention this,” Otis said, racking a shell. “Don't get out of the lawnmower unless I say so, okay?”
I nodded.
“Good” Otis said before running out of the garage and into the grass that had to have been three feet taller than he was.
I started the lawnmower and was startled by how loud it was. When I put the lawnmower in drive I did what Otis instructed and drove slowly. I was impressed with how much damage the Lawn Killer 9000 was capable of. Everything I ran over turned into mulch.
The next time I saw Otis it was maybe half an hour later. He was running and ducking in the long grass, to me he looked like a soldier stalking the enemy in Vietnam.
At first I was worried, but then I remembered the wise words one of my teachers said to me: “Life will be a whole lot easier if you did the opposite of what you think you should do.”
As soon as I remembered that nugget of wisdom I felt better.
It wasn't long after that I really had to pee. I was tempted to ask but then I remembered that my father told me to work hard, so I held it until it started to hurt. Thankfully Otis leaped out of the grass, narrowly missing the front of the lawnmower, to tell me to stop.
“Why?” I asked, scared that I did something wrong.
“How we doing on gas?”
I looked at the gauge. “Half.”
Otis grunted and nodded. “You're out of salt.”
“Salt?” I asked.
Instead of answering me Otis told me to drive back into the garage. I did as he told me and parked where I first saw the Lawn Killer 9000 so Otis could fill up the bucket that sat behind me with a large white bag filled with salt that resembled a tube. It was then I saw that on the back of the Lawn Killer 9000 was a sifter that spread the salt, similar to plows during the winter.
“Can I go to the bathroom?” I asked, looking around for a restroom but finding none.
“Sure” Otis answered, leading me to a small shed. “Don't explore any. Come right back.”
“Okay.”
Otis nodded and walked away. When I opened the door to the shed I was thankful that I only had to pee.
When I finished peeing I returned to Otis and quietly watched as he cut open a white tube and dumped the salt into the bucket. On the third tube I decided to ask Otis what the salt was used for.
“It's for the grass,” Otis answered without looking at me.
“Does it help it grow?”
Otis looked at me this time and it took a few moments before he spoke. “No.”
“Ah” I said, pretending to understand. “So how long have you worked here?” I asked.
“Four years? Three?” Otis answered.
“Cool” I answered.
After another two tubes of salt were dumped into the bucket Otis walked to the back of the garage, opened a small fridge and pulled out a glass bottle of off brand Ginger Ale.
“Want one?” Otis asked.
“Sure” I answered and took the one Otis offered me.
We sipped on our beverages and didn't speak for a long time.
“You don't talk much, do you?” I asked.
“Nope,” Otis answered before burping and tossing the bottle into a basket. “Ready?”
I finished the last few drops of the ginger ale and smiled. “Yup” I answered enthusiastically.
Otis gave an odd looking smile and shook his head. “Alright then” he said before putting back on his helmet and ran out of the garage to disappear into the grass, shotgun in hand.
I made a mental note to ask him about that on the next break.
Maybe an hour later of going around and around in circles I saw an old man in a pinstripe suit, walking down the steps near the fountain and heading straight for me. His skin was gray and wrinkly, with dark bags under his eyes. In his hands was a silver serving tray.
As soon as I noticed the man, Otis ran out of the grass and headed straight towards the man. Again he narrowly avoided being turned into mulch by the Lawn Killer 9000.
Before I could yell or do anything, Otis shouted over the sound of the engine to drive over to him and the old man.
The sight of this man made me nervous. He reminded me of the mortician guy from that one movie. The one with the flying balls with knives.
Under the serving tray was a pile of finger sandwiches and Otis was inhaling them.
When I put the Lawn Killer in park and turned off the engine I could hear the man say “Leave some for the boy, Otis.”
I hopped out of the cab and felt twenty degrees cooler. I didn't know how hot I was until that moment.
Each of the sandwiches were made with marble rye bread, pickles, a weird onion cheese and what might have been jerky, but I didn't ask.
“Hi” I said to the man as I grabbed the closest sandwich.
The man just looked at me.
I took a bite, didn't like it, but faked it because I didn't want to be rude.
“Thank you” I said.
Otis took a few more sandwiches before making his way back to the garage. “Yeah, thanks Grover.”
I never thought I would meet a butler, the fact his name was Grover was even more amazing.
“Don't mind Otis,” Grover sighed. “What he lacks in manners he makes up for in efficiency.”
I nodded dumbly.
“Would you like something to drink?” Grover asked.
“Pepsi?”
“We don't have any.”
“Coke?”
“We don't partake in those unsavory habits.”
“Lemonade?”
“Ugh” Grover groaned before walking away.
“Oi?” Otis shouted from the garage. “Park by the gas” Otis said, pointing at an old fashioned gas pump next to the garage.
I did what I was told, hopped in the Lawn Killer and drove it over to where Otis was waiting.
“Can I ask you something?” I asked after killing the engine.
“Sure” Otis said as he was struggling with the ancient nozzle.
“Did you say ‘Oi’?”
“Yup.”
“Why?”
“Cuts through the noise. You don't hear that often in the states.”
I nodded. “Were you,” I started, not knowing how to finish this question. “Were you following me with the shotgun?”
“Yeah” Otis answered, not looking at me but I could tell he didn't seem all that interested or saw the issue with it.
“Why?”
“You do your job, let me do mine” Otis said as he got the nozzle to work.
“What do you do?” I asked.
“Hunt. Trap.”
“Cool” I said. “What do you hunt?”
“All sorts of things.”
“Is that why you brought a gun with you into the grass?”
“Yup” Otis nodded as he inspected the birds in the sky.
“Can I shoot the gun?” I asked after a while.
“No.”
There was a long moment before Otis turned off the nozzle and hung it back up. In that pregnant silence I felt like he was judging me.
“Alright. Now do this side of the garage” Otis said, pointing behind him.
“Yes sir” I said with a salute that didn't go over well from the look on his face. He hawked a large glob of brown chewing tobacco on the ground before putting on his helmet and walking into the grass, shotgun in hand.
I started the Lawn Killer 9000 and started doing the section Otis told me to do.
Even though I was hot and thirsty I was having fun. After all this was the first time I had ever driven something other than my bike.
Perhaps ten minutes later I remembered the drink Grover was supposed to bring out and that was the moment something large slammed into the glass to my left.
Whatever it was, it was as large as a catcher's mitt and looked like an angry cockroach. Before I could get a good look at it however, there was a loud bang and the bug exploded. Through the green blood and the birdshot embedded in the glass, I saw Otis racking another shell into the chamber, a big grin on his face.
I was close to stopping the lawn mower, but when I remembered what my dad said about working hard and my teacher's sage advice about not listening to my instincts, I kept driving.
At this point I was so dehydrated that I couldn't tell you how much time passed before I was done with the section that Otis wanted me to do. Judging by the suns position I guessed it had to have been about one in the afternoon. By this point I had completely forgotten about Otis firing his shotgun in my direction.
The first thing I said after getting out of the Lawn Killers cab was “I thought Grover was going to bring something to drink.”
“Are you okay?” Otis asked, ignoring my comment.
I squeezed my eyebrows together, wondering what he meant. In hindsight I know I wasn't thinking right because I was in need of water. “Yeah. Why?”
“What do you think about your first day?”
“I like it” I answered, not knowing what else to say.
Otis laughed. “You're like a baby panda, you know that?”
I had no idea what he meant by this, but I assumed it was an insult. Then I remembered that a different teacher of mine told me that if I thought one thing, the truth is the opposite. So I smiled and asked him what that meant.
“Baby pandas don't have a survival instinct, and you are fearless,” Otis laughed while patting me on the shoulder.
“Thanks.”
“Okay kid” Otis said, kneeling to get down to my level. “Some ground rules if you want to work here. First, never go in the grass. Second, never go near the grass. Third, do exactly what I say. If I say jump, you say how high. Got it?”
“Yeah” I nodded.
“Good. Your first day is done. Go to the house. I’m sure Miss Luther will have your money for you.”
“The house?” I asked, nervous about going into the mansion. I had never been in one before and didn't know if there were rules or not. Did I leave my shoes at the door? Did I bow to Miss Luther?
“Yeah, go” Otis answered.
I thought the dried up fountain was strange when I first saw it but it was nothing compared to the black iron knocker on the door. It was a bird of some kind but one that came out of someones most vivid nightmare.
I didn't want to touch it so instead I pulled open the thick heavy door and walked inside.
The foyer was as large as my house and on the far side there was a grand staircase, directly above the landing was a green and yellow stained glass window so warped by the sun that whatever image once shined through was now unrecognizable. Underfoot was a dusty checkered tiled floor with large black and white squares with footprints in the dust. On each side of the room were statues of naked people every ten feet apart, most were broken but some were in perfect condition. Between the statues were paintings which depicted brutal battles between cowboys and Indians in perfect clarity, including a native woman in a small cage, her belly torn open and forced to eat her own intestines as cowboys were sitting around the campfire cooking something over a fire. In another painting there was a man getting his eyes pecked out by crows as he tried to fight them off the best he could even though his hands were tied behind him, around a tree. I didn’t look long enough to know what else there was because I get scared easily.
I will tell you right now that everytime I went into that room I would do all I could not to look at the paintings.
“Do you like the job?” asked a woman. By her voice I knew she was old and didn't care one way or the other. She was only asking to be nice. The echoes in the house caused me to be a little slow to locate her but when I did she stood under the large stained glass window. She had to have been over one hundred years old but something about her puckered face, light brown hair which was pulled too tightly back told me that she would outlive everyone I know. She was all skin and bones and was wearing a delicate tight green dress that seemed nearly see through. In her hand was a martini glass and with each step or gesture the jewelry she wore around her neck would sparkle and jingle.
“Yes, maam” I answered with a smile.
“Good. It's hard finding good workers” she said. “Are you thirsty?”
I nodded.
“Go to your left and keep going straight. Through the door is the kitchen. Find yourself a glass in one of the cupboards, get yourself something to drink and join me upstairs in my library” she said as she was walking away.
I did as I was told, first passing a large empty room where parties must have been held. On the wall was a mural of a fox hunt but the wall seemed to focus mostly on a man that had a large comedic mustache riding a horse.
I didn’t take too much time to analyze it because I was a guest in this house so I picked up the pace and made my way to the kitchen by pushing open a door which swung back shut behind me. The room was so large that if the cups were not already on the counter drying off from the last time they were cleaned it would have taken forever to find them.
I drank two glasses before filling up the cup a third time, this time bringing it with me as I went upstairs to join Miss Luthor.
As I reached the top of the steps I went in the direction I saw Miss Luthor was heading. On my right through the grimy windows that reached the ceiling I saw the backyard, it was just as wild as the front but with more flowers.
There was some movement in the yard that caught my eye as I was looking at the strange three petaled flowers so I turned to look. I was surprised to see that it was a beautiful woman with a large worn straw hat, a green shirt, blue jean shorts and gardening gloves. She stood up, took off her hat, revealing her brown hair and wiped her forehead.
I was a kid at the time and hormones were making me even dumber than I was before, but whoever this woman was I was head over heels over her.
Quickly remembering what I was doing upstairs I kept walking in what I hoped was the direction of the library. The long hallway curved gently and after thirty or forty yards it straightened out. I really wanted to explore, even for a minute.
I walked briskly down the hall and was shocked when I saw her library. It was far bigger than the one at school that was for sure. It even had a ladder on wheels and a second story. A third in some places. In the middle of the room was a large mechanical something I didn’t recognize so I looked at it trying to work it out in my mind.
“Its an orrery” Miss Luthor said as she looked down on me from the second library floor over the railing.
“A what?” I asked, finding her quickly through the decorative grate floor above me.
“A model of the solar system, showing what the alignment will be on October 19th 2017 at exactly four forty two in the morning” she answered. “Nevermind that though, come up here”.
Again I did as I was told, though it was hard to climb the ladder with the glass in my hand and I wondered how the old woman managed to do it with her martini.
Miss Luthor was sitting on a torn red leather chair when I managed to pull myself up and as I approached her I felt a sudden sense of fear. It looked as though she was sizing me up for something.
“Have a seat” she said, not motioning in any direction.
I looked around but I did not see a chair, so I sat on the ground.
“How do you like the job?”
“I love it” I answered with a smile.
“And the lawnmower? Is it doing the job?”
“And how” I exclaimed, thinking of how much dirt and grass went flying into the air when I drove it.
“Good” Miss Luthor said before she pulled on a rope that was hanging from the ceiling. It made a loud sound far away and a few seconds later through the decorated metal grate floor I saw Grover come into the library.
“You called, madam?” he asked from below us.
“Fetch this boy his payment for a job well done” Miss Luther said without taking her eyes off of me the entire time which weirded me out more than anything I had seen so far.
“Yes, madam,” Grover said and left us.
Miss Luther's glare was ice but I resisted shivering and somehow I succeeded. How can a woman this old be so scary?
“Can you come back tomorrow, boy?” Miss Luther asked and took another sip of her drink.
“Yes ma'am” I said, remembering my manners.
“Good” she answered. A few long moments passed before Grover came back into the room and climbed the ladder as graceful as a cat before handing Miss Luther her checkbook.
“Thank you Grover” she said coldly as she took the items from Grovers hands. “Does twelve hundred sound fair?” Miss Luther asked.
If I had been drinking the water at the time I would have spit it out when she asked. Instead I said “Hell yes!” With that much money I could get a gaming console for every room of the house if I wanted to.
Miss Luther did not smile at this. She just made out the check and handed it to me. I stared at it for the longest time not believing that I just got paid this much for one days work.
“Call the boys father, Grover. Inform him that his son is done. After you do that make him another sandwich” Miss Luther ordered.
Remembering the last sandwich Grover gave me I said “No thank you, I am not hungry”.
Miss Luther looked at me oddly. “Do you want some more pickle juice?” she asked, motioning with her head towards my empty glass.
“It was water, actually”.
“We have pickle juice if you prefer,” Miss Luther said.
“No, thank you but no” I answered.
Miss Luther handed me the check and gave Grover an eighth of an inch nod.
“This way, young man” Grover said and made his way to the ladder. I stood up to follow and thanked Miss Luther but she didn’t seem to notice me and took another sip from her glass.
I looked down at the check and grinned like an idiot.

[The Beginning] - [Previous Chapter]
*
Chapter Seven - Asking Questions
Cal groaned, bracing his shoulder against the cart. The damp wood creaked, wheels struggling for purchase on the sodden shale. Beside him, the old donkey snorted, tramping its hooves and straining against its harness. Cal gritted his teeth, fighting against the weight of it. He groaned, legs burning, and the cart rolled slowly out of the mud-flooded ditch, crunching back onto the shale of the track. He stood panting for a moment, blowing steam into the cold air. The imminent winter had left the path rutted and riven with turgid pools of dirty water, and the old cart was faring poorly. He glanced back the way he had come. Through the trees that wreathed the roadside, Rindon looked back in reproving silence from lower down the slope, chimneys smoking softly. Not so far away as he had hoped. The Teeth loomed through the boughs overhead, bare and black. Dark clouds had started gathering over them, veiling the midday sun, and the air was thick and still. Rain was coming. He hoped he would be home before it arrived. Beside him, the old donkey was breathing heavily in its harness, flicking its grey ears back and forth in protest. Cal stepped out of the ditch and stroked the animal's nose. ‘Almost there.’ He patted its side, and the it started forward again, albeit a little more reluctantly than before. The wheels rattled against the stony track, creaking. Away from the village it went, winding into the grey hills and dark trees like a coiled rope, frayed half to breaking with age. But it still held, despite the weather, trundling upwards towards the mine. Wasn’t anything else up there worth visiting. 'Not far.' He murmured, more for his own comfort than anything else. It was a punishing climb, but there would be no smithy without iron. Cal was breathing hard and dripping with sweat when they finally reached their goal, half-stumbling over the lip of the hill into a barren, grey clearing between the trees. The cart sagged against the level ground, and the donkey groaned in relief, snorting great plumes of steamy breath into the chill air and braying morosely. Cal wiped his brow, taking a swig from the waterskin at his waist, and looked at the large, open archway that had been cut into the rock beside the road. He could hear voices inside, and the clang of picks, the slow rumble of the smelting furnaces, roaring to each other unintelligibly in the din. The opening glowed faintly, pulsing with orange light, belching hot air like the mountain itself was alive with fire. The barn beside it was marginally more welcoming. A high roof, thatched and dripping, clinging precariously to the shelf of black, uneven rock where the trees had found no purchase. Men in stained tunics were carrying crates through the open doorway, grunting and straining against the weight of them. Brows damp with sweat, muscles cording. They paid Cal no attention, and that suited him just fine. He wasn’t much in the mood for chatting, and working men seldom have time for strays and their animals. Each time he made the climb, he recognised fewer of Solen’s workers. What drove men to come east into this Godsforsaken place looking for work, he had no clue. Cal brushed his hair back from his face, looping the donkey’s reigns over the short post at the roadside. The Blacksmith had given him little coin to bargain with, and Solen was a shrewd man. Pompous, stuffed over-full of sweetmeats, and far too fond of his own voice, as is often the way with merchants; a small, bloated fish in a smaller pond. Unfortunately, he was also the only source of iron any of the hillfolk had, so Cal’s personal objections to his character weren’t important. Bartering was a game, another of the Blacksmith’s lessons, and he would play it, if he had to. This lesson, at least, gave him a reason to leave the perimeter of the smithy. Little comfort, but he took a deep breath all the same, affecting a careless smile, and stepped past the empty cart into the barn, leaving the donkey’s melancholic braying behind him. It was warm beyond the doorway, and the air was thick with the smell of sweat and damp, but Cal didn’t remove his cloak. It would make him look older. Dim light filtered through the rafters, and dust sifted through shards of grey sunlight. A maze of crates rose haphazardly from the earthen floor, marked by broad strokes of colour, red, blue, green and yellow, and workmen moved like shadows in and out of the towering piles, shifting and marking the wood with large, colourful brushes. There was a short desk near the door, and small man sat behind it, tallying coins against a piece of well-marked parchment. The man looked up as Ren entered, nose twitching, then quickly back at his coin, sneering noticeably. Solen was not a tall man, and his penchant for fine foods from the Lowlands had left him with a paunch that strained against his patterned belt. Where his workers were dirty and stained with sweat, he was remarkably clean in his fresh, collared shirt, thin hair combed carefully over his pale head. As Cal approached, he dabbed at his smooth, doughy face with a white handkerchief, and a slight smile curved his thin lips. 'The blacksmith’s boy!’ He said dryly, eyes blinking at the dusty air. As he spoke, his fingers brushed the coins before him like fisherman baiting his line. ‘Yer old man no longer trust himself to haggle with me?’ ‘He is very busy, this past month.’ Cal said politely, biting back a retort. ‘He sent me in his stead.’ He gave the merchant a smile, dipping his head. ‘Ah. The wolf sends his pup to hunt for him. A lesser man might take offence.’ Solen replied dryly, dabbing at his face with the handkerchief. ‘Go on then, boy. How much you buying?’ ‘Two crates, for now.’ Cal told him, reaching into his cloak and pulling out a heavy purse. ‘I have the coin.’ The short man looked at the purse, bulbous eyes flashing. Cal could almost see the cogs turning behind them. ‘Doubt that’ll get you two crates.’ The merchant told him, lifting himself to his feet with a grunt. ‘Still, let’s see what you can afford.’ Cal followed him, trying not to frown. When standing, Solen was already smaller than him, and his gait had the weary unevenness of a man taken more to sitting than walking. The merchant approached a large crate marked with red paint, patting it thoughtfully. Then he clicked his fingers, and gestured to one of his men. ‘Rory, this one.’ He snapped, and a tall man hurried over, hefting a metal bar in his hands. The big man dug the narrow end into the lid of the crate, and heaved it downward, filling the air with the crackling sound of splintering wood. The container fell open, and light gleamed on the dark chunks of metal within. Cal inspected them closely. ‘Men found the vein three weeks ago’ Solen said at his shoulder. ‘Shaft was long and deep, very dangerous. Won’t part with it cheaply.’ ‘Of course not.’ Cal reached down and picked up one of the ingots, weighing it in his hands. It was good iron. For Rindon, anyway. More than good enough for butcher’s knives and arrowheads. He straightened, looking back at the merchant calmly. ‘I can’t go below three coppers an ingot.’ Solen told him, holding the crate open with one doughy hand. Cal frowned, weighing the purse in his hands. ‘I can pay half that.' Solen laughed, a thin, joyless sound, scoffing at him. ‘Then you’ll be going back to your master with an empty cart.’ He said bluntly, lowering the lid of the crate. Cal sighed. A short while later he was waiting patiently as a couple of Solen’s workmen lifted two red-marked crates onto his waiting cart. The donkey was braying softly, and the clouds overhead were grumbling ominously. Cal weighed the coin purse against his palm as he watched them, smiling faintly in spite of himself, pretending he couldn’t feel Solen shooting daggers at his back from the barn’s open doorway. When the cart was readied, he thanked them and untied the donkey, leading him unhurriedly back onto the path. He smiled politely at Solen as he passed the doorway. The merchant didn’t smile back, and that made Cal’s smile all the wider. But, in spite of his little victory, he found himself strangely uncomfortable, on the little shelf of black rock beside the glowing mine. There was a dour air to Solen’s warehouse that day, more so than usual, and he had seen several of the newer workers moving dark-faced through the crates, eyes flicking at him distrustfully. He knew better than to outstay his welcome. Besides, victors shouldn’t dance near their fallen foes, as the Blacksmith would say. The road ahead was long enough, and the gathering clouds were heavy with water. Time to be off. ‘Come on, then.’ The cart groaned beneath its new cargo as they began the slow descent back towards the village, aching like an old man in winter.
*
The afternoon was dwindling on towards evening when they drew past the first of the houses. In the east, the Teeth thrust upwards like black daggers, opening the belly of the clouds, and cold, thick water began to fall in sheets across the jagged slopes below. The men and women of Rindon hurried through the low stone buildings with downcast eyes, headed for their thick doors and warm hearths, quickly disappearing out of the deluge. But Cal had always liked the rain. The shimmering reflectiveness of a world underwater. The distorted sharpness of it. So, instead of taking shelter with the rest, he shrugged himself a little deeper into his cloak, and kept walking. The donkey moaned in disapproval, and they rattled slowly along the narrow, muddy street, making for the forge beyond the village’s edge, and for home. Water ran in thick rivulets down the animal’s glistening coat, and Cal could feel it soaking through his clothes, clinging to his skin. The path was empty, by now, and water gleamed around his feet, pouring in streams from the thatched roofs. Even the inn had closed its doors, leaving only the glimmer of firelight around the edges of the shutters. The stony shapes of the village drew past him in a slow blur. Shale clicked beneath the wheels, half-lost to the rain, and the cart rumbled on. ‘Cal!’ He started, looking back over his shoulder. The Innkeep’s boy was standing under the eaves of the inn, scowling. The youth’s fair hair was dry, and he was leaning casually against the door, ill-fitted shirt draped haphazardly over his slender shoulders. Lokk had always been handsome, and now, with his youth dragging on towards manhood, there was a little more sharpness to his jaw than there had been, a dash of fair stubble on his still soft, rounded cheeks. Even frowning, his mouth was curling like a dried leaf. Lokk was always smiling. 'Trying to catch your death?’ Lokk demanded. ‘You’re cracked.’ ‘Sane man, mad master.’ Cal replied, grinning. ‘What’s your excuse?’ ‘Escaping Carel for a moment.’ Lokk chuckled. ‘Does she need another potscrubber? Beats the smithy.’ ‘My heart bleeds for you, poor, clever Cal.’ Lokk rolled his eyes. ‘Get inside, will you. Wait this out by the fire.’ Cal shook his head. ‘Got to get this back.’ ‘Don’t be an ass. It’ll pass soon.’ Lokk told him. ‘Beast knows better than you do.’ Cal glanced down at the dejected shape of the donkey beside him, staring sullenly at the dirt. ‘Fine.’ He relented, starting to turn the cart around. ‘Can’t stand all this water.’ Lokk said as they began to steer the cart off the path. ‘Much dryer, down west, in the Stones. Another summer or two, and we’ll be out of this place for good.’ Cal smiled agreeably, but didn’t reply, lowering his eyes a little uncomfortably. Together they found a space for the donkey in the narrow stable bay beside the inn, covered from the rain. The animal seemed as grateful as a donkey could seem, drying beneath the thatching with some day-old hay, and they left him to his grazing, heading for the promise of shelter. The inn door creaked as it opened, a creak of satisfying sturdiness, and Cal found himself suddenly bathed in the accumulated warmth of the fire. The Watcher’s Nest had always been a place of slow things, the quiet unhurriedness of lazy thoughts and careful words. Where the name had come from, no one seemed to remember, or had decided not to care. The common room was broad, scattered with wooden tables and benches, worn in the way of an old walking stick, made comfortable by the touch of many hands. A few working men were spread unevenly amongst the seats, breaking their fast in dour silence. But the amber light was warm, and there was a smell of fresh bread on the air. Cal smiled. It was a place familiar to him in a way that few places were. The place where he had started to know the names of things. Of cedarwood and lavender, peppered bread and spiced ham, woodsmoke on beams of ebony. He realised suddenly how hungry he was. For the moment, though, he ignored his belly, and followed Lokk over to the bar, wiping the rain from his face. Behind it, a young woman in a loose tunic and ale-stained apron was balanced precariously on a narrow stool, face obscured behind the rows of iron-banded barrels racked against the ceiling. Lokk cleared his throat, giving Cal a look. ‘Back from your important business in the stables already, are you?’ The young woman asked dryly, still busy with the barrels. ‘One of the beasts was terrified. Had to bring him inside. Can’t have him running off.’ Lokk replied. ‘Ugly brute, but it couldn’t be helped.’ A small, exasperated noise came from behind the barrels, and the young woman dropped lithely to the floor from her stool, scowling. Carel was a year or so the boys’ senior, and even the looseness of her smock could not quite hide the budding curves of her womanhood. Her hair was fair, like her brother’s, and fell down about her shoulders in a sea of delicate curls, framing the soft lines of her face. As she landed, she caught sight of Cal, and her frown deepened. ‘Poor thing.’ She agreed, looking back at her brother. ‘Did you try watering him?’ ‘Everything but ale.’ Lokk replied, giving Cal a concerned look. ‘Well, no time like the present.’ Carel’s scowl faded, and she favoured Cal with a small smile, cheeks dimpling. Cal felt a little heat returning to his lips. ‘Father just opened a new barrel from Westmere. Lowlanders might not know Westri wine from horse piss, but they know their ales.’ ‘What’d’you know about wine?’ Lokk snorted. ‘More than you.’ Carel snorted back, looking at Cal. ‘How about it, then?’ ‘A little early for me.’ ‘Too early?’ Lokk demanded, eyeing him incredulously. ‘I think Da has a saying about that…’ Cal rolled his eyes. Carel chuckled, and he found himself smiling. 'Lokk, you lazy sod! Get in here!' A man's voice bellowed somewhere in the back. Lokk flinched. 'Duty calls.' He murmured, hopping over the bar and vanishing through a swinging door, scowling. 'You sure about that ale?' Carel asked as her brother disappeared, brown eyes watching him. 'Not today.' Cal said, cursing the Blacksmith silently. Carel shrugged, hopping back onto the stool and busying herself with the stubborn cask above the bar again. 'He's working you harder than usual.' Cal blinked, and Carel laughed. 'Haven't seen you in nearly two weeks. I notice.' 'Ah.' Cal hesitated, finding himself suddenly self-conscious. On the other side of the bar, Carel cursed as she fumbled with the cask. It gave an alarming lurch, and Cal was over the bar without thinking, holding up his arms to catch it. Carel ignored him, hopping nimbly down from the stool, plucking the falling barrel easily from the air above Cal’s waiting hands and dropping it onto the bar. He blinked, embarrassed, suddenly aware of how close she was, and felt his face redden. Then she turned away, busying herself with the cask again. ‘Any sign of all that mad old wolf giving you a breather, soon?’ She asked him, casting an eye back over her shoulder. He sighed. ‘Not likely.’ ‘Shame.’ A moment of quiet. Cal squirmed. He was almost wishing he was back looking at the Blacksmith's scowling face when the door behind the bar came to his rescue, swinging open noisily. A man in a stained apron spilled through, face ruddy and sweating. The Innkeep had never been the slimmest man, but he'd added a few extra inches to his waist in the last few years, leaving him with the comfortably swollen belly of a man well into his fortieth decade. Otherwise, little had changed since Cal had arrived on his doorstep all those years ago. Sandy hair shot with grey, lazily stubbled cheeks, a smile a wide as his children's, if a little less mischievous. He was frowning as he entered, but the moment he saw his guest, a warm smile spread across his face, and Cal found himself smiling back. ‘Cal!’ He beamed. Cal had always liked the Innkeep's voice. It was soft and kind, unbothered, in the way many of the hillfolk were, with finishing every word it started. A safe voice. Nothing like the blunt authority of the Blacksmith, or the devious riddling of the Old Man. As he entered, Carel took her cue, bowing out quickly through the door behind him. Cal thought he caught the smallest of smiles flicker across the Innkeep's face, but he made no comment. ‘Maker's arse, if you don't look skinnier every time I see you.’ The older man frowned. ‘That brute still feeding you?’ ‘Of course. Wouldn't risk me keeling over. Who'd do all the work?’ ‘Damn right! What else are children for?’ He grinned. ‘Did those whelps of mine not offer you a drink?’ ‘They did. A little early for me, though.’ Cal replied apologetically. ‘Never too early for ale, lad. Best to start the evening as you mean to finish it. Still, won't let you leave without a little something to warm your belly.’ He smiled, winking at him conspiratorially. ‘Got some fried potatoes and ham left over from lunch. Still warm...’ ‘Thank you, but I should be getting back.’ ‘If you say so.’ The Innkeep relented, producing a small, worn pipe from behind his apron and began to tamp down at the weed. Cal raised an eyebrow. ‘Thought you gave that up?’ ‘So I have, if it’s Carel asking. Always smoky in here, though. Gets into the clothes, it does.’ He grinned. ‘You been up at Solen’s?’ ‘For my sins.’ The Innkeep snorted. ‘Little weasel, that one. Taken on some new hands, too. From down west, by the look of them.’ Cal thought of the dark-faced men with their curious eyes, frowning. ‘I saw.’ ‘Lowlanders don’t last long in a place like this. Made of butter, that lot. Not like us hillfolk.’ He grinned, patting his belly. ‘Men made of granite, in these hills.’ Cal didn’t reply. He looked towards the window, where giant spears of rain were slicing down with a sound like distant thunder, and a little flash of white lit the grey sky. ‘Reminds me,’ The Innkeep was saying, looking for a light for his pipe. ‘Had a stranger in here asking questions, yesterday. Might’ve been one of Solen’s new folk. Didn’t get much of a good look at him.’ Cal frowned. ‘Questions?’ ‘Asking after that Greycloak fellow, one what lives up in the hills, hereabouts.’ Cal blinked, suddenly realising who he was talking about. The Old Man. A Greycloak? He supposed he’d never given it much thought. His mind felt a little muddy, blurred. He frowned at himself. He was exhausted. The Innkeep lowered his voice, giving the scattered patrons a glance, and leaned a little closer. ‘Now, look, I know it’s none of my business, but people talk. Saying you go visiting up near the old stormtower more than most. Thought you might want to know someone was asking questions.’ Cal blinked. Apparently the Blacksmith was right. He needed to be more careful. ’What’d you tell him?’ ‘Nout. Those Greycloak types are a dangerous sort, no matter what folk say. Not that I hold much water with that magic nonsense, mind, but dangerous all the same.’ He paused scowling around his pipe. ‘Besides, no good’ll come of strangers asking questions. Trust these city folk about as far as I can spit. Too much air up here, goes to their heads.’ Cal frowned. ‘I should be going.’ ‘See that you come back soon, boy.’ The Innkeep told him, chewing at the end of his pipe. ‘He’s working you hard, that’s the Maker’s truth. But I reckon a man needs two things to be happy. Ale and good cooking. Ain’t no life at all without those, especially when they’re free. Call it repayment for giving you up to that madman in the first place.’ Cal gave the Innkeep his thanks, excusing himself and heading for the door. He looked back from the doorstep, hesitating,amd found the Innkeep right where he’d left him, face flashing amber in the glow of his pipe, blowing smoke rings into the air with a contented smile on his ruddy, stubbled cheeks. Then went out again into the rain, alone, frowning to himself.
*
By the time he arrived back at the Blacksmith’s cottage, the day was drawing on towards evening, and the sun was beginning to droop behind the western pines, smeared like wet red paint with the endless deluge of rain. He tended quickly to the donkey, and the iron, eager to be out of it, then hurried towards the promising glimmer of firelight from the window. The cottage door swung closed behind him with a thud, and the sound of the rain and wind vanished. He threw off his cloak and wiped the water from his face, raking fingers through his sodden hair. ‘You’re late.’ The Blacksmith told him bluntly, looking up. He was sitting in a chair beside the fire, one hand scratching idly at the pale scar under his coal-black beard, bald head gleaming. The chair looked almost comically small beneath his enormous frame, and his shoulders covered most of the wall behind him. There was a mug on the table beside him, and dark liquid swilled gently against its rim. The cottage was not large, and it made room only for the most necessary of things. The small hearth, the small table beside it. The low shelves, stuffed with a modestly necessary collection of pots and pans, a handful of scratched plates. The nightwood chest in the corner, of course, too, weighing against the stone floor, black with waiting. Even the stairs leading to Cal’s attic were barely wide enough for feet. The shadows of the evening were creeping in, amber light and shifting shadows swirling across the bare stone walls. Cal hung his cloak up beside the door, and came over towards the fire, holding his hands out to the flames. ‘Iron’s in the forge.’ He told the the Blacksmith, blinking the rain from his eyes. ‘Donkey’s in the stable.’ ‘You’ve been at the Nest.’ Cal hesitated, opening his mouth, then closed it again. ‘Pipe smoke.’ ‘You reek of it.’ The Blacksmith’s dark eyes flickered. ‘Thought he gave it up?’ ‘Apparently not.’ Cal replied, shivering, rubbing his hands together. ‘Out with it, then.’ The Blacksmith grumbled, staring at him. ‘One and a half coppers.’ The Blacksmith nodded. ‘A good deal.’ He looked back into the fire, and his scar gleamed hotly under his beard. ‘Solen is a shrewd little toad.’ Cal thought of the merchant watching him go, red-faced and scowling. ‘A toad with a leaky warehouse.’ Cal grinned. ‘Rust gets in real quick, this time of year. Much quicker than a caravan from the lowlands.’ ‘Well played, boy.’ The Blacksmith said quietly. The boy thought he saw a twinkling of amusement in his eyes for a moment, and then it was gone. ‘Here’s the rest.’ Cal replied, reaching inside his cloak and dropping a jingling, if a little depleted, purse onto the table. His master’s praise was rare. He caught sight of a fresh loaf on the table, and his stomach growled at him hungrily. He hadn’t eaten in hours. He reached out to snatch it up, but the Blacksmith held up a hand to stop him. ‘Wait.’ He told him, dark eyes unyielding. ‘The most prominent chroniclers of the Valian Fractures.’ ‘Deronis, Oritan, and Molaer.’ Cal replied without hesitation, still eyeing the bread. ‘Best carbon ratio for a wagon strut?’ ‘One part in a hundred.’ A pause. The fire whispered. The Blacksmith shifted in his seat, taking a swig from his mug. ‘You are distracted.’ Cal blinked. The Blacksmith was watching him with his black eyes, scar gleaming in the firelight. ‘Out with it, boy. What has you spooked?’ Cal hesitated. ‘Just something the Innkeep said.’ ‘Do I have to ask him, to hear it?’ The Blacksmith grumbled. ‘No, I…’ Cal trailed off, frowning. ‘Said a stranger was asking questions at the Nest. Asking about an old man living in the hills. A Greycloak.’ ‘And he thought this would interest you?’ Cal hesitated, lowering his eyes. ‘I told you that you were being careless, boy. The villagers have taken notice of your exploring.’ ‘You’d rather I was locked up here day and night?’ Cal demanded, cheeks suddenly hot. ‘Don’t be a fool, boy. The innkeep may not care, but these are superstitious folk, here. They will not take kindly to boys who seek the company of Cursed Ones.’ Cal glared at him, anger hot on his tongue. The bearded Blacksmith watched him, unmoved. He gritted his teeth. ‘You would go to him.’ It was not a question. He could feel the Blacksmith’s black eyes boring into his skin. He swallowed, then nodded. ‘If someone is asking questions… I should warn him. If they think he’s a Greycloak… Well, I doubt they’ll be friendly.’ The Blacksmith was silent for a long moment. The fire cracked, and outside, the soft rhythm of the fading rain brushed against the thatching. Even the nightwood chest in the corner seemed to withdraw into the quiet, gleaming like a shadow. ‘No. The old man can look after himself.’ ‘But…’ ‘No!’ He thundered suddenly. The Blacksmith was gone, and in his place, a shadow filled the room, giant shoulders towering against the rafters. Anger filled the air like the weight before a storm, heavy and writhing. The fire sputtered, and Cal recoiled, blinking. Then the shadow was gone. The air cleared again, and the fire flickered. Cal straightened. The Blacksmith was sitting again in the chair beside the hearth, not terrible and angry, but hunched, aged like an old root. He looked at once very tired, like the final throes of ale from an empty barrel. His long, pale scar gleamed beneath his black beard, eyes sunk deep into hollow cheeks. Not for the first time, Cal wondered what had come before. Before Rindon. What places and things and names had he known, before the boy had come up out of the trees? ‘You will remain here, for now. You will work, and you will forget about the hills, and about old men and their stories.’ The Blacksmith said at length, his voice distant and faded. ‘I will go to Solen’s myself, next time.’ ‘But-’ ‘Do not question me a second time, boy. Remember our word.’ The Blacksmith rumbled, but his anger was gone, and his voice was nothing but weary. His dark eyes flashed, but they did not look up. ‘You may go. I have no more need of you, today.’ Cal hesitated a moment longer, staring at him. Anger was building in the pit of his belly, hot as embers, and his head ached. But Cal knew better. He had learned better. So he snatched up the loaf from the table, and hurried up the stair into his little attic chamber, leaving the scarred Blacksmith and the nightwood chest brooding in the growing shadows of the fire. He ate, and he sat, staring out of his small window in the sloping roof, at pine-swept hills, gleaming wetly in the last throes of the day. He watched, and he waited, as was his way, while the light faded, and the shadow of the mountains pressed against the faint glimmer of the veiled moon. He looked, and he thought of the Old Man in his cave, of his stories, of the names he had taught him. He thought of a horizon watched from the black slopes, of cities and seas and names beyond count, and a word crept into his heart. A word became thought, and a thought became resolve, and it hardened in him like gemstone, pressed in with the terrible ache of his waiting. Before sleep found him, he went for a moment to the stairs, looking down into the room beyond. The Blacksmith’s broad shoulders were laid prone against the hard edge of the floor, facing away into the dimming embers of the fire. As Cal watched, he stirred fitfully in his sleep, turning onto his back, and Cal saw that his lips were shifting wordlessly, eyelids twitching, bald head sheened with sweat. Cal thought about going down to him, but then his lips fell still, and he turned away towards the dead fire again, submerging his face shadow. Cal watched for a while longer, but the Blacksmith did not stir again, and at last he went in search of his own sleep, frowning softly in the dark.
*
It was morning, when he came up out of the trees. The sun made him squint, and the cliffs bled black into the sky. ‘We will walk, today.’ The Old Man told him, grey and gold and gleaming silver. ‘Where are we going?’ He asked him. ‘You will see.’ The Old Man replied. So they walked, and the sun glowed hot overhead, ripped with cloud. Away from the cave, over a ledge of black stone, across a stream of flashing water, and further still. The mountains were at their side, taller than the sky, and he stared at them as he went, too small, still, to see beyond them. ‘Has anyone ever climbed them?’ He asked as they went, eyes full of the sky, and the Old Man looked up at the Teeth, thinking for a moment. ‘It is death to try.’ He said after a moment, frowning. ‘Not since Ulwe the Maker split the world has anyone made it past those mountains who wasn’t welcome. Not since the age of the Gods themselves.’ ‘There must be some way.’ ‘Every wall has its doors.’ The old man smiled. ‘The Teeth have but two. The first is watched by the Northmen, though they have long forgotten what they’re guarding. The other, the Greycloaks keep still. What’s left of them.’ ‘The Cursed Ones? What are they guarding?’ ‘The dark, boy.’ He blinked. ‘How can you guard the dark?’ The old man’s eyes gleamed. ‘You’d have to ask them.’ He stared at the mountains, and the mountains stared back, and the black hills filled his eyes, smothering the sky.

Series Page - Read 8 weeks ahead on Patreon - Read the story so far on Royal Road
*
Chapter Seven - Asking Questions
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Cal groaned, bracing his shoulder against the cart. The damp wood creaked, wheels struggling for purchase on the sodden shale. Beside him, the old donkey snorted, tramping its hooves and straining against its harness. Cal gritted his teeth, fighting against the weight of it. He groaned, legs burning, and the cart rolled slowly out of the mud-flooded ditch, crunching back onto the shale of the track. He stood panting for a moment, blowing steam into the cold air. The imminent winter had left the path rutted and riven with turgid pools of dirty water, and the old cart was faring poorly. He glanced back the way he had come. Through the trees that wreathed the roadside, Rindon looked back in reproving silence from lower down the slope, chimneys smoking softly. Not so far away as he had hoped. The Teeth loomed through the boughs overhead, bare and black. Dark clouds had started gathering over them, veiling the midday sun, and the air was thick and still. Rain was coming. He hoped he would be home before it arrived. Beside him, the old donkey was breathing heavily in its harness, flicking its grey ears back and forth in protest. Cal stepped out of the ditch and stroked the animal's nose. ‘Almost there.’ He patted its side, and the it started forward again, albeit a little more reluctantly than before. The wheels rattled against the stony track, creaking. Away from the village it went, winding into the grey hills and dark trees like a coiled rope, frayed half to breaking with age. But it still held, despite the weather, trundling upwards towards the mine. Wasn’t anything else up there worth visiting. 'Not far.' He murmured, more for his own comfort than anything else. It was a punishing climb, but there would be no smithy without iron. Cal was breathing hard and dripping with sweat when they finally reached their goal, half-stumbling over the lip of the hill into a barren, grey clearing between the trees. The cart sagged against the level ground, and the donkey groaned in relief, snorting great plumes of steamy breath into the chill air and braying morosely. Cal wiped his brow, taking a swig from the waterskin at his waist, and looked at the large, open archway that had been cut into the rock beside the road. He could hear voices inside, and the clang of picks, the slow rumble of the smelting furnaces, roaring to each other unintelligibly in the din. The opening glowed faintly, pulsing with orange light, belching hot air like the mountain itself was alive with fire. The barn beside it was marginally more welcoming. A high roof, thatched and dripping, clinging precariously to the shelf of black, uneven rock where the trees had found no purchase. Men in stained tunics were carrying crates through the open doorway, grunting and straining against the weight of them. Brows damp with sweat, muscles cording. They paid Cal no attention, and that suited him just fine. He wasn’t much in the mood for chatting, and working men seldom have time for strays and their animals. Each time he made the climb, he recognised fewer of Solen’s workers. What drove men to come east into this Godsforsaken place looking for work, he had no clue. Cal brushed his hair back from his face, looping the donkey’s reigns over the short post at the roadside. The Blacksmith had given him little coin to bargain with, and Solen was a shrewd man. Pompous, stuffed over-full of sweetmeats, and far too fond of his own voice, as is often the way with merchants; a small, bloated fish in a smaller pond. Unfortunately, he was also the only source of iron any of the hillfolk had, so Cal’s personal objections to his character weren’t important. Bartering was a game, another of the Blacksmith’s lessons, and he would play it, if he had to. This lesson, at least, gave him a reason to leave the perimeter of the smithy. Little comfort, but he took a deep breath all the same, affecting a careless smile, and stepped past the empty cart into the barn, leaving the donkey’s melancholic braying behind him. It was warm beyond the doorway, and the air was thick with the smell of sweat and damp, but Cal didn’t remove his cloak. It would make him look older. Dim light filtered through the rafters, and dust sifted through shards of grey sunlight. A maze of crates rose haphazardly from the earthen floor, marked by broad strokes of colour, red, blue, green and yellow, and workmen moved like shadows in and out of the towering piles, shifting and marking the wood with large, colourful brushes. There was a short desk near the door, and small man sat behind it, tallying coins against a piece of well-marked parchment. The man looked up as Ren entered, nose twitching, then quickly back at his coin, sneering noticeably. Solen was not a tall man, and his penchant for fine foods from the Lowlands had left him with a paunch that strained against his patterned belt. Where his workers were dirty and stained with sweat, he was remarkably clean in his fresh, collared shirt, thin hair combed carefully over his pale head. As Cal approached, he dabbed at his smooth, doughy face with a white handkerchief, and a slight smile curved his thin lips. 'The blacksmith’s boy!’ He said dryly, eyes blinking at the dusty air. As he spoke, his fingers brushed the coins before him like fisherman baiting his line. ‘Yer old man no longer trust himself to haggle with me?’ ‘He is very busy, this past month.’ Cal said politely, biting back a retort. ‘He sent me in his stead.’ He gave the merchant a smile, dipping his head. ‘Ah. The wolf sends his pup to hunt for him. A lesser man might take offence.’ Solen replied dryly, dabbing at his face with the handkerchief. ‘Go on then, boy. How much you buying?’ ‘Two crates, for now.’ Cal told him, reaching into his cloak and pulling out a heavy purse. ‘I have the coin.’ The short man looked at the purse, bulbous eyes flashing. Cal could almost see the cogs turning behind them. ‘Doubt that’ll get you two crates.’ The merchant told him, lifting himself to his feet with a grunt. ‘Still, let’s see what you can afford.’ Cal followed him, trying not to frown. When standing, Solen was already smaller than him, and his gait had the weary unevenness of a man taken more to sitting than walking. The merchant approached a large crate marked with red paint, patting it thoughtfully. Then he clicked his fingers, and gestured to one of his men. ‘Rory, this one.’ He snapped, and a tall man hurried over, hefting a metal bar in his hands. The big man dug the narrow end into the lid of the crate, and heaved it downward, filling the air with the crackling sound of splintering wood. The container fell open, and light gleamed on the dark chunks of metal within. Cal inspected them closely. ‘Men found the vein three weeks ago’ Solen said at his shoulder. ‘Shaft was long and deep, very dangerous. Won’t part with it cheaply.’ ‘Of course not.’ Cal reached down and picked up one of the ingots, weighing it in his hands. It was good iron. For Rindon, anyway. More than good enough for butcher’s knives and arrowheads. He straightened, looking back at the merchant calmly. ‘I can’t go below three coppers an ingot.’ Solen told him, holding the crate open with one doughy hand. Cal frowned, weighing the purse in his hands. ‘I can pay half that.' Solen laughed, a thin, joyless sound, scoffing at him. ‘Then you’ll be going back to your master with an empty cart.’ He said bluntly, lowering the lid of the crate. Cal sighed. A short while later he was waiting patiently as a couple of Solen’s workmen lifted two red-marked crates onto his waiting cart. The donkey was braying softly, and the clouds overhead were grumbling ominously. Cal weighed the coin purse against his palm as he watched them, smiling faintly in spite of himself, pretending he couldn’t feel Solen shooting daggers at his back from the barn’s open doorway. When the cart was readied, he thanked them and untied the donkey, leading him unhurriedly back onto the path. He smiled politely at Solen as he passed the doorway. The merchant didn’t smile back, and that made Cal’s smile all the wider. But, in spite of his little victory, he found himself strangely uncomfortable, on the little shelf of black rock beside the glowing mine. There was a dour air to Solen’s warehouse that day, more so than usual, and he had seen several of the newer workers moving dark-faced through the crates, eyes flicking at him distrustfully. He knew better than to outstay his welcome. Besides, victors shouldn’t dance near their fallen foes, as the Blacksmith would say. The road ahead was long enough, and the gathering clouds were heavy with water. Time to be off. ‘Come on, then.’ The cart groaned beneath its new cargo as they began the slow descent back towards the village, aching like an old man in winter. * The afternoon was dwindling on towards evening when they drew past the first of the houses. In the east, the Teeth thrust upwards like black daggers, opening the belly of the clouds, and cold, thick water began to fall in sheets across the jagged slopes below. The men and women of Rindon hurried through the low stone buildings with downcast eyes, headed for their thick doors and warm hearths, quickly disappearing out of the deluge. But Cal had always liked the rain. The shimmering reflectiveness of a world underwater. The distorted sharpness of it. So, instead of taking shelter with the rest, he shrugged himself a little deeper into his cloak, and kept walking. The donkey moaned in disapproval, and they rattled slowly along the narrow, muddy street, making for the forge beyond the village’s edge, and for home. Water ran in thick rivulets down the animal’s glistening coat, and Cal could feel it soaking through his clothes, clinging to his skin. The path was empty, by now, and water gleamed around his feet, pouring in streams from the thatched roofs. Even the inn had closed its doors, leaving only the glimmer of firelight around the edges of the shutters. The stony shapes of the village drew past him in a slow blur. Shale clicked beneath the wheels, half-lost to the rain, and the cart rumbled on. ‘Cal!’ He started, looking back over his shoulder. The Innkeep’s boy was standing under the eaves of the inn, scowling. The youth’s fair hair was dry, and he was leaning casually against the door, ill-fitted shirt draped haphazardly over his slender shoulders. Lokk had always been handsome, and now, with his youth dragging on towards manhood, there was a little more sharpness to his jaw than there had been, a dash of fair stubble on his still soft, rounded cheeks. Even frowning, his mouth was curling like a dried leaf. Lokk was always smiling. 'Trying to catch your death?’ Lokk demanded. ‘You’re cracked.’ ‘Sane man, mad master.’ Cal replied, grinning. ‘What’s your excuse?’ ‘Escaping Carel for a moment.’ Lokk chuckled. ‘Does she need another potscrubber? Beats the smithy.’ ‘My heart bleeds for you, poor, clever Cal.’ Lokk rolled his eyes. ‘Get inside, will you. Wait this out by the fire.’ Cal shook his head. ‘Got to get this back.’ ‘Don’t be an ass. It’ll pass soon.’ Lokk told him. ‘Beast knows better than you do.’ Cal glanced down at the dejected shape of the donkey beside him, staring sullenly at the dirt. ‘Fine.’ He relented, starting to turn the cart around. ‘Can’t stand all this water.’ Lokk said as they began to steer the cart off the path. ‘Much dryer, down west, in the Stones. Another summer or two, and we’ll be out of this place for good.’ Cal smiled agreeably, but didn’t reply, lowering his eyes a little uncomfortably. Together they found a space for the donkey in the narrow stable bay beside the inn, covered from the rain. The animal seemed as grateful as a donkey could seem, drying beneath the thatching with some day-old hay, and they left him to his grazing, heading for the promise of shelter. The inn door creaked as it opened, a creak of satisfying sturdiness, and Cal found himself suddenly bathed in the accumulated warmth of the fire. The Watcher’s Nest had always been a place of slow things, the quiet unhurriedness of lazy thoughts and careful words. Where the name had come from, no one seemed to remember, or had decided not to care. The common room was broad, scattered with wooden tables and benches, worn in the way of an old walking stick, made comfortable by the touch of many hands. A few working men were spread unevenly amongst the seats, breaking their fast in dour silence. But the amber light was warm, and there was a smell of fresh bread on the air. Cal smiled. It was a place familiar to him in a way that few places were. The place where he had started to know the names of things. Of cedarwood and lavender, peppered bread and spiced ham, woodsmoke on beams of ebony. He realised suddenly how hungry he was. For the moment, though, he ignored his belly, and followed Lokk over to the bar, wiping the rain from his face. Behind it, a young woman in a loose tunic and ale-stained apron was balanced precariously on a narrow stool, face obscured behind the rows of iron-banded barrels racked against the ceiling. Lokk cleared his throat, giving Cal a look. ‘Back from your important business in the stables already, are you?’ The young woman asked dryly, still busy with the barrels. ‘One of the beasts was terrified. Had to bring him inside. Can’t have him running off.’ Lokk replied. ‘Ugly brute, but it couldn’t be helped.’ A small, exasperated noise came from behind the barrels, and the young woman dropped lithely to the floor from her stool, scowling. Carel was a year or so the boys’ senior, and even the looseness of her smock could not quite hide the budding curves of her womanhood. Her hair was fair, like her brother’s, and fell down about her shoulders in a sea of delicate curls, framing the soft lines of her face. As she landed, she caught sight of Cal, and her frown deepened. ‘Poor thing.’ She agreed, looking back at her brother. ‘Did you try watering him?’ ‘Everything but ale.’ Lokk replied, giving Cal a concerned look. ‘Well, no time like the present.’ Carel’s scowl faded, and she favoured Cal with a small smile, cheeks dimpling. Cal felt a little heat returning to his lips. ‘Father just opened a new barrel from Westmere. Lowlanders might not know Westri wine from horse piss, but they know their ales.’ ‘What’d’you know about wine?’ Lokk snorted. ‘More than you.’ Carel snorted back, looking at Cal. ‘How about it, then?’ ‘A little early for me.’ ‘Too early?’ Lokk demanded, eyeing him incredulously. ‘I think Da has a saying about that…’ Cal rolled his eyes. Carel chuckled, and he found himself smiling. 'Lokk, you lazy sod! Get in here!' A man's voice bellowed somewhere in the back. Lokk flinched. 'Duty calls.' He murmured, hopping over the bar and vanishing through a swinging door, scowling. 'You sure about that ale?' Carel asked as her brother disappeared, brown eyes watching him. 'Not today.' Cal said, cursing the Blacksmith silently. Carel shrugged, hopping back onto the stool and busying herself with the stubborn cask above the bar again. 'He's working you harder than usual.' Cal blinked, and Carel laughed. 'Haven't seen you in nearly two weeks. I notice.' 'Ah.' Cal hesitated, finding himself suddenly self-conscious. On the other side of the bar, Carel cursed as she fumbled with the cask. It gave an alarming lurch, and Cal was over the bar without thinking, holding up his arms to catch it. Carel ignored him, hopping nimbly down from the stool, plucking the falling barrel easily from the air above Cal’s waiting hands and dropping it onto the bar. He blinked, embarrassed, suddenly aware of how close she was, and felt his face redden. Then she turned away, busying herself with the cask again. ‘Any sign of all that mad old wolf giving you a breather, soon?’ She asked him, casting an eye back over her shoulder. He sighed. ‘Not likely.’ ‘Shame.’ A moment of quiet. Cal squirmed. He was almost wishing he was back looking at the Blacksmith's scowling face when the door behind the bar came to his rescue, swinging open noisily. A man in a stained apron spilled through, face ruddy and sweating. The Innkeep had never been the slimmest man, but he'd added a few extra inches to his waist in the last few years, leaving him with the comfortably swollen belly of a man well into his fortieth decade. Otherwise, little had changed since Cal had arrived on his doorstep all those years ago. Sandy hair shot with grey, lazily stubbled cheeks, a smile a wide as his children's, if a little less mischievous. He was frowning as he entered, but the moment he saw his guest, a warm smile spread across his face, and Cal found himself smiling back. ‘Cal!’ He beamed. Cal had always liked the Innkeep's voice. It was soft and kind, unbothered, in the way many of the hillfolk were, with finishing every word it started. A safe voice. Nothing like the blunt authority of the Blacksmith, or the devious riddling of the Old Man. As he entered, Carel took her cue, bowing out quickly through the door behind him. Cal thought he caught the smallest of smiles flicker across the Innkeep's face, but he made no comment. ‘Maker's arse, if you don't look skinnier every time I see you.’ The older man frowned. ‘That brute still feeding you?’ ‘Of course. Wouldn't risk me keeling over. Who'd do all the work?’ ‘Damn right! What else are children for?’ He grinned. ‘Did those whelps of mine not offer you a drink?’ ‘They did. A little early for me, though.’ Cal replied apologetically. ‘Never too early for ale, lad. Best to start the evening as you mean to finish it. Still, won't let you leave without a little something to warm your belly.’ He smiled, winking at him conspiratorially. ‘Got some fried potatoes and ham left over from lunch. Still warm...’ ‘Thank you, but I should be getting back.’ ‘If you say so.’ The Innkeep relented, producing a small, worn pipe from behind his apron and began to tamp down at the weed. Cal raised an eyebrow. ‘Thought you gave that up?’ ‘So I have, if it’s Carel asking. Always smoky in here, though. Gets into the clothes, it does.’ He grinned. ‘You been up at Solen’s?’ ‘For my sins.’ The Innkeep snorted. ‘Little weasel, that one. Taken on some new hands, too. From down west, by the look of them.’ Cal thought of the dark-faced men with their curious eyes, frowning. ‘I saw.’ ‘Lowlanders don’t last long in a place like this. Made of butter, that lot. Not like us hillfolk.’ He grinned, patting his belly. ‘Men made of granite, in these hills.’ Cal didn’t reply. He looked towards the window, where giant spears of rain were slicing down with a sound like distant thunder, and a little flash of white lit the grey sky. ‘Reminds me,’ The Innkeep was saying, looking for a light for his pipe. ‘Had a stranger in here asking questions, yesterday. Might’ve been one of Solen’s new folk. Didn’t get much of a good look at him.’ Cal frowned. ‘Questions?’ ‘Asking after that Greycloak fellow, one what lives up in the hills, hereabouts.’ Cal blinked, suddenly realising who he was talking about. The Old Man. A Greycloak? He supposed he’d never given it much thought. His mind felt a little muddy, blurred. He frowned at himself. He was exhausted. The Innkeep lowered his voice, giving the scattered patrons a glance, and leaned a little closer. ‘Now, look, I know it’s none of my business, but people talk. Saying you go visiting up near the old stormtower more than most. Thought you might want to know someone was asking questions.’ Cal blinked. Apparently the Blacksmith was right. He needed to be more careful. ’What’d you tell him?’ ‘Nout. Those Greycloak types are a dangerous sort, no matter what folk say. Not that I hold much water with that magic nonsense, mind, but dangerous all the same.’ He paused scowling around his pipe. ‘Besides, no good’ll come of strangers asking questions. Trust these city folk about as far as I can spit. Too much air up here, goes to their heads.’ Cal frowned. ‘I should be going.’ ‘See that you come back soon, boy.’ The Innkeep told him, chewing at the end of his pipe. ‘He’s working you hard, that’s the Maker’s truth. But I reckon a man needs two things to be happy. Ale and good cooking. Ain’t no life at all without those, especially when they’re free. Call it repayment for giving you up to that madman in the first place.’ Cal gave the Innkeep his thanks, excusing himself and heading for the door. He looked back from the doorstep, hesitating,amd found the Innkeep right where he’d left him, face flashing amber in the glow of his pipe, blowing smoke rings into the air with a contented smile on his ruddy, stubbled cheeks. Then went out again into the rain, alone, frowning to himself. * By the time he arrived back at the Blacksmith’s cottage, the day was drawing on towards evening, and the sun was beginning to droop behind the western pines, smeared like wet red paint with the endless deluge of rain. He tended quickly to the donkey, and the iron, eager to be out of it, then hurried towards the promising glimmer of firelight from the window. The cottage door swung closed behind him with a thud, and the sound of the rain and wind vanished. He threw off his cloak and wiped the water from his face, raking fingers through his sodden hair. ‘You’re late.’ The Blacksmith told him bluntly, looking up. He was sitting in a chair beside the fire, one hand scratching idly at the pale scar under his coal-black beard, bald head gleaming. The chair looked almost comically small beneath his enormous frame, and his shoulders covered most of the wall behind him. There was a mug on the table beside him, and dark liquid swilled gently against its rim. The cottage was not large, and it made room only for the most necessary of things. The small hearth, the small table beside it. The low shelves, stuffed with a modestly necessary collection of pots and pans, a handful of scratched plates. The nightwood chest in the corner, of course, too, weighing against the stone floor, black with waiting. Even the stairs leading to Cal’s attic were barely wide enough for feet. The shadows of the evening were creeping in, amber light and shifting shadows swirling across the bare stone walls. Cal hung his cloak up beside the door, and came over towards the fire, holding his hands out to the flames. ‘Iron’s in the forge.’ He told the the Blacksmith, blinking the rain from his eyes. ‘Donkey’s in the stable.’ ‘You’ve been at the Nest.’ Cal hesitated, opening his mouth, then closed it again. ‘Pipe smoke.’ ‘You reek of it.’ The Blacksmith’s dark eyes flickered. ‘Thought he gave it up?’ ‘Apparently not.’ Cal replied, shivering, rubbing his hands together. ‘Out with it, then.’ The Blacksmith grumbled, staring at him. ‘One and a half coppers.’ The Blacksmith nodded. ‘A good deal.’ He looked back into the fire, and his scar gleamed hotly under his beard. ‘Solen is a shrewd little toad.’ Cal thought of the merchant watching him go, red-faced and scowling. ‘A toad with a leaky warehouse.’ Cal grinned. ‘Rust gets in real quick, this time of year. Much quicker than a caravan from the lowlands.’ ‘Well played, boy.’ The Blacksmith said quietly. The boy thought he saw a twinkling of amusement in his eyes for a moment, and then it was gone. ‘Here’s the rest.’ Cal replied, reaching inside his cloak and dropping a jingling, if a little depleted, purse onto the table. His master’s praise was rare. He caught sight of a fresh loaf on the table, and his stomach growled at him hungrily. He hadn’t eaten in hours. He reached out to snatch it up, but the Blacksmith held up a hand to stop him. ‘Wait.’ He told him, dark eyes unyielding. ‘The most prominent chroniclers of the Valian Fractures.’ ‘Deronis, Oritan, and Molaer.’ Cal replied without hesitation, still eyeing the bread. ‘Best carbon ratio for a wagon strut?’ ‘One part in a hundred.’ A pause. The fire whispered. The Blacksmith shifted in his seat, taking a swig from his mug. ‘You are distracted.’ Cal blinked. The Blacksmith was watching him with his black eyes, scar gleaming in the firelight. ‘Out with it, boy. What has you spooked?’ Cal hesitated. ‘Just something the Innkeep said.’ ‘Do I have to ask him, to hear it?’ The Blacksmith grumbled. ‘No, I…’ Cal trailed off, frowning. ‘Said a stranger was asking questions at the Nest. Asking about an old man living in the hills. A Greycloak.’ ‘And he thought this would interest you?’ Cal hesitated, lowering his eyes. ‘I told you that you were being careless, boy. The villagers have taken notice of your exploring.’ ‘You’d rather I was locked up here day and night?’ Cal demanded, cheeks suddenly hot. ‘Don’t be a fool, boy. The innkeep may not care, but these are superstitious folk, here. They will not take kindly to boys who seek the company of Cursed Ones.’ Cal glared at him, anger hot on his tongue. The bearded Blacksmith watched him, unmoved. He gritted his teeth. ‘You would go to him.’ It was not a question. He could feel the Blacksmith’s black eyes boring into his skin. He swallowed, then nodded. ‘If someone is asking questions… I should warn him. If they think he’s a Greycloak… Well, I doubt they’ll be friendly.’ The Blacksmith was silent for a long moment. The fire cracked, and outside, the soft rhythm of the fading rain brushed against the thatching. Even the nightwood chest in the corner seemed to withdraw into the quiet, gleaming like a shadow. ‘No. The old man can look after himself.’ ‘But…’ ‘No!’ He thundered suddenly. The Blacksmith was gone, and in his place, a shadow filled the room, giant shoulders towering against the rafters. Anger filled the air like the weight before a storm, heavy and writhing. The fire sputtered, and Cal recoiled, blinking. Then the shadow was gone. The air cleared again, and the fire flickered. Cal straightened. The Blacksmith was sitting again in the chair beside the hearth, not terrible and angry, but hunched, aged like an old root. He looked at once very tired, like the final throes of ale from an empty barrel. His long, pale scar gleamed beneath his black beard, eyes sunk deep into hollow cheeks. Not for the first time, Cal wondered what had come before. Before Rindon. What places and things and names had he known, before the boy had come up out of the trees? ‘You will remain here, for now. You will work, and you will forget about the hills, and about old men and their stories.’ The Blacksmith said at length, his voice distant and faded. ‘I will go to Solen’s myself, next time.’ ‘But-’ ‘Do not question me a second time, boy. Remember our word.’ The Blacksmith rumbled, but his anger was gone, and his voice was nothing but weary. His dark eyes flashed, but they did not look up. ‘You may go. I have no more need of you, today.’ Cal hesitated a moment longer, staring at him. Anger was building in the pit of his belly, hot as embers, and his head ached. But Cal knew better. He had learned better. So he snatched up the loaf from the table, and hurried up the stair into his little attic chamber, leaving the scarred Blacksmith and the nightwood chest brooding in the growing shadows of the fire. He ate, and he sat, staring out of his small window in the sloping roof, at pine-swept hills, gleaming wetly in the last throes of the day. He watched, and he waited, as was his way, while the light faded, and the shadow of the mountains pressed against the faint glimmer of the veiled moon. He looked, and he thought of the Old Man in his cave, of his stories, of the names he had taught him. He thought of a horizon watched from the black slopes, of cities and seas and names beyond count, and a word crept into his heart. A word became thought, and a thought became resolve, and it hardened in him like gemstone, pressed in with the terrible ache of his waiting. Before sleep found him, he went for a moment to the stairs, looking down into the room beyond. The Blacksmith’s broad shoulders were laid prone against the hard edge of the floor, facing away into the dimming embers of the fire. As Cal watched, he stirred fitfully in his sleep, turning onto his back, and Cal saw that his lips were shifting wordlessly, eyelids twitching, bald head sheened with sweat. Cal thought about going down to him, but then his lips fell still, and he turned away towards the dead fire again, submerging his face shadow. Cal watched for a while longer, but the Blacksmith did not stir again, and at last he went in search of his own sleep, frowning softly in the dark. * It was morning, when he came up out of the trees. The sun made him squint, and the cliffs bled black into the sky. ‘We will walk, today.’ The Old Man told him, grey and gold and gleaming silver. ‘Where are we going?’ He asked him. ‘You will see.’ The Old Man replied. So they walked, and the sun glowed hot overhead, ripped with cloud. Away from the cave, over a ledge of black stone, across a stream of flashing water, and further still. The mountains were at their side, taller than the sky, and he stared at them as he went, too small, still, to see beyond them. ‘Has anyone ever climbed them?’ He asked as they went, eyes full of the sky, and the Old Man looked up at the Teeth, thinking for a moment. ‘It is death to try.’ He said after a moment, frowning. ‘Not since Ulwe the Maker split the world has anyone made it past those mountains who wasn’t welcome. Not since the age of the Gods themselves.’ ‘There must be some way.’ ‘Every wall has its doors.’ The old man smiled. ‘The Teeth have but two. The first is watched by the Northmen, though they have long forgotten what they’re guarding. The other, the Greycloaks keep still. What’s left of them.’ ‘The Cursed Ones? What are they guarding?’ ‘The dark, boy.’ He blinked. ‘How can you guard the dark?’ The old man’s eyes gleamed. ‘You’d have to ask them.’ He stared at the mountains, and the mountains stared back, and the black hills filled his eyes, smothering the sky.

Four or more dead (Suicides Indicated by an asterisk)
By a single killer (The killer is charged or would have been charged had he lived.)
Minors cannot generally be held legally liable for a murder or homicide. Such cases are included here with an annotation.
By any criminal means
The editor aims to include all cases. This leads to a presumption to publish. I welcome corrections and additions.
==1970==
17 February 1970 Fort Liberty NC, 4 killed (including unborn child) (stabbed) (http://murderpedia.org/male.M/m/macdonald-jeffrey.htm) Fort Liberty was then called Fort Bragg
20 March 1970 Seattle WA, 21 killed (arson) (https://www.seattlepi.com/local/article/Ozark-Hotel-fire-unsolved-1971-Seattle-blaze-4401146.php) unsolved
14 September 1970 Los Angeles CA, 19 killed (arson) (http://gendisasters.com/california/6608/los-angeles-ca-hotel-fire-claims-many-lives-sep-1970)
19 October 1970 Santa Cruz CA, 5 killed (shot) (http://murderpedia.org/male.F/f/frazier-john-linley.htm)
==1971==
14 June 1971 Detroit MI, 8 killed (shot) (New York Times 21 June 1971 p. 59:4) unsolved
19 October 1971 Honesdale PA, 15 killed (arson) (https://www.tricountyindependent.com/article/20091217/NEWS/312179990)
9 November 1971 Westfield NJ 5 killed (shot) (http://murderpedia.org/male.L/l/list-john-emil.htm)
20 December 1970 Tucson AZ, 29 killed (arson) (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pioneer_Hotel_(Tucson%2C_Arizona))
==1972==
6 February 1972 Pierce County WA, 4 killed (shot) (http://murderpedia.org/male.C/c/clemmons-maurice.htm)
24 March 1972 Clarkstown NY, 5 killed ("criminally negligent homicide") (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gilchrest_Road,_New_York_crossing_accident) school bus driver failed to yield to a train
3 April 1972 Philadelphia PA, 4 killed (shot) (New York Times 4 April 1972 p. 47:1) botched gang hit
29 May 1972 Raleigh NC, 5 killed (shot) (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_rampage_killers_(Americas))
21 June 1972 Cherry Hill NJ, 7 killed (shot) (http://murderpedia.org/male.G/g/grace-edwin-james.htm)
==1973==
“Early January 1973” Santa Cruz County (Henry Cowell Redwoods State Park), 5 killed (shot) (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Herbert_Mullin) Same killer as 10 February
7 January 1973 New Orleans LA, 4 killed (shot) (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mark_Essex#New_Year's_Eve_1972)
10 February 1973 Santa Cruz CA, 5 killed (multiple) (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Herbert_Mullin)
29 January 1973 Pleasantville NJ, 10 killed (arson) (https://www.nytimes.com/1973/01/30/archives/fire-in-jersey-rest-home-kills-woman-106-and-9-woman-106-dead-in.html)
22 April 1973 Los Angeles CA, 7 killed (shot) (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_Ray_Bonner)
14 May 1973 Seminole County GA, 6 killed (shot) (http://murderpedia.org/male.I/i1/isaacs-carl-junior.htm)
22 May 1973 Los Angeles CA 7 killed (shot) (http://murderpedia.org/male.B/b/bonner-william-ray.htm)
8/9 June 1973 Boston MA 7 killed (shot) (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_rampage_killers_(familicides_in_the_United_States))
24 June 1973 New Orleans LA, 32 killed (arson) (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/UpStairs_Lounge_arson_attack) unsolved
==1974==
15 January 1974 near Blythe CA, 19* killed (vehicular homicide) (1974 Blythe, California bus crash - Wikipedia)
15 January 1974, Wichita KS, 4 killed (multiple) (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dennis_Rader#Evaluation_by_Robert_Mendoza)
18 February 1974 Fayette MS, 7 killed (arson) (https://newspaperarchive.com/murder-clipping-feb-19-1974-173948/)
10-11 May 1974 McLennan/Collin Counties TX 4 killed (shot) (http://murderpedia.org/male.W/w1/white-robert-excell.htm) unusual as a machinegun was used.
30 June 1974 Port Chester NY, 24 killed (arson) (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gulliver's_nightclub_fire)
Before 1 September 1974 near Copper OR, 4 killed (multiple) (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cowden_family_murders) unsolved, one suspect
13 November 1974 Ammityville NY, 6 killed (shot) (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ronald_DeFeo_Jr.)
==1975==
24 January 1975, Manhattan NY, 4 killed (bomb) (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fraunces_Tavern#Bombing) Terrorist attack. May not meet the one killer requirement. No arrests.
30 March 1975 Hamilton OH, 11 killed (shot) (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/James_Ruppert)
7 July 1975 Portland OR, 12 killed (arson) (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pomona_Hotel_fire)
1 November 1975 Black Hawk County IA 4 killed (shot) (http://murderpedia.org/male.M/m/mark-jerry.htm)
13 November 1975 Amityville NY, 6 killed (shot) (http://murderpedia.org/male.D/d/defeo-ronald.htm)
4 December 1975 Orange County FL (shot) (http://murderpedia.org/male.Z/z/zeigler-william.htm)
24 December 1975 Orange County FL, 4 killed (shot) (http://murderpedia.org/male.Z/z/zeigler-william.htm)
29 December 1975 (bomb) 11 killed (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1975_LaGuardia_Airport_bombing) unsolved
==1976==
30 January 1976 Chicago IL 13 killed (Arson) (https://www.nytimes.com/1976/01/31/archives/nursing-home-fire-in-chicago-kills-13-30-suffer-injuries.html) (http://gendisasters.com/illinois/12897/chicago-il-nursing-home-fire-jan-1976)
1 March 1976, Bethesda MD, 5 killed (multiple) (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bradford_Bishop)
12 March 1976 Bucks County PA, 6 killed (shot) (http://murderpedia.org/male.G/g/geschwendt-george.htm)
12 July 1976, Fullerton CA, 7 killed (shot) (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/California_State_University,_Fullerton_massacre) School shooting
24 October 1976 Bronx NY, 27 killed (arson) (http://www.nytimes.com/1976/10/25/archives/fire-sweeps-bronx-social-club-leaving-25-dead-and-24-injured.html)
20 October 1976, Saint Charles Parish, LA 78* killed (Drunken/negligent operation of a ferry)( https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/MV_George_Prince_ferry_disaster#Conclusions_of_the_investigation)
28 November 1976, Mountvale NJ, 4 killed (shot) (https://www.nydailynews.com/true-crime-justice-story/ny-de-la-roche-massacre-nj-20201119-if3c2dz34fhc7czpgehyxym3um-story.html)
==1977==
14 February 1977 New Rochelle NY, 7 killed (shot) (http://murderpedia.org/male.C/c/cowan-frederick.htm)
28 May 1977 Southgate KY, 165 killed (arson) (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Beverly_Hills_Supper_Club_fire) unsolved
29 June 1977 Columbia TN, 42 killed (Arson) (http://gendisasters.com/tennessee/4124/columbia%2C-tn-fumes-fire-kill-42-jail%2C-june-1977) The arsonist, Andrew Zimmer was a juvenile. He was released a few months later.
22 July 1977 Prospect CT, 9 killed (beating/multiple) (http://murderpedia.org/male.A/a/acquin-lorne.htm) familicide ..
27 July 1977 Miami-Dade County FL 6 killed (shot) (http://murderpedia.org/male.W/w1/white-beauford.htm)
23 July 1977 Klamath Falls OR, 7 killed (shot) (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_rampage_killers_(Americas)) Total includes unborn child
14 August 1977 Terrebonne Parish LA 4 killed (shot) (http://murderpedia.org/male.M/m1/martin-david-dene.htm)
26 August 1977 Hackettstown NJ, 7 killed (shot) (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_rampage_killers_(Americas))
15 September 1977 Climax Springs MO, 4 killed (shot) (http://www.lakeexpo.com/news/top_sto...e261211e4.html)
2 October 1977 Plant City FL, 10 killed (vehicular homicide) (http://www.gendisasters.com/florida/23027/plant-city-fl-train-crashes-truck-oct-1977) (Logansport Pharos-Tribune Indiana 1977-10-0)
17 October 1977 Port Hudson LA, 5* killed (vehicular homicide/DWI) (http://www.gendisasters.com/louisiana/22790/port-hudson-la-pickup-truck-auto-crash-oct-1977)
4 December 1977 Cochise County AZ, 4 killed (stabbed) (http://murderpedia.org/male.C/c1/clark-james-dean.htm)
29 December 1977 to 27 January 1978 California, 6 killed (multiple) (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Richard_Chase) May not meet the requirement of a single emotional event.
==1978==
7 January 1978 Rockford IL 6 killed (multiple) (http://murderpedia.org/male.N/n/nelson-simon-peter.htm)
2 June 1978 Choes VA, 8 killed (arson) (https://www.timesunion.com/local/article/City-still-bares-scar-of-1978-fatal-arson-589835.php) Unsolved, only 1 suspect
18 June 1978 Warwick RI 5* killed (multiple) (https://www.nytimes.com/1978/06/18/archives/cafe-shooting-leaves-five-dead.html) One died of a heart attack. One pregnant woman killed Not clear if he killed himself.
28 June 1978 Boston MA 5 killed (shot) (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blackfriars_massacre) (Unsolved, three attackers, but unknown number of killers)
17 July 1978 Buffalo NY, 4 killed (stabbed) (http://murderpedia.org/female.T/t/trait-gail.htm)
3 August 1978 Salt Lake City UT, 7 killed (multiple) (http://murderpedia.org/female.B/b/braxton-nadia.htm)
3 August 1978 Brooklyn NY, 6 killed (arson) (https://www.nydailynews.com/new-york/ny-metro-walbaums-forty-years-20180801-story.html) (https://www.jstage.jst.go.jp/article/fst/17/1/17_1_10/_pdf/-chaen) Later (1994) the case fell apart on retrial. He was acquitted.
17 November 1978 Speedway IN 4 killed (Multiple) (Unsolved)( https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Burger_Chef_murders) probably two killers
26 November 1978 10 killed Greece NY, (arson) (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1978_Holiday_Inn_fire) unsolved
==1979==
31 July 1979 Cambridge OH, 10 killed (arson) (https://www.usdeadlyevents.com/1979-july-31-arson-fire-and-smoke-inhalation-holiday-inn-cambridge-oh-10/)