The Wealding Word
Authors: A C Gogolski
Visit
acgogolski.com
Copyright © 2011 A C Gogolski
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 1466366486
ISBN 13: 9781466366480
eBook ISBN: 978-1-61915-972-3
For Devin and Harper
C
HAPTERS
Prologue: The Sower of Sorrows
Appendix: The Trigoria, or, the 33 Trents
Sailors stared at the sea-spray crags, giddy with relief. After a decade of wandering, they had finally reached the outer islands of their homeland. Over the years, the fleet had shrunk from twelve to just two vessels, with most of the crew dead from disease, starvation, and wave after wave of crushingly bad luck. The men had long since surrendered hope of seeing their native shores again – but a month ago their fortunes had reversed. With the sails snapping overhead, most considered the sudden change in the wind a miracle. Whatever the case, every swell now showed them nearer to home. In a few short days, they would be back in the arms of their wives, back to look upon the grown-up faces of their children, back to somehow resume the lives they had forgotten.
Only one among them felt no joy at the prospect. In fact, this rider cared little for where the ships sailed. No place was home for the stowaway, at least, no place in this world. Below decks in the lower rear hold it crouched, its crab-claw hands snapping and kneading the air. Its face was a rude caricature of a swine’s, dominated by swirling, smoke-pink eyes. The maggoty stench of the creature choked the hold completely, causing even the heartiest sailor to avoid the place. Everyone on board had his own suspicion about the stench below, but no one knew its cause. Nobody had ever seen the creature, since
only witchlight made it visible, and the king permitted no sorcerers in his fleet.
Shielded from the eyes of men, the demon was left to hatch its intrigues into the world. It was known by many names: a Sower of Sorrows, a Hungry Ghost, an Angel of Suffering and others. Most often, it was simply called a Malady.
The creature considered the water sloshing in the hold, but its eyes pierced a hidden realm. Maladies fed on the miseries of mankind, angling after the stoutest in spirit – those most capable of living with pain and tragedy. Anyone else would be crushed too soon by his trials, and these creatures hated casting about for new blood. Always its crab hands were in motion, manipulating a curtain of fibers that only it could see.
Snick, twist, swip
. Grunting low, it sensed the elation of the homeward crew. Their joy was a nuisance to the Malady, but it knew some small seed of hope was always necessary to sweeten the despair of men. The demon endured their high spirits like a fisherman ignoring a worm’s filth to bait a hook. The fish was worth the filth.
Eight years ago this particular Malady settled on an errant ruler: a man named King Reginald. Into his life the demon wove its curses, dooming the royal fleet to suffer at the mercy of uncharted waters. The king’s trials turned him gray and bitter, as year after year he watched the sea swallow the men of his command. The arrangement suited the Malady well, for a time.
But hunger stirred within its belly, making it restless. Though Reginald appeared flinty on the outside, in truth, his will had been crushed long ago. He was a broken man, rotten within. The Malady hated handling anyone so
gently
, but it had to make this one last.
And so creature rooted through the gossamer filaments – forever pulling, tugging, and testing the strength of men – groping always for a hardier host. As it continued its search, it felt another wave
of elation filter through the crew above. And then something unexpected brushed its senses. Someone strong was close, someone much stronger than the king. Pink eyes smoldered with new interest.
It flowed like smoke from below decks to collect itself on the stern of the ship, barely a smudge against the daylight. There it discovered that the tiny fleet was anchored at port. Half a kingdom now cheered on the docks below, waiting to see their king again. The people’s joy buffeted the Malady with physical force, but it stood firm against the jubilation, sifting insect-like through the invisible strings. When Reginald limped off his ship, the demon looked upon him with neither attachment nor disdain. The haggard man was, simply, unsuitable nourishment.
Not wasting any more time on the king, the Malady scanned the crowd, searching for the one it had sensed. Its smoke-swirled eyes came to rest upon a girl in a frayed blue dress. To anyone else, she was no different than the hundreds of other grimy urchins crowding on the docks, yet to the Malady, she was exceptional. She was strong and young, like a green stalk bending flat in a hurricane, only to stand tall again when the clouds had gone away.
The demon’s pincers worked frenziedly at the air, plucking out an invisible cord of life not very long, yet already touched by fate. It tested the tautness of the thread –
her
thread – squeezing and tugging hard.
Down on the docks the girl felt a sudden pull in her chest. She looked up, and for a brief moment they saw each other. It made the demon snort with pleasure to feel itself revealed to her. Then it breathed deeply, savoring her distinct bouquet of fear for the first time.
Snip
. No longer would it dine upon the meager fare of the king. Finally, it had found the host it came to this world to discover. Blinking its eyes shut, the Malady slid into the space between worlds for a well-earned rest. There would be time enough to feed. Time enough.
From the door of her family’s cottage, Nell watched the red leaves tumble in the wind. The first rays of dawn made the treetops glow amid a haze of wood smoke, and a thick frost blanketed the ground. “You’re letting all the cold in,” Nell’s sister scolded from behind. Lexi was sixteen, three years older than Nell, and she never missed a chance to be cruel. “Go out if you want to go out!” she said, shoving Nell outside. The lock-bolt slid into place with a quiet scrape.
Barefoot and still in her shift, Nell hopped about as the frost-white stones burned her feet. “Lexi! Let me in,” she yelled.
A small flock of goats hurried down the road, their square-pupil eyes blank and wide as they passed the gate before Nell’s house. Behind the bleating animals walked a man, Mr. Gall, twirling a wooden crook in one hand. Nell knew that his other hand, the one hidden in his coat, was missing all four fingers and half of his palm. It was punishment for some crime Gall had committed years ago – a crime that the adults in Nell’s life were never willing to discuss.
The herder slowed his stride, his face twitching as he watched Nell bang on the door. He flipped the curved stick sideways, dragging it along the stone wall in front of the cottage. Nell could feel his baleful eyes upon her as she danced about, shaking with cold on the doorstep. “What do we have here?” He seemed to be speaking to
himself, yet his muttering carried across the yard loud enough for Nell to hear. “And what to do about it?”
Nell wasn’t sure who the herder was talking to, since he had only goats for company. It didn’t matter though, she just wanted to get away. “Lexi!” she cried, beating her fists numb against the wood. Gall stopped in front of the cottage, a grin on his face. He was about to hail her when the door suddenly opened and Nell tumbled into the arms of her mother, Danielle.
