Edmort (half of) Chapter 1

The slanted eyes of the thin-headed boy fixed at the mirror glass and the reflection fixed at him. The slim, the starveling, the scrag, the sneakbill, the bald-ribbed, bare-boned, bow-cased boy stelled. His melanosity returned as a darker nigrescence. He raised the rakes attached to his shoulders and the touslehead touched the twisted thickness of his hair. A smilet grew. He tripped to his tent-bed, erugated the pageanted lincloth and the symbolled coverlet. The grin grew. On a chaise-longue, three feet away from the foot of the bed, a toga stretched from the elbow and splayed to the seat like a liquid summer cloud. Daddy-long-legs-like digits elated the silk. It effulged; everything effulged. The interlaced lions and roses colorated on his wall roared a little louder and scented a little sweeter. Finally the day had arrived.

Edmort never had explored beyond the platinum city walls. The hitherest he had been to venturing beyond the gates was sticking his spidery fingers beyond the golden bars of the city gates longing, yearning, to tread the white sands of the forest path beyond, greening to feel the leaves of the shrubs outside. No more would he want, for now he could pluck berries until his hands stained red; he could touch trees until his fingers bled; he could run wild until his feet ruddied and his cheeks rosed, for he’d aged sixteen this day. He was free. He could hunt.

Before the touching the boar-spear, the wood-knife, the hound-leashes, the hunting-horn or the hare-pipe, Edmort chose books. Even to places in which the bringing of books was squinted at, Edmort brought books nevertheless. From the oak shelf he reached for the one with the polychromatic binding. Its title read : ‘1001 Rooffish: Add some marine magic to your roof!’. He opened the cover, licked at his fingers and pinched at the dog-ears until he reached the first proper page. The first fish was a Lyenian variegated turtlefish. After studying the creature for five minutes he flected his head to the ceiling. Edmort could not remember the last time he had seen the rooffish. He had been so young. His father would never let him go up there: he hated rooffish. Edmort could never figure out the reason; from the first book he had read about them he had fallen in love. Nevertheless, he obeyed his father. He laid the book on the chaise-longue and wrapped the toga around his pencil frame. He grabbed 1001 Roofish, the boar-spear, the wood-knife, the hound-leashes, the hunting-horn and the hare-pipe and sped down the stairs. He fell.

‘Edmort?’ said a gruffish, stomachy voice.

‘Father,’ answered Edmort from amidst the mound of hunting equipment. He retrieved each item from the ground starting with the book. He entered the kitchen.

Ordinarily, a porridge-pot would exude a milky air. This time, Edmort tasted a meaty savour flowing through his nose. On the stove, four pots boiled, all containing meat, and on the table sat raw meats of all kinds: chicken, duck, pork, lamb, beef, deer, rabbit and pheasant. At the furthest end of the table aggravated with meat stood a muscular man chopping onions and garlic.

‘Surely, we cannot finish all this!’ Edmort burst, slightly salivating, eyes watering from the vapour of the multitudinous chopped onions.

‘Today is your day, son: there can never be enough meat. We’ll bring the whole town to feast with us if we have to.’ said Edmort’s father.

‘Great Gods! It smells delicious!’

‘And so it should. This is your first day hunting; you’ll need all the energy you can get.’ Edmort’s father glanced at an acrylic painting on the wall. Even with such a short look Edmort knew that his father’s eyes filled with tears. He didn’t even have to look at them: they always watered when when his father beheld the portrait of Edmort’s mother. There had been one question Edmort had repeatedly asked when he was young but never again after the age of eight. The question always darkened the atmosphere, and brought a depression that fell like a pall over both his and his father’s senses. The question had always had the same answer: silence. He knew it was their family taboo but after sixteen years of silence Edmort felt if he didn’t know the answer now he never would. So, he asked.

‘What happened to mother?’

His father stared at him for a full thirty seconds, lips quivering, hands trembling, eyes twitching.

‘Your mother- she- she-’ He lifted his arm to wipe a tear from his cheek. ‘Your mother died by her own hands. She took a bottle a fatal shadowpitch... N- No one knows why she did it. She died on the roof. When I found her I- I saw rooffish eating away at her body. I tried to chase them away- I tried to save her but- but they were too many. I-’ he began to sob.

Only now did it click. Edmort had just learnt the reason why his father hated rooffish. He hid his book behind his toga. His father’s tears seamed his eyelids and rolled a single droplet from Edmort’s eye. Depressed, he sat on a chair, an elbow on the table and a fist propping his head. His father slapped chunks of brown on an ashet and placed it before Edmort.

‘You are sad,’ he wringed. Edmort shrugged. ‘Don’t be. Your mother she was a great woman. She loved you very much. I know you would have loved her as much.’ Edmort resmiled weakly.

Four meats had been arranged neatly into quarters on the ashet: charcoal brown bull-meat, dust-coloured mutton, russet pork and honey-coloured rabbit. He snatched the wooden cutlery and dug into the brown.

‘Make sure you finish up! We don’t need you any thinner. A pound lighter and you’ll be treading on a dragon’s tail. And that dragon’s name is called ‘death by starvation’’ Edmort’s father joked.

The spice of the pork, the honey of the rabbit, the sour of the mutton and the saltiness of the bull-meat mixed in an explosion of flavour. As lifted his head and closed his eyes as he savoured the taste. He listened to the sizzle and pop of the other meats in the pot clashing with the clip-clop of albimules in the street outside.The bustle of the day had begun. He cleared his plate, as usual. He licked his plate clean, as usual. He got some sauce on his nose, as usual.

‘You’ve got sauce on your nose,’ said his father, handing a cloth. Edmort took it and wiped his nose.

‘I’m done,’ Edmort said. His father took his plate.

‘There’s sauce on your toga,’

‘Oh no!’

‘Don’t worry; when we go hunting you’ll get a lot more brown on it. Are you ready?’

‘I’ll never be more ready.’

‘Then get your stuff. We’re going to the stables.’

Braying, clip-clops, chatter and barks grew louder outside the door. Edmort drew his straw sandals from the shoe rack, put one on his right foot, then hopped on the shoed foot to slide the remaining sandal on his left. His wires severed the window and warped the door. Instantly the noisiness redoubled. Incessant barking pounded his ears but not before the stench of wet hounds shot up his nose. Before him stood a giant of a man, round as a boulder, tugging a leash that held three black hounds as tall as Edmort’s waist.

‘Ah, Edmort!’ roared the giant of a man. ‘You are twice as tall as when I last saw you! And twice as skinny.’

‘You see,’ said Edmort’s father. ‘I’m not the only one who thinks you need to beef up.’

‘Elduwain! Is that you?’ the giant man bellowed.

‘Beredoch!’ exclaimed Edmort’s father. ‘Such a long time!’

‘I haven’t seen you since-’ Beredoch stopped. Edmort knew exactly what he was going to say: since his mother died. A silence grew, clouding even the fuss in the street with its awkwardness.

‘So,’ Elduwain broke the silence. ‘How are Meredith and the kids?’

‘They’re doing great,’ said Beredoch, red-faced. ‘Great.’

‘I see you've brought the hunting hounds,’ said Elduwain. ‘Well, I shall take them from you and leave you in peace. Such a man like you is too busy and we shall not keep you.’

Beredoch handed the three leashes to Elduwain.

‘Happy sixteenth birthday,’ said Beredoch the houndkeeper. He smile softly and waved as he walked away.

Without the boulder blocking entrance to the streetlet, Edmort smelt the sweet of the citrous fruits arrange on a wooden platform in front of the grocer’s: oranges, lemons, clementines, tangerines, mandarins, satsumas. The shop sign to the right of the grocer’s store read ‘Citrous Special: All Citrous Fruits reduced by 50%’. After Edmort’s nose acclimatised to the acridity, he was hit by another wind, this time from the florist’s. The incense of rose, the perfume of daffodils, the suaveolence of lavender mixed into a balmy wind of flowery perfection. He toddled to the white lamp-post. A bird-cage hung from a rod protruding from the stalk of the lamp-post. Three messenger doves cooed in the cage each having a piece of parchment attached to their tarsus. Edmort wrapped his fingers around the one dove’s leg and pulled it from the bird-cage. He untied the string used to attach the parchment to the leg. ‘TAX: House 439’ was stamped on the parchment. Edmort barely glance at it before he handed it to his father who accepted it with furrowed eyebrows. He pulled out the second dove: ‘BILLS: House 439’. He passed it to Elduwain. The third dove: ‘BOGGINS BOOKSTORE RECEIPT: 12.40 silas’. He opened the receipt:

The Flora of Lyene: 3.00 silas
The Fauna of Lyene: 3.00 silas
The Bestia of Lyene: 3.00 silas
The Complete Forest Hunting Guide: 3.40 silas

Edmort folded the receipt and tucked it in the shoulder of his toga.

The hustle of the day had begun. Already the store owners screamed of their reductions, special offers and slashed prices. Crowded around the advertising column, advertisers struggled with their glue brushes scrambling to get the best spot for their posters. Little boys hopped over and played chase around the amsterdammertje. Buskers began singing horrifically and plucking their off key instruments. The white robed men sat on the dirty benches, and noble purple robed men sat on the clean benches, and the white robed men who had settled on the clean benches ejected themselves so the purple robed men could sit. Men rode up and down the street on the pale albimules and the hooves clattered cacophonously. The white square buildings glowed in the dawn light. Orange cirrus clouds streaked across the sky, highlighted yellow by the sun. A crisp breeze swept through the streetlet. Edmort and Elduwain turned to the right and strolled down the street.

They passed the jeweller’s and ogled at the glinting gold, the shimmering silver, the rubies, emeralds, sapphires, and diamonds that they would never be able afford. They passed the apothecary and marvelled at the poisons, fatal shadowpitch, black widow’s blood, serpent’s venom, and the medicines, bone growers, wound clotters, slumbergas, headaches cures, cold serum. The passed the bakers and eyed the cakes, breads, biscuits, and pies, which the smell of sickened them as they had eaten a heavy meaty meal. They passed the fishmonger’s and shivered at the reek of the bass, sardines, cod, plaice, herring and more. They passed the mule-garage and put their hands on their noses in an attempt to abate the smell of the faeces. At last, they reached the stables.

The livery stable stretched long and rectangular and divided into three parts. The middle was a path in which Edmort stepped through to look at the horses and on the left and right were the stalls. The first horse that drew Edmort’s attention was a chocolate shire horse. It’s price poster said:

Shire horse
20 Years old
10.00 silas per day

‘How about this one,’ said his father.
Edmort turned to gaze at the black mare his father pointed at. It was beautiful. He stepped to the stall and read the price poster. It said:

Kurtruna horse
19 years old
9.50 silas per day

‘This one is great,’ said Edmort.
‘It’ll cost you nine and fifty,’ a man squeaked: the stable-worker. Edmort's father dropped nine gold coloured coins and one silver coin into the palm of the stable worker one by one. The stable worker opened the stall and out ambled the black mare.

‘Do you remember how to ride?’ said Elduwain as the stable-worker fitted the horse-gear on the mare.

‘Yes, of course. You mount from the left and find your balance,’ said Edmort. He turned to the stable-worker. ‘What is her name?’

‘Nix,’

‘Nick is a boy’s name,’ said Edmort.

‘N-I-X’ spelled the stable-worker.

‘That’s not a Lyenian name, is it?’ asked Elduwain.

‘No it’s she’s from Kurtruna,’ said the stable-worker. ‘In Verica,’

‘So she’s a foreign horse,’ Elduwain smiled. ‘I have never touched anything from Kurtruna.’ Elduwain stroked the Nix’s neck. She grunted. He mounted the horse first, then Edmort did the same, holding the equipment. Elduwain held the reins and they trotted out of the livery stable. The three hounds followed.

Edmort’s eagerness to get to the gate did not speed the horse. His father rode and Edmort felt uncomfortable asking him to go faster. He’d been down this road so many times he could recite every building: needlemakers, haberdashery, lamp-post, lamp-post, clip-clop, clip-clop, tailors, metallurgists, lamp-post, lamp-post, clip-clop, clip- clop, blacksmiths, engineers, lamp-post, lamp-post, clip-clop, clip-clop, distillery, cobblers, lamp-post, lamp-post, clip-clop, clip-clop, joke shop, marine shop, lamp-post, lamp-post, clip-clop, clip-clop, lawyers, upholstery, lamp-post, lamp-post, clip-clop, clip-clop, accountants, pub, lamp-post, lamp-post, clip-clop, clip-clop. He thought the journey was immortal but the glint of the golden gate caught him, at last.

‘Papers!’ shouted the man at the gate. He walked to the horse and turned to Elduwain. ‘Yours first, sir,’

Elduwain handed him an official sheet of paper. The man barely looked at it before shouting ‘Clear!’ and turning to Edmort. ’Papers!’

‘I have them,’ said Elduwain. He retrieved another paper from his robe. The man at the gate looked at it and squinted.

‘The handwriting isn’t very legible on this paper,’ he squinted harder. ‘Is the boy of age? What I am saying? I can’t take your word for it. We need solid proof.’

‘The boy is of age. Today is his sixteenth birthday.’

‘Hmm,’ said the man. Elduwain dismounted the horse and snatched the paper from the man.

‘See, the last two digits say twenty-seven,’

‘It could just as well say thirty-seven,’

‘Does the boy look six years old to you?’

‘Okay,’ said the man. ‘I’ll let it pass this time. Clear! You know the rules, don’t you?’

‘Of course,’ said Elduwain.

The man turned to Edmort. ‘No human under the age of sixteen must pass in or out of these gates. No flora, fauna or bestia must pass these gate, alive or deceased, unless with special permission from the government. No man must enter in or out of these gate before sunrise or after sunset. Is that clear?’

‘Yes,’ said Edmort.

‘Clear!’ said the man. ‘Open!’

A creak resonated through the air as the golden gates swung open. For the first time, Edmort departed from the city.

As Edmort respected the city growing smaller behind him, the golden gates reclosed, the white-grey wall grew dimmer and white square buildings coalesced gradually into a single silhouette. He looked unto the hoof-prints of the horse on the white sand of the forest path as the atmosphere darkened and the overstory grew thicker. Although the lightness lessened as they rode deeper, the few rays of light that broke through the canopy lit the barks of the silver birches so they shimmered magically. At first, Edmort thought the little dots circulating around a strawberry plants were motes of dust, but he thought it peculiar that the dust only floated around the strawberry plants and nowhere else in the shard of light. On closer inspection he observed whirring oscillations coupled with the dots: wings.

‘Stop!’ shouted Edmort.

The horse halted. Edmort dismounted and tip-toed to the bush so as to not frighten the creatures away. The inch-long winged creatures had pink putto-like bodies and iridescently red moth-like wings and red hair. Their wings made a whirr- but the head, it was round with the texture of strawberries with beady black eyes, nose and mouth. Some grabbed the hands of another and spun around in the air playfully. Edmort’s eye sparked.

‘Pixies,’ he whispered.

‘Edmort, what are you doing?’ said his father in a tone that scared away a few of the pixies. Fascinated Edmort did not answer. He raised his hand, palm open, hoping one of the creatures would land on his hand, and one did. He quickly closed his fist and as soon as he did a sharp sting burned in his palm. He flinched, releasing the pixie. Four minute red dots bled in his palm. he licked his wound. It tasted like strawberry. He tore a piece of his toga and used it to pin down one of the creatures and tie it up. The creature struggled vigorously. Edmort heard the beat of it’s wings and it’s almost inaudible squeak of distress.

‘I’m going to lay the snares,’ said Elduwain.

Soon after storing the pixie on a fold in his toga he spotted a blackberry plant with black pixies this time. He tore off a piece of his robe and trapped another one, tied a knot and tucked it in his toga. The two pixies fluttered in his robe. He then searched for more. After a long wander, he had found and caught blueberry, raspberry, blackcurrant, cranberry, redcurrant pixies. When he could find no new pixies, he observed his surroundings only to realise that he could not recognise any of the trees or shrubs. Indeed, Edmort was lost.

He decided to retrace his steps, though he found that difficult as grass carpeted the entire surface of the soil and no footsteps were visible. Instead, he decided to search for the areas where he had bent the grass and attempted to follow them back to where he came from. This worked until a certain point in the path where the grass bent in two directions. Bewildered, he crouched on the grass with the pixies beating incessantly against his body.

‘Edmort...’

Edmort sat up.

‘Edmort...’

He stood up. He knew his father called him. He followed the voice until he reached the white path.

‘Edmort! What in the black demon’s name do you think you are doing?’

‘Father, you won’t believe what I’ve seen-’

‘Edmort, we are no longer in the city, dangerous things roam in forests, even in one so close to civilization.’

‘But-’

‘I don’t want to hear anymore,’ snapped Elduwain.

Edmort half-clenched his fist before feeling a bump on his palm. He moved his hand close to his face for inspection. A red heart-shaped protrusion, half an inch long and half a centimetre tall bulged in front of him. He rubbed it. It stung.

‘What’s that on your hand?’ asked Elduwain.

‘Nothing,’ Edmort lied.

‘Show me,’

Edmort opened his clean left palm.

‘The other one,’ said Elduwain. He squinted at the red bump. ‘Pixies.’

‘Can I keep them?’

‘You know the rules.’

‘Please! They won’t find the pixies if I hide them in my toga,’

‘And if they search you?’ said Elduwain. ‘Set them free.’

‘Oh father, please!’

‘Now,’

‘Let me see them for a bit before I let them go. Please, I promise I won’t keep them,’

‘Do as you wish as long as they don’t pass through the city gates,’ said Elduwain. ‘I’ve laid the snares. Now you need to block the escapes. I can’t do the whole hunting trip for you.’

‘Yes, father.’

Edmort pulled the sack of equipment from Nix’s back. The hounds barked and snapped their teeth, sensing the scent of the pixies in Edmort’s toga.