A Strange Song of Madness (Part 1)

A Strange Song of Madness

  Part 1

  Wil Clayton

  Long Shadows on a Wide Plain series

  Copyright 2015 Wil Clayton

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  Chapter 1

  The dead lands of Gart stretched out in all directions, only broken by a line of stoney crags that pushed their way up from the barren earth. There were no animals on the ground nor birds in the sky, there was nothing except the large lake that had sat amongst the rocks and dirt that was the kingdom.

  At the edge of the lake stood Shaol, ankle deep in mud, four leather sacks hug from the yoke that had sat on his shoulders. Yellow and brown reeds grew at the edge of the lake, but only to the hip. The ones that had tried to grow any taller had started to curl and blacken as they became victim to the poison that choked the land.

  Carefully, Shaol lowered himself and filled the sacks with the safe water of the lake, he then rose and walked across the pebbled shore to the line of metal tanks that waited at the top of the slope that led down into the lake.

  Two kids who stood on ladders next to the tanks helped Shaol unload the water from the sacks into the large container and then he returned back to the lakeside. The silhouettes of a few dozen men dotted the calm water of the lake made golden by the dawning light. They were halfway through their daily task of drawing the water for the city.

  Shaol’s back ached, as it had started to do in the last few weeks. He had collected water every day since his muscles were strong enough to bear the yoke and now, after so many years of the labour, his bones and muscles were starting to rebel against the task. Shaol gritted his teeth, lowered his head and pushed through the pain.

  The sacks only held half of what they should have held when Shaol returned to the caravan, the kids by the tank noticed as they heaved the sack over the wall of tank but said nothing and Shaol returned to the lake.

  “Good morning,” came the voice of Shaol’s friend who lived in the lake, “you’re moving slowly again.”

  “Hello, Friend,” replied Shaol as he filled the last of the sack with some water, “it’s nothing.”

  “The sacks are not full, does your back still pain you?”

  Shaol ignored the question and returned to the line of tanks. The yoke swung as the kids lifted the sack, Shaol held himself stiff and steadied the wide, metal beam, as he did the muscle in his lower back moved and twitched beneath the skin. An sudden, accidental grunt betrayed the pain.

  “Are you alright?” asked the boy named Cutter.

  “Yes,” said Shaol.

  Cutter looked around.

  “Just bring back enough to make a splash,” whispered Cutter, “we won’t tell anyone.”

  Shaol looked at Cutter and then at Rag, the other boy. They both nodded, a concerned look crossed their faces.

  “They’re good kids,” said the voice as Shaol reentered the waters.

  “They are,” said Shaol simply.

  “Have you thought on the task?”

  Shaol shook his head.

  “I have enjoyed our time,” said Shaol, “and you’ve been a good friend to me all these years, but I don’t need your help.”

  “But I need your help,” said the voice, “as do the boys. You know when they discover you can only take drops from the lake, it will be the knife.”

  “It was always going to be that way.”

  “There is more to do, Shaol.”

  “I know what waits me, I don’t fear it.”

  “And who will watch over the boys when you are gone?”

  “There’ll be another.”

  “There is no one else like you.”

  Shaol trudged from the lake and started up the slope. Cutter was busying helping another empty sacks into the tank, Shaol slowed his pace, keeping his distance from the Old One. Cutter and Rag finished and the grim face of the Old One turned back towards the lake. Shaol quickened his pace as the other noticed him for a moment. Shaol passed silently and the Old One ignored him.

  Shaol returned to the lake.

  “Did the fruits turn brown, yet?”

  “Not yet,” replied Shaol, “they’re still green.”

  “They are late this year,” said the voice.

  “But the flowers of the middle tree are blue now.”

  “Good, the spring is passing us now.”

  “Again.”

  “As will next one.”

  “Have you discovered why they grow when nothing else does?”

  “Who could know such things, I believe they grow simply so we have something to talk about each day.”

  “I don’t think that’s why they grow,” laughed Shaol, “you should be out studying them, Friend, rather then wasting your days with me.”

  “You’re very special to me, Shaol, and I’ll be heartbroken when you no longer come to visit.”

  Shaol smiled to himself and a warmth filled him, no one else had the kind words foe him like Friend. He returned to the caravan, unloaded the small amount of water he could carry and then went back to the lake.

  As Shaol stepped back through the water his foot put his weight on a loose, flat stone. It slipped from underneath him, his body jolted as it tried to keep itself level, the yoke swung and jerked wildly and a fire shot up through his back. Shaol’s legs buckled and he fell sideways into the lake, the water betraying everything that had happened. Shaol tried to push himself up, but his back refused and he fell back into the water, the yoke fell from his shoulders and sank into the mud.

  “You must listen to me, Shaol,” whispered Friend.

  “What’s happening?” came the hard voice of Master from the shore.

  Shaol lay still and listened to the boots crunch as they stomped across the stone and grit of the shore.

  “Get up,” shouted Master, now closer.

  Shaol turned his head and saw the grey, round, flat face of Master. His body large and muscular, dressed in a simple tunic and leather pants. A simple sword hung from his belt.

  “Why don’t you get up?”

  “The back,” said Shaol through gritted teeth.

  “Boy,” called Master and Cutter came running, “how many sacks today?”

  “As many as the others, sir,” lied Cutter.

  Master stopped and looked at Shaol for a moment.

  “I’ll give you a chewing root and the day,” said Master, “if you ain’t ready for tomorrow, you’re done.”

  Shaol lay quietly in the water as Master continued to looked down on him.


  “Boy, get the root.”

  Shaol was lucky and he knew it, his Master had always been kinder than the others. The water caravan aged the Under faster than the other jobs in the city and it took a more forgiving Master to run it.

  The dark shadow of Master left and Shaol heard the boots walk away.

  Shortly after, Cutter was kneeling next to Shaol with the chewing root. Shaol placed root in his mouth and began to grind the stringy flesh between his teeth as he did his mouth began to burn and his teeth became numb.

  “You’ve got to be ready for tomorrow, Shaol,” whispered Cutter.

  The boy splashed out of the and Shaol sighed to himself, slowly a prickling sensation run across his skin and it became light. The world started to blur.

  Who would protect the kids when he was gone?

  In the night when the Masters returned to the inner city, the Old Ones would be left unwatched. The sourness that had built in them over the years would surge forward and the kids would be the focus of the wrath. Beaten in ways that left no marks by the ruthless beasts, if there was no one to keep them back.

  Shaol had been on the caravan longer than any other and over the countless years he had seen all the things the Old Ones could be and it sickened him which was why he had refused to let himself become sour like them. He had always been their to protect the weaker ones of the caravan from those that had given in to the poison thoughts that ate the mind and left nothing.

  Though, now, as his body became tired and old, he had become slower in that fight and the Old Ones had started to get the upper hand on him. It was three weeks ago when one had whipped him across the face with a reed from the lake and then landed a kick to the back, but when the pain had first started. The kids had slept safe for the night and that was what mattered. When the guards had seen the red mark left by the reed, the Old One had been taken away and lashed for it.

  “Maybe a day’s rest is all you need,” said Friend from beneath the water, “but maybe it will not help. Then, tomorrow you will wake and your back will refuse to lift.”

  “Then, that’s tomorrow,” said Shaol, “I don’t control that.”

  “Take me to the city, Shaol. There are still things that need to be done.”

  “I am an old man.”

  “Not yet.”

  Shaol fell quiet, he did not want to talk about it again, he let his body rock with the water.

  “Where do the boys come from? The ones that help you with the water?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Do they remember their homes?”

  “Yes, the kids always do.”

  “I can take them home. I can give them new lives at the edge of the world, if they wish. I just need you to help me.”

  Shaol tried to ignore Friend but as his mind became empty the thoughts started to come to him. The kids would be safe away from the city, they had not turn soured yet and were young enough to remember themselves before they were the Under. For a moment, Shaol tried to remember when he had a home and a family, a mother and father, brothers and sisters. He had been only a boy when he was taken, so the memories were distant and foggy and meant nothing to him now. But home still meant something to Cutter and Rag.

  “You can help them?” asked Shaol.

  “I can, if you help me.”

  “With this treasure?”

  “Yes, once I have it I can take the boys away. I can take you as well, Shaol.”

  “Where would I go?”

  “Wherever you wished.”

  Shaol laughed as the root made a mirth erupt from inside him, but then he started to think on the task which Friend had first proposed to him when the trees had last started to flower, but Shaol had always refused. He had no need to leave his life, but the thought that he could help the kids one last time before he went to the butcher’s made him think on it again.

  “But I can’t get into the fortress, Friend. I’ve never been past the inner wall.”

  “This is what must be done, I am asking you because I know you can do it.”

  “How?”

  “I do not know, yet.”

  “I can’t help you.”

  “You can, we will find a way, together.”

  “I have a day before the knife comes for me.”

  “Have you given up already?”

  “No.”

  “Then, we have as much time as we need. We will find a way into the fortress.”

  “I’m not young, anymore, my body is broken.”

  “You are more capable than you know.”

  “This root has taken my mind,” said Shaol, “I’m talking like a kid.”

  “It is what needs to be done, Shaol, and when it is the kids will be safe and you will no longer need to protect them.”

  “I’m headed for the butcher’s hut.”

  “You are not there, yet.”

  “I may not find your treasure.”

  “Will you try?”

  Shaol laughed again and then thought on it some more.

  “Will you follow me back to the city?” said Shaol finally.

  “You will carry me,” said Friend, “I wait by the red stones on the shore, where I have always been.”

  “Wait until my body has returned, I’ll find you then.”

  “Thank you, Shaol.”

  Shaol looked up into the empty, blue sky and the water lifted him. The concerns and the doubts of Friend’s proposal danced in his mind, but he had nothing to lose with this deal. The knife already came for him, the kids were in danger once he was not there to watch them and he could do this one last thing for the friend who had been kind to him since he first came to the lake as a boy. Shaol knew he would not find a way into the fortress that lay in the heart of the city, but he perhaps another could and once Friend held her treasure she could save the kids.

  The morning passed and Shaol’s muscles regained their feeling, they were still tense and ached with a deep, permanent pain. He would not be able to lift the yoke tomorrow.

  A pile of large, red rocks sat abandoned in pile a few feet away from the lakeside, even though Shaol had passed them everyday, he only truly noticed them in that moment. He looked around for Friend’s familiar shape.

  “Lift the rock,” the voice of friend replied from somewhere not in the water.

  The top stone shifted and underneath sat a thin, chain made of silver and attached to it was a simple, brown stone. Shaol took the chain, quickly, and gripped it in his fist.

  “What is this?” asked Shaol.

  “It is what I am.”

  “When you get your treasure, you will take the kids homes.”

  “Wherever they wish.”

  Shaol looked down at the leather pants, the only thing he wore, there were no pockets and he could not be seen with the chain.

  “Rag,” called Shaol to the boy by the tank, “milk.”

  Rag disappeared behind the tank and then reappeared with a leather bladder in his hands. The boy ran down the slope towards Shaol, an Old One watched the boy pass.

  “Are you feeling better?” asked Rag as he passed Shaol the milk.

  “Yes,” replied Shaol with a smile, he always hated lying to the kids but it was a part of this life.

  Rag smiled widely and scampered back up the slope, the Old One waiting by the tank watched the boy return.

  The milk was warm and had started to turn, Shaol took a few mouthfuls and spat out the hard pieces that caught in his teeth. He brought his hand to the mouth of the bladder and slipped the chain inside and put the metal cap back on.

  “We cannot speak while others are around,” said Friend, “when you are in Tarlnath you must find a place away from anyone else.”

  The water tanks were full by midmorning and the water bearers gathered behind the caravan while the larger ones, who pulled the sleds, took up the the leather straps and began the long journey back to the city.

  The day passed as it always did, at midday the water bearers were brought forward to pull the
sled as the others rested. Shoal was excused from the task and continued to follow behind. After a short time, Master was suddenly beside him.

  “You walk with a limp.”

  Shaol was quiet.

  “I’ll pick the butcher. He’ll kill quick and clean, you don’t have to worry about that.”

  Shaol looked at the ground and smiled to himself

  “You know I’ve been good to you?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Shaol and he meant it.