Lore of the Underlings: Episode 7 ~ Ho-man Holds Court (3 page)

“Hi-yo, Homeboy! A drop for you?”

The clerk waved his docket. “I’ve work to do.
But…” He checked on Fyryx still pawing his food. “Maybe in an hour
or two…”

The grogger belched. “I’ll save you a snoot
full. Meanwhile, how ‘bout a belt for your pal?”

“Well…”

“Hell, if he isn’t a tall drink of ale!”

John Cap sized up the nutwood keg but Ho-man
shook his notebook no. “This is Tom Cat all the way from Elvesware.
Technically speaking, he’s a prisoner.”

The double-stubbed man stared hard at the
stranger then gave him a groggy yet welcoming grin. “Elf, cat, or
lad I’d call you friend,” he said with a slur and a shake of his
hand. “Need a little swig for courage? Or a cask as your last
request? Anything short of a casket, I’m in — Juxtyn Tymbly at your
command!”

It looked like he hoped to bow just then but
this Tymbly was either too tipsy or wooden. Instead he landed on
the wagon, his tree limbs flailing up and down.

At the same time a firestorm erupted from the
direction of the Guard, sparked by their dry-humored dialog, an
ill-filled deadpan they all but barked. That bile left no doubt
about their mood or Mr. Tymbly’s servitude. The forecast was worse,
an acid reign.

“Juxtyn Timber Legs!”

“Quit lollygagging!”

“Bring me my grog, you loggerhead!”

“Or maybe we’ll trim the rest of those
limbs…”

“And pack up your trunk for pecker feed!”

The brewster knew his clientele well, enough
to take them at their word. So he made like a barrel and rolled
away, serving to live another day. He was at their feet in no time
flat.

Ho-man sighed. “Well, that is that.” Though
he smiled as he turned to eye John Cap.

“Juxtyn’s a rare bird indeed — twice
convicted of flying the coop and yet still upright (when not in his
cups).”

The young man mumbled to himself. “I’d guess
being half-cocked must help…”

Then all of a sudden he saw her again, the
slog maid, this time facing him. And more than that — she was
approaching, as graceful in motion as anyone.

He seemed stunned at the prospect that Ho-man
had lied.

“I thought you said she was one of them.”

Ho-man looked somber. “I did. No kidding…
although there’s more to her story, my friend…

“But see for yourself — she’s an open book.
The truth is written on her skin.”

John Cap did not understand until the woman
was upon him.

That’s when he noticed the scar on her
forehead, the band of thorns across her brow. A tangled crown or
sign of torture. Red, raw brand of a molten ire.

It read like a symbol of something
unspeakable, drawn in blood, etched down to the bone.

John Cap was dumbstruck. He watched her glide
by. The woman slowed only to catch his eye and whisper seven words
of warning.

“Beware the garden. Leave while you can.”

Then she was gone like a leaf on the wind,
fallen and yet airborne again.

The foreigner turned to see her go and
thought he caught a glimpse of something… a shapely ankle or
slender shin… coiled in vine… unexpectedly green…

Ho-man anticipated his questions.

“Her name is Aylynn Lyll. Even when we were
kids, a little devil. Always rebelling against the rules and
scrubbing scroll boards after school. Yet, in those innocent
sun-filled days with Treasuror Ayryx keeping peace, no one would
have guessed she was destined for this…”

The clerk took a long almost wistful
breath.

“Ten years passed and Aylynn turned woman,
just as the house of Ayryx fell. But the brutal brand of the
brother’s rule rekindled the girl on fire in her. A rebel reborn…
And marked for hell.

“She joined a secret band of others, sisters
and brothers, the Wilder-Ones — a clandestine few who fanned the
flames and stoked the folk to spark dissent. Yet in that foment,
their moment of sun, the groundswell they stirred had assured their
end…

“For the ironwood fist of Treasuror Fyryx
crushed the exodus that they’d led and laid down the law on her
traitor friends. Their season of treason was suddenly over. The
harvest of flesh had just begun.”

John Cap found his voice again, although
subdued by the tale he’d heard. “So that’s how she got to be
disfigured,” he said with a swipe across his brow. “The handiwork
of your guards, no doubt…”

Ho-man arched his eyebrows, surprised. “Even
the pikesmen aren’t that barbaric. They do have a Code of the Guard
you know.” Then he raised the notebook to cover his mouth. “That is
the work of her very own hand.”

The young man looked like he didn’t believe
him. “Why the heck would she ever do that?”

“Honor, Tom Cat. Honor and guilt…

“Though she testified she was ready to die,
brave Aylynn was held aside from the others — her friends and
fellow conspirators — denied her death wish yet made to witness as
they all fell one by one. Powerless, she mourned their loss with
all she had, a rebel yell. Only then did she learn she’d been
spared from the grave by the well-meaning plea of her last living
kin. It was her cousin, Hannyn Hurx, daughter of the old Lyll clan
and grieving wife of Treasuror Ayryx. Thanks to Hannyn’s
intercession, Aylynn was sentenced as solely a leaver, breathing
but broken in body and soul, the lone surviving rebel girl…

“One empty day of the winter that followed,
as Pax Fyryx gripped the land, a lonely Aylynn stirred the fire,
glowing iron in her hand. Then, by a bowl of cold reflection, she
immortalized her pain in skin.

“A tattoo of her choosing, defiant, taboo, to
never forget, to speak the truth.”

Ho-man had to clear his throat. Both men
stood in silence for a moment.

“Um, hope I’m wrong,” resumed John Cap, “but
I’ve got a feeling that this ties in with what she wanted to warn
me about… What’d she mean, ‘Beware the garden’?”

The penman lowered his log book again. “It’s
a thorny subject,” he answered, “the dark side of our nature, my
friend.”

The stranger leaned in to be sure to
hear.

“Martial law bore us a bounty of crimes and a
windfall of criminals piled up high. Our freshest fruit gone bitter
and rotten. Their sour grapes of wrath turned whine. But that crop
also yielded the bad seed needed to sow a hell on earth as jail, a
prison risen from the soil. A warden’s boneyard, an orchard of
tortures, pretty blades all in a row — over groans. And not some
little shop of horrors. No small wonder of nurture and dung. But a
scarlet damned plantation slaving under a gangrene thumb.

“Yes, that’s what you’ll find in the garden
of thorns, where the Guard leave their guests not a leg to stand on
— especially the red-handed ones…”

Ho-man cut his sentence short at the clanking
sound of an empty cup. He reopened his book. He looked out and took
note.

“Pardon me mate but we’ll have to be quick,
now that breakfast is wrapping up.”

John Cap, however, was still stuck on Aylynn.
It gnawed at him, something he had to know.

“Miss Lyll… you’ve got to tell me how she
stayed in one piece. Any secret or trick?”

The lean man looked apologetic. “Forgive me
if I’ve misled you friend. She lost her beautiful left in the end.
Every bit of it, from toe to hip.”

The revelation had John Cap stumped.
“Impossible. You’re making that up. She walked, I saw her for
myself. In fact she moved super naturally…”

“Well yes, but only by the grace of a brace
of kindly patron saints, her childhood neighbors and our pike
makers, the famed twins Droy and Nystra Mayn — a charming pair of
miracle workers who’ve single-handedly kept us armed. Sympathetic
to her plight, they labored in the dead of night to sprout from a
seedbed of virgin dirt a limb befitting her untamed heart. It
worked like magic, up to a point, saplings replacing her missing
part…

“Yet not even guardian angels could make
whole a soul who’d been consumed, devoured, done in by inhuman
nature, cast into the garden of eaten like her.”

The tall young teenager stared where she’d
been. “Still, they didn’t kill her spirit. I saw it.”

“Yes, it’s true she burns.”

John Cap turned away. “More Dante. What I
need is a little Houdini…”

Suddenly Fyryx Hurx stood up looking fed up
and full of prejudice. “I judge we’ve had enough of this.” Then he
tossed his bowl of grub and spit.

“Now is the time to try men’s souls.” He
mashed his fist. “Get on with it.”

###

To be continued…
Look out for the next
exciting episode of
Lore of the Underlings
!

About the Author

John Klobucher is the author of many
technical manuals that you’d never want to read. But he is also to
blame for
Lore of the Underlings
, this ill-advised epic
adventure that’s available to you in tasty little episodes, with
new ones coming — farm-fresh, organic, and cruelty-free — every now
and again. (For more behind-the-scenes news and nonsense, hie thee
to this bloggery:
loreoftheunderlings.com
).

John has also been known to paint a little,
including the watercolors used in the cover art for
Lore of the
Underlings
.

John lives in Framingham, Massachusetts, USA
with his wife Diane, son Sam, and daughter Mia.

~ ~ ~

Other ebook titles by John Klobucher:

Lore of the
Underlings: Episodes 1 & 2 ~ A Door to the Lore

Lore of the
Underlings: Episode 3 ~ Fyryx

Lore of the
Underlings: Episode 4 ~ The Letting Pen

Lore of the
Underlings: Episode 5 ~ Into the Pit

Lore of the
Underlings: Episode 6 ~ Meeting Minyon

Print titles by John Klobucher:

The Lore Anthology

~ ~ ~

Visit John Klobucher’s
author
page
at Smashwords.com