Chapter Sixteen: The Knower
Bohdan Dune and the Perilum Tales
Warmest Greetings and Salutations!
We dive a little deeper into the realm of Gallimaufria. What will today hold for Bohdan, Fedir and Silver? Only time will tell.
Happy Reading!
Bohdan wasn’t quite certain what he had expected as he entered the stranger’s house, but it couldn’t have been further from what he saw.
A cozy living space holding all the simple comforts of the world spread out before them. Two velvety, maroon chairs sat before a flickering fireplace. Behind the chairs, a large wooden table with mix-matched stool was buried beneath piles upon piles of books.
Tall, forest green bookshelves lined nearly every wall, filled with books, potted plants, piles of scrolls, multicolored glass bottles and jars from Shard, and various knick-knacks. Framed paintings of places Bohdan couldn’t name were fitted into every free space within the shelves or bit of wall.
Something sweet filled the air. Steam coiled up from a copper pot on a large, red stove along the far wall. Bohdan’s stomach growled loudly. A wide counter was host to an array of cooking gadgets, bunches of dried herbs and jars of spices. Bowls filled with fruit sat alongside a platter piled high with crumbly cookies dotted with jam.
But the most extraordinary feature, by far, was the ceiling.
“Butterflies,” the man said brightly as he followed Bohdan’s gaze. “A passion of mine since I was a child. Pity, they’ve all but gone now.”
Brilliantly colored butterflies of every size, shape and color were tacked upon the dark blue ceiling. Fluorescent green ones the size of Bohdan’s hand. Others with periwinkle wings as small as his fingernails. Others still of yellow, orange, crimson, lavender, silver and gold. A butterfly the size of a large bird was positioned in the middle of the ceiling, its wings a fading gradient like the sunset.
“Please, please, take a seat,” the man ushered them towards the table of books. “Fern, company!”
Mutterings and grumblings sounded from a dark corridor to their right.
“How many times must I tell you, Abelard!” A woman’s voice called out. “Company is for weekdays only! I need time to reset from your endless visitors and hollow-legged friends. I—”
A plump woman with short blonde hair came bounding into the room. When she saw Bohdan and the others she stopped dead, eyes wide in surprise.
“Fishes below, Abelard,” she said through a wide smile, “you could have said it was a gaggle of children! Little chickadees in desperate need of a meal and a hot bath from the looks of them.”
“Fern, my wife,” Abelard said with a loving smile. “Fern, darling, we have a Wastelander, a Lushlander and a Deadwoodswoman staying with us this evening. Though, I’ve quite forgotten my manners and have not asked them their names. Nor told them my own for that matter, but, as always, my dearest, you have taken care of that for me.”
Bohdan stole a glance at Silver. She shook her head.
“I’m Fedir Spruce,” Fedir offered in lieu of the other’s silence. “These are my friends, Bohdan and Silver.”
“Spruce, is it?” Fern asked, her eyes alight. “That’s a Lushlander name if I ever heard one. Well, first things first. It’s clear you’ve come straight from the marsh. It’ll take a strong soap to rid you of it. Ladies first then. Follow me, Miss Silver. I’ll get you sorted. Abelard, help the boys to some tea and cookies in the meantime, won’t you dearest?”
Silver looked back at Bohdan as if she were being led to a marsh full of Vody Laith’s, but if Fern didn’t seem to notice.
The next hour passed with Bohdan, Silver and Fedir taking their turns in their host’s glorious bathtub. After a lifetime of scrubbing himself in a clay washtub that barely held a few inches of water at a time, Bohdan felt like a king. The deep, copper tub had been filled with clean, smoldering water scented with rose petals and mint. Lula left out fresh pats of soap for each of them. Daisy and lullaby-lemon for Silver. Pine and orange blossom for Fedir. Moonmelon and sandalwood for Bohdan.
Bohdan decided then and there, he would never take being clean for granted again. He scrubbed at his scalp and skin until they smarted, and the bathwater was as murky as the marsh. A pile of clean clothes sat on a stool beside the bathroom door. A pair of dark brown pants and a matching shirt, alongside a clean set of undershorts and a pair of lightly worn boots in his exact size. He emerged from his time in the bathroom feeling like an entirely new human.
“Take a seat, Bohdan dear.” Fern smiled as she filled a glass with a pale brown liquid and set it on the table, which had been since been cleared of the books.
Abelard chatted away happily with Silver, who patiently answered all of his questions about life in the Deadwood. As Bohdan took his seat it took everything within him to not openly stare.
Silver was unrecognizable. Her clean, silver hair fell in silky wisps and her pale skin glowed like moonlight. Her dark gray clothes brought out the brightness of her eyes as she stole glances up at the butterflied ceiling.
Though the old couple had offered them nothing but generous hospitality, Bohdan could almost feel Silver’s wariness as he took his seat. She sat a little too rigid and rarely smiled. Fedir, on the other hand, had never been more animated. Nor, Bohdan couldn’t help but notice, more keen on staring at Silver.
Fern kept the plates in front of them piled high with food. “Been far too long since I’ve had the pleasure of satisfying a Lushland appetite! Let alone a Huntsman-in-training.” She chuckled as she refilled the children’s cups with more sweet tea and presented Bohdan with a plate overflowing with scrumptious little cakes, sizzling sausages, creamy wedges of cheese, and thick slices of moonmelon.
“No appetite in the whole of Gallimaufria like a Huntsman,” agreed Abelard. “Understandable, as they spend so many months hunting wild game and living in the woods. But enough of that.”
He removed his monocle and cleaned it on his tunic. “I’d very much like to know what a ragtag group such as you three were doing in the Marshlands, and how you managed to escape the clutches of Desdemona.”
“Desdemona?” Bohdan asked.
“The Collector, as she prefers to be called,” Abelard said with a show of hands. “She was always one for a show, my little sister.”
“Your little sister?” Silver repeated hotly as she shot to her feet.
She looked like a panicked desert hare as she glared from Abelard to Fern. The old man held his hands up in surrender.
“Yes,” he said softly. “Desdemona is my sister. Sadly, we went our separate ways many, many years ago when she began her horrid business of collecting anything and anyone who could earn her a bit of power and coin.”
Silver remained standing. “Why should we believe you?”
“You have every right to be wary, dear,” Fern said carefully. “Anyone would be if you’ve spent even a moment in that horrid woman’s company.”
“If you know what she does, why don’t you do anything to stop her?” Silver snapped. “Instead of hiding in here with your butterflies and books?”
“We have tried, and we try, still.” A dark sadness etched itself into Abelard’s tired face. “The Marshlands are her hunting grounds. Chaosity is her playground. She’s got spies all over this city and slippery dealings all over the kingdom.”
“She took my sister,” Silver snarled, close to tears. “Your sister kidnapped my sister and sold her to some deranged king beneath the mountain.”
There was a long, silent pause. Fern wiped a tear from her cheek before busying herself at the stove. Abelard stood and retrieved a book off the nearest bookshelf then sat back down. Bohdan tried to sneak a glimpse at the title, but the man’s hand blocked it from view.
“I do not doubt it,” Abelard said quietly. “I wish I could. We lost our boy. Years ago.” He pointed to Bohdan’s shirt with a sad smile.
“We’ve searched those mountains a hundred times over. There’s no getting in if that mad man who calls himself the Ratcatcher King does not wish you to. We’ve spent the last twenty years searching every possible way in. Followed every mangy rat. Listened for any music the wind might carry on it. We haven’t lost hope, but we have turned our efforts over into trying to help children stay far out of Desdemona’s way. Her and the rats. To spare other families the same fate.”
“Then why don’t more people know about him?” Bohdan asked nervously. “If you’ve been trying to stop Desdamona and warn other children?”
“People believe what they want to believe,” said Abelard sadly. “No one wants to believe there’s a kidnapper of children, selling their loved ones to a master of goblins and rats. Not until they find themselves in the wastes of grief, wondering what has become of their own child.”
“You’re cowards,” Silver hissed. A stream of tears trickled down her face. “For twenty years you’ve known? You’ve known about this mad king who spies on Gallimaufria, tearing up families. The Collector is your sister! And you think holding up here, hiding in the capital, warning the odd kid or two is going to make any kind of difference? You should be up on that stage next to that buffoon and warning everyone. Posters, signs, messages to the other territories! But you’ve done nothing.”
Silver pushed herself away from the table and disappeared into the corridor leading to the bathroom. There was a loud slam of a door followed by silence. Bohdan got to his feet.
“Leave her be, my boy,” Abelard said before taking a small sip of tea. “She suffers cruelly, and I don’t blame her for being upset. Chaosity is not like the rest of Gallimaufria. Chaositans are a selfish lot. No one cares for anyone but themselves here, let alone someone as vulnerable and needy as a child. It isn’t a matter of people believing us. It is a matter of people knowing but not caring. The tragedy of kidnapped children only bothers those immediately affected by it, and even then, some do not care. We live in a broken world.”
Bohdan frowned but he knew Abelard spoke the truth. No one cared about poverty in the Wastelands. Wastelanders weren’t sympathetic to other Wastelanders. Why would anyone in Chaosity care about children disappearing from other territories if they didn’t care about their own?
“But,” Bohdan said quietly, “there have to be some people who are willing to help? You and Fern can’t be alone?”
The older man smiled, his blue eyes twinkling. “You’re here, aren’t you?”
“A Wastey, a Huntsman-in-training and a seething Deady are hardly an army,” Fedir laughed dryly.
“There are others,” Fern chimed in as she placed another plate of cookies onto the table. “Not many, mind you, but a brave few. They give us hope. The hope of seeing our son again. Hope of finding the way into that wretched mountain.”
“Does the Collector know the way?” Asked Bohdan. “Into the mountain I mean.”
“She claims she does, but I think differently,” said Abelard. “Desdemona does business with the Ratcatcher King to be sure, but not directly. He sends his goblins to deal with her at undisclosed locations.”
“So, it is true,” Fedir said, eyes wide. “There really are goblins. Here. In Gallimaufria?”
“Oh yes,” said Abelard. “I’ve seen them myself. How do you think I lost this?” He pointed to his patched eye and sighed. “I’ve gone back to that place a hundred times. There’s no way into the mountain that adult eyes can find.”
“Who are these other people?” Bohdan asked, turning to Fern. “The others who are willing to help?”
Abelard and Fern exchanged looks, his darker than hers.
“The Sisters,” Abelard sighed at last.
“Fishes below,” Fedir groaned. “You can’t mean that. Everyone who’s anyone knows they aren’t to be trusted.”
“They are a bit…unorthodox,” Fern admitted with a shrug of her shoulders. “But they know the mountains better than anyone. We’ve managed an alliance of sorts with them over the years. I wouldn’t go so far as to say friends, but they let us pass through the Peaklands without trouble in the earlier years of Hedmund’s disappearance…”
“How do we find them?” Asked Bohdan.
“Oh, you don’t, my boy,” said Abelard, who suddenly looked exhausted. “They find you.”
Silver was already asleep in her bed when Fern led the boys into the guest room. A large triple bunk bed awaited them with fluffy white pillows and multi-colored quilts that reminded Bohdan of something in a Perilum tale.
“I’ll take the top, Fed,” Bohdan offered.
“Sleep tight, dears,” Fern said as she closed the door behind her, leaving them to the moonlit darkness.
Bohdan stripped to his underclothes and climbed up into the top bunk. A small round window in the ceiling allowed him an unobstructed view of the night sky. There weren’t as many stars over Chaosity as there were back home in the Wastelands. But the thought of Ma gazing out at the same night sky made him feel a little less homesick and afraid. In the passing days, he’d done his best to keep her from his mind. The few times he allowed himself, fears and images of her dying buzzed around in his mind like a waspwind.
The city continued celebrating beyond the walls, as if the day had only just begun. Fedir’s light snores already sounded from the bottom bunk.
“You awake?” Silver’s voice whispered from below. It was clear from the strain in her voice she’d been crying, but he knew better than to ask.
Bohdan rolled onto his side to hear her better. “Yeah.”
“Were they upset with me? Abelard and Fern?”
“No,” Bohdan assured her. “They know you miss your sister.”
He wished there was something else he could say to make it better, but what? He and Cobran were nothing like Silver and Caspia. If roles were reversed, Bohdan had no reason to believe his brother would try to find him, let alone miss him.
“My brother Cobran and I have never gotten along,” said Bohdan. “He’s never liked me. He thinks I’m a coward.”
He stopped, surprised at the tears welling up in his eyes.
“I worry about Caspia,” Silver said, her voice clipped. “Our ma died a few years ago. She got really sick. I was only ten when she died. Caspia was eight. Our da left us after that.”
“He left you?”
“He couldn’t handle the grief,” Silver said bitterly. “And I’ll never forgive him for it.”
“You’ve been on your own all this time?”
“Yes.”
Bohdan didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t imagine Ma leaving, or how that would feel. To try and survive on his own while caring for a young sibling. Silver, he now knew, was the bravest person he’d ever met.
“Your brother is wrong, you know,” Silver continued.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re not a coward. I know cowards, Bohdan. I can spot them a mile away.”
“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”
“No, I’m not,” Silver balked. “I don’t care about people’s feelings.”
Bohdan swung his head over the side of his bed to look at Silver, who gave him a scrutinizing look.
“What? I don’t.”
“You care about Caspia’s feelings.”
“That’s different.”
“You cared if Abelard and Fern were upset with you.”
To Bohdan’s surprise Silver’s eyes glistened, though she scowled up at him.
“I can’t afford to care about people’s feelings. Besides, no one has ever cared about mine except my ma and sister. And they’re gone.”
“I care.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“We’re all in this together, Silver. You got us out of the Marshlands. I…never had friends before Fedir moved to the Wastelands or meeting you in the Marsh. I care about both of you. And I care about how you feel. And I believe Cobran, Wren, and Caspia are alive. We’re going to find them and bring them home.”
Silver’s face relaxed into an amused smile in the moonlight. “I told you.”
“Told me what?”
“You are brave.”
As Silver’s gentle breathing blended into Fedir’s snores, Bohdan stared up at the starlit sky. Not twenty-four hours before they were tied up, filthy, and helpless on the Collector’s ship. He could only pray they weren’t fools for trusting Abelard and Fern, but deep down, he believed they were telling the truth.
Tomorrow, Abeldard would help them make a plan to get out of the city, Bohdan thought before drifting into a deep sleep. Things were looking up.
Oh, dearest reader, if only it could be that simple.
Thanks for reading along! Tune in next week for the next installment of Bohdan Dune and the Perilum Tales!
“We Wait on the Wind”
-Periwinkle Twist