The Arsenic Melody

Chapter 1

Every time he visited the East Coast it had been shrouded in fog.

It was no different today; as the stone bricks and wooden roofs, most of which had collapsed inwards were devoured by that familiar grey blanket. In Rosebay, it lay as thick on the ground and riverbanks as the clouds which lingered above. The rain held though and for that he was grateful. The world had ended seven years ago, and travelers like Odis had wondered about the world at that time. But found no sanctuary.

He was here to see a trader, who moved between the stone Towers of Halden.

During the fight against the thirteen divines, and their servants, these Towers were formed; they served as military outposts and civilians used them as trade points because of their added security. The monarchy also provided resources to them for a time. And small towns like Rosebay eventually began to occasionally appear, but they were often found and wiped out as quickly as they had grown. Leaving the Towers to spite the fragility of man.

Towns like Rosebay had thrived once. Odis had lived in a similar place once, it was peaceful but the food and promise of safety eventually brought more mouths to the town than the resources available, and among the public scorn would cultivate. And then as fast as the towns grew, they were extinct. Thus, many rumors began that it was a large population that attracted the god’s attention, or that some people bore ill omens and angered the gods. Superstitions or truth, rumors like these eventually began to erode communities in Halden. The diaspora probably did little to protect people, but seeing one body a week, rather than piles was an illusion of safety that everyone respected and so the world remained separated.

The man sat with a fire by the broken door to the tower, holding his gloved hands, which were cut to reveal his crippling fingers, towards the open flame. A kettle boiled atop it as well and the steam joined the fog around them. Short and scrawny, his beard had overgrown to be a wiry bird’s nest, completely unkempt, and he covered his patchy scalp with a dirty iron hood, his fingers were calloused and his fingers had begun to bend and wither. Signs of arthritis without a doubt. The tip of his nose was a bluish color, as it was cold and he took time to massage each finger with his other hand, Odis walked from the main road but cataracts in the old man’s eyes still stopped him from having clear site of him, he stood and held his sword shakily with both hands.

“It is just me, Tom.”

His breath caught in the air, and his stance was learned, but his hunched back and small figure stole the charisma that a swordsman like him was bound to carry. It didn’t matter much to Odis though, he would never intend to fight a man like Tom, even if they had not been friends (or as close as one can be to that,) he would not attack such a defenseless mortal. He had greater enemies. The wind wailed past him, it passed over both of them traveling West. He did not smile or greet him, he only lowered his blade and sat back down: appearing more fragile than ever before.

Odis walked forward and sat across from him, the older man had a stool, but he sat in the cool dirt which had fought the dreary weather. The old man held his hands out over the fire again, and moved each finger, as though he was counting them. He then picked up a scrap of cloth from the ground next to him and placed it in his palm, grabbing the top of the metal kettle with the protected hand and Odis lifted the wooden staff that he had used to hold the kettle. Tom slid it off and Odis placed back the wood. He poured the boiled water into two tin cups. “Mint tea, I found the leaves just here, although the gardens are overgrown with roses.”

“Why not a rose tea then?”

“The roses are dead.”

He nodded. Leaving the tea to cool on the ground next to him. He looked at the fire and the man’s hands, as he wound his fingers again and again. His eyes looked at the fire, staring forward, he looked to Odis to his side and smiled awkwardly, “There was little trading to be done, less and fewer merchants these days. And these people are so dimwitted, they see old bones and whisper amongst themselves. As if old age is a punishment from the divine, but I suppose it is because I have to live in this world again and again.” He licked his lips and took a sip of his tea. “Less is willing to trade now, especially in the bigger towns. Some even give me their scrap wears, anything to see me leave sooner. Less they attract gods’ attention as if I am powerful enough to demand their attention. Ha.”

“What were you able to find?”

“Nothing special; some bottled Ether, some bottled Vigor. Enough to save you in a fight perhaps. But only one fight.”

“How much?” He smiled staring at the fire.

“Take them, and pay me with a memory. Once a week perhaps, pick the wild mint on the road and think of a fond memory of me.”

“No, I will do that, but also take some coin. You still need to trade and live.”

“You are the only one who still comes, perhaps the other wanderers are dead, or perhaps superstition gets the better of them. But these old bones would be best left behind, all I want is to be remembered.” A tear fell down his cheek but he leaned back to grab a cloth bag. “This will do for a little while but you will need a new broker, good luck Odis and thank you.”

“You know keep it. This town is empty, it’ll make a good rest point. Let’s find a place near the beach or the river and stay here for a while.”

“Thank you, I would appreciate the company.”

They walked down an animal trail which led from the left of the tower down to the river, the ground was uneven and Odis took the man’s arm over his shoulders and helped him walk most of the way, despite his hunch and small build, they were almost the same height. Finally, they got to the edge of the river, and walked beside it, they found a settler’s cottage obscured by the heavy trees and went inside it. There was still some furniture so Odis set out two chairs and began collecting wood for the fireplace. Other less sturdy chairs or tables were quickly broken apart and laid in the fireplace. He looked up the chimney to see that it had been blocked by a bird’s nest, they would need to move that before it was lit. He explained to Tom before walking outside and climbing onto the degraded wooden roof. He walked on the beams lest the erosion is more than his weight. At the chimney, he took out his sword and hung it over the chimney. The leather grip, wrapped around cool metal felt normal in his hand. The sword had been a gift from his late father, and he had crafted the blade himself. It was steel but the metal had been darkened, to nearly a black. It was long and light, with a sharp edge, Odis knew this because he sat with a whetstone to it every night. Over time it was growing weaker, but it was still stronger than any new blade he could afford.

He raised the blade and was ready to prod the nest but heard a light squawk, three birds stayed in the nest. He stared at them for a moment, “You all have to move.” He sheathed the sword and leaned in grabbing the nest with his hands, he lifted it and a part came loose. One of the chicks rolled to the edge of the straw and fell with it. He sighed sadly and took the other two, placing the remaining pieces of nest next to the chimney.

He walked into the house to see the old man staring at the little bird. “Poor thing, were there any others?” he asked.

“Two others, they’re on the roof, perhaps the mother will still come for them.”

“Perhaps,” He stood dragging his chair outside onto the grass in front “I should like to see it when she does.”

Odis took his chair and joined him, he sat beside Tom and watched him gaze at the roof. He had grown paler over the last year, his skin going greyer and more marked with age spots. They had known each other for four years now but it was still a sharp contrast from when they had first met. Odis skin was the opposite of his, his was young and dark. Like the rick soil beneath them and appropriate for his twenty-one years of life. Odis also had a bit more weight than the skeletal man. He was by no means well-fed but had at least muscle enough to obscure the bones of his arms and shoulders.

“How old are you, Tom?”

“67.” He responded. “A long life.”

It was a long life, even before the devastation commonfolk lived a life of squalor. The disease was common, children often passed before their first birthday, injury and accident were commonplace and the threat of wolves and banditry were ever-present. Tom was the oldest man he had ever met, and he mused to himself that he should have asked before. The fog was beginning to clear, lending them a clearer view of the river. However, they sat with their backs to it, looking at the roof of the house. The air remained crisp even as their breath lightened and Odis worried that in his fascination, Tom had overlooked his old bones.

“Do you enjoy birding?”  Tom smiled looking past the roof of the house and towards the sky.

“Very much.” He said and held his hands together. “I used to raise hawks. Well, no man would raise hawks for us, but we would always go and pick one each. Me and my brothers. Each season. Then we would raise them, on the bottle. It wasn’t ideal for hunting, because they became dependent, but still, they hunted well enough though, when commanded. Raise a hawk right and it doesn’t need to have its eyes covered. They are not so ignorant of mortal kindness.”

“Do you think that is a hawk then?”

“My eyes may be going but I will always be able to see potential in such a bird. The splendor of a hawk, in-flight the Ashen Hawk has wingspans of 5 feet. Splendid creatures, made to watch us from high above, even as we destroy ourselves.”

“Ashen?”

“A Special kind from the volcanic islands to the far West, my father brought them for us as a gift once. By far my favorite among the hawks, those are blue-tails. Not a rarity but still exquisite.”

He looked at the rooftop, the chicks screamed and screeched but nothing responded to the call.

The clouds began to open, releasing a shard of light. The house was rectangular, with a chimney and front porch, the roof was once slanted over the porch but now it had mostly fallen leaving one pillar completely exposed to the elements. Odis looked at the roof, and the bird’s nest above, and put his hand on the older man’s shoulder.

“We should move indoors,” Odis said and stood up. He turned back to the old man and held out an armored hand. “It will get cold,” Odin told him somberly. He abandons the thought that the birds might feel it as well.

Tom shrugged slightly, “I believe, I will stay with them. For just a bit longer.” though the wind had died by then and the sun was still in the sky above, it was colder. Odis turned towards the house, the fire they had lit. It had been so long since he slept well, without shifting awake to the sounds of the forest. And Tom had lived a long life, he would be able to walk inside, it didn’t make him a threat to Odis but it also granted him some independence.

“Come in when you’re ready.”

“No,” Tom said with a slight shake in his voice, but Odis had already walked through the shattered doorway. “I am sorry to scare you with these old frosted eyes. But we must all witness death at times, and I am sure you are no stranger to it.” Toms closed his eyes and took a deep breath, it came out thick like mist over the river, he stared towards the birds, laying in a cold wet nest, and marveled that after so many years of torment he was blessed with a peaceful death. He reached a hand into his pocket, drawing out a sweet red flower, only the size of a fingernail. Given time, the flower would close and the poison would subside, it would create a most beautiful delicacy but now in its stunted condition, it was filled with hatred and malice.

He stroked the small petals. He had kept the flower for five years. He had seen so much and done so little in that time, perhaps in this, he would condemn himself to hell but to walk again on the lonely roads, as winter embraced these lands, would be a harsher crueler death than any hell he could imagine.

Odis woke in the morning as a stream of light from the broken ceiling caressed him, warm and safe. He stood slowly, from the pile of long grass, His shoulder throbbing from the weight of his body, He moved to stretch it but surveyed the room. Silent, filled with the chirping of weavers in the nearest willow. He looked for Tom but could not find him.

Odis could never understand why instinct plagued him so well. But he knew without reason what had happened. He had seen cataracts in the man's eyes, and the way his left knee seemed to be too far gone for most medicines. After a while, he had begun to understand, that age and health were the two most important things in this world. Tom had neither of them.

He braced himself as he exited the house, and walked to Tom, upright in his chair, sitting with closed eyes and a smile. He touched his shoulder and it was hard, his skin held no color and the tears on his cheeks had frozen in the frost. He hoped that his last thoughts had been happy, memories of a long-gone family and a warm home.

Next, he looked towards the roof, to a silent nest. He climbed to the roof using the same scheme as when he had unblocked the chimney the day before, walking along whatever beams and walls remained, he looked into the nest. It must have been a terrible death, to freeze like that. He lifted them with the nest intact. He walked to the garden and with his hands, he broke the earth open and lowered the nest, he covered them in a shallow grave. He did not have the time or the ability to do the same for an old friend.

He left the town, walking past the sentry tower, along the main road. He walked until he could no longer go on, his legs imitating the heaviness that weighed on him. Guilt struck him, for sleeping curled up next to the firelight, for the suffering which he so often, so ignorantly, inflicted on those around him. He had tried to stay alone, away from the madding crowd, away from friends. Because death was the only true security that he had now. Whether that was his own, which he desperately struggled against, or others that could never be avoided.

He whispered to the fields around him, almost devoid of trees and packet with molehills. “Why must it always be like this.”

Then he saw it, in a nook by the road, remnants of a fire. Ash smothered across the floor; wood half-buried. And to the side bones, and a brown hawks wing, then a blue-tipped tail feather. He pocketed it.

He walked the badly hidden trail further down the main road. It took him a few hours to reach the figure, which walked under a black hood, slower than him. The man was aware though and when he turned to see another person on the lone road he visibly bristled and stepped to the side. Watched Odis and smiled as he approached beckoning him to pass.

His hand reached to his sword. He stopped before the man, who also rested a hand on a hidden knife in response he smiled again. “Not many travelers on the road.” His voice trembled as he spoke. “You’re welcome to go ahead; I may rest here for a while.” He wanted to walk behind him, follow him, or avoid him.

“You killed a hawk, yesterday or in the early morning.”

“Yes,” He responded “Why do you ask?”

“It had chicks, in a cold nest.”

“A shame.”

“You feel no sympathy.”

“A shame,” he repeated, louder and retreating a step. “It is a cruel world.”

“Was it a good meal?”

“What do you want with me?” He took a few more steps back.

“Nothing, walk ahead.”

“I need rest,”

“Fine, then we can walk together.” The man stiffened.

“You can take my fucking money, just leave.”

“Now, now, there is no reason to get angry. I just don’t want to get a knife in my back.”

“I am less likely than you, mercenary trash, to put a knife between those big shoulders.” He motioned to his body; he was about the same height but significantly weaker.

He moved closer to the man, who drew his knife. “Give me another reason, to cut you down,” he said, seething with anger for a hawk mother and an old friend.

“What do you want from me?” He asked again. “For eating? For killing a hawk that strayed into a bird trap? It had so little meat on its bones, but I had not eaten in days, so I did not care for its beauty or its family, as though anyone would. Put yourself in my shoes, I know that you have known hunger. I am truly jealous that you are so privileged to mourn for a bird when I could not- have never been allowed to mourn for even my family.” He stared at the man, and he sheathed his knife. “If you would take my life, then at least allow me a moment of prayer. And if you cannot bear to do that, then you are a worse beast than the gods themselves.”.

“There is no one crueler than the gods.” He lowered his sword. “Walk ahead, quickly. Enter the next town and stay there for a while.”

He nodded thanks and hurried off, walking down a long road.

Which grew colder and harsher with each step.