Boots Chapter 10

Boots went on for the next few days in an easy enough routine. He would wake, peek outside for signs of his mother, eat, go off to work, return, eat and endeavour to shoot his bow. At some point Bridda would stop by – usually while he was in the fields – and inquire about his day, his health and then his mother. They both knew the last question was her true interest, but they worked politely through the first two. 

It was enough to unsettle Boots just a little about his mother’s whereabouts. On the third day he asked Bridda if there was something to be concerned about. His worry must have shown in his face because she seemed to check a retort and instead say, with a reassuring smile, “as you have said, I’m sure your mother knows what she’s doing.” 

Then the question hung between them, but why do you care so much, but it went unasked. It was a puzzle, but he had other things to occupy his mind. The village was slowly on the mend from the flood. Everyone was concentrating on the mill, but Boots had little to offer and less time to spare in that regard. He was not a skilled craftsman nor could he draft up plans and measurements. He was strong enough for lifting and moving, but they had plenty of help for that already. 

Word had been filtering in from other villages about the damages from the storm. There had been a death from a tree falling on a house, and any number of injuries. Jayna was always seen on the move, borrowing a horse or donkey to go from one place to the other, healing and helping where she could. Boots was not around anyone long enough to hear them ask about where his mother was, but he was sure that Jayna missed her being around to help. There was also a lot of movement on the roads, people going to check on relatives, or lend their skills where needed. 

It was not all about broken things being fixed, there were also celebrations to prepare for. The end of summer festival, Moonwhistle, was coming up. It was held in the evenings, so as not to waste precious daylight hours, the games and events taking place by the bright of the moon and the orange flicker of torches. Boots usually loved the midharvest festival, but this year as he watched the moon’s face grow fuller there was a bit of trepidation. A village festival like this was when he would be honing his skill with the bow and maybe knife throwing, preparing to compete and, most likely, to win. Not so this year. 

In the handful of days since he had starting practicing, he had seen no progress. But for some reason it did not feel like failure. He thought of Colin’s grandfather making wheels and carts with his mangled hand. He thought of Burig handing him the copper token and saying, ‘see, learning already,’ when Boots took it with his left hand instead of his right. Boots found the salmon token and started wearing it as a reminder to keep trying. He continued to drag out the target and his bow and attempted to define the shape of his losses so that he could begin to fill them in. 

But that did not mean he was less embarrassed to go to Moonwhistle. He could not help but think he would be conspicuously absent from the events he usually took part in. 

On the fourth day of his mother’s absence, Colin had made plans to stop by in the evening. Boots made sure to have the target put away and bow stowed before his friend arrived. It was likely Colin knew Moonwhistle would be a little difficult for Boots to face, and that was fine, but he wasn’t prepared to answer any questions about his attempts to rebuild his skill. 

Colin sauntered up as the sky was purpling over the trees. Boots had a merry fire started in front of the cottage and had soaked the heels of bread from the loaf his mother had left in some honey and milk and sprinkled them with nuts and dried berries. Delicious, but also a way of stretching out the food she had left before he would have to attempt baking. The concoction was warming in a heavy pot near the flames. Colin arrived with some root vegetables stewed with meat, still warm from the cookpot at his house. Boots fetched some butter and bowls. 

They drank cool water from the well as they feasted. 

“Have you been to the river today, or the mill?” Boots asked. 

“Yes, only briefly, with my father. The river is flowing in the right direction again. It is being hailed as an auspicious change as we get closer to the festival.” 

Boots nodded, “and the shark?” 

“Still on the shore, but they plan to try and butcher it. As long as it has not spoiled too much to eat. Bessie has offered to try and prepare it.” 

Boots made a face at the thought. Colin shrugged and continued. “Apparently, you can eat the meat, but only after carefully smoking and drying it – or maybe you bury it in the ground. I don’t remember the details, only that It’s supposed to take months and is poisonous if not prepared properly. Balert has, of course, offered to gather the ingredients if he can be guaranteed an opportunity to sell it for profit.” 

“Really?” Boots raised an eyebrow. 

“Yeah. It’s supposed to be a very rare meat, and I think sacred in some cases. Luthi has asked for the teeth – which Balert wanted as well. You can probably guess what each of those wants them for.” Colin waited a beat while they stared at the crackling flames, then said with studied casualness, “I kind of had other plans for the teeth myself.” 

It took Boots a moment to catch the unspoken intent behind his friend’s words. Boots slid his eyes sideways and saw Colin’s lazy smile. “What, that beast didn’t try to sink its teeth into either of their hides, did it? Besides, you remember, there are lots of teeth. Who would miss a few?” 

Boots nodded, the image of those rows of bloody teeth breaking through the water brought a memory of fear that was quickly quelled by the idea that Colin was proposing. 

“Are you thinking tonight?” Boots asked. 

“Why do you think I brought stew and not beer?” Colin asked, giving Boots’ shoulder a shove, “I want you fed and alert after a long day in the sun. Get your shoes back on and let’s go!” 

They made their way quickly to the river. It took longer than usual because they avoided paths, not wanting to be seen. They chatted when they took breaks from jogging to stroll along. Boots found out that Bridda had been inquiring after his mother quite a bit. 

“I heard my mother tell my father something along the lines of: she’s a nice enough lady, that Bridda, and no doubt a fighter. But I wouldn’t advise her to be crossing Meranin. I hope she hasn’t been harassing poor Boots, we should ask Colin,” Colin said, keeping his voice low, but pulling off an apt imitation of his mother’s voice all the same. They were far from anything or anyone, but getting close enough to the river to be cautious. They could see the orange glow of torches and fires set up in the distance. 

“And what did your father say?” 

“Something about Provinny being none too happy about it either, I think?” 

“Well, that’s more than I hear about Provinny in a whole year,” Boots said. 

Provinny, the magister’s wife, seemed more frail and elderly than Yuggen even though she was younger than he. She was slight, and stooped and crowned by a fringe of white hair that escaped in wisps from whatever bonnet she put on her head. She always had knitting or a needle and thread in her hand. And it always seemed that her thoughts wove in and out of reality with the same regularity as her stitches. It was hard to picture Provinny having the wherewithal to have an opinion about anything, no less be unhappy about it. 

Colin shrugged and then filled Boots in on a few other bits of gossip. Apparently, there had been a long stretch of afternoon where Tafner could not be found. Sheffi showed up at Bessie’s looking for her, only to find Siggu’s mother, Naani, looking for her son as well. That’s when they realized that both Siggu and Tafner had been gone the better part of the day. 

“But before sparks could start flying, Bessie came out from the kitchen waving a wooden spoon and chased them out. Then asked how in Wodan’s name they hadn’t learned anything after losing Sarna and Toby. She followed up with: if history repeats itself, you’ll only have yourselves to blame.” 

“I’ll bet that went well,” Boots said, stifling a laugh as he picked his way through some uneven ground. 

“Sheffi is already trying to prevent Bessie from bringing her pies to Moonwhistle and insisting upon a public apology.” 

“I imagine she’ll be waiting for quite some time,” Boots said. 

“I imagine she’ll be waiting until she needs something from Bessie’s store more than she wants that apology,” Colin qualified. 

They both smirked into the darkness then stopped talking by unspoken agreement. They would soon be too close to make any unnecessary sound as they crossed the mostly-open field. They relied on the gurgle of the river, the swish of the wind through the grass and the dark, cloudy sky to cover their approach. They crouched behind some bushes about half way between a large fire and the riverbank. There were murmurs of conversation from a few people around the torches that dotted the space in between. They heard a familiar voice and looked panic at each other in the darkness. Colin peeked overtop the bushes to be sure then sat back down. 

“Bollocks. It’s my father,” he whispered. “I was counting on a few half-bored villagers and maybe Balert hiring a few men to keep an eye out. Not my father.” 

Boots knelt up to look as well, “maybe he’s just checking on things and then he’ll leave.” 

“As long as he doesn’t try to check on us after.” 

Boots and Colin looked at each other then broke into wide smiles. 

“This was a great idea,” Boots said. 

“Honestly, I thought I was going to have to pry you away from your field. I didn’t even have to bribe you with the beer I stashed in the old woodshed.” 

“Well now you do.” 

“It can be for the victory celebration.” 

They sat with the low shrubs between them and the riverbank. There were a handful of villagers milling about with a vague sense of purpose. Most were probably drawn by curiosity and the welcome change from the day to day. Drinking by the fire in the warm night air, the shark a talking point that led in all manner of interesting speculation about the world beyond their village and its routines. That had certainly been the direction of Boots’ thoughts as he’d toiled away in his fields these past few days. His shovel had been firmly in the ground, but his mind traveled along the river and out to the open sea. He imaged the fields and forest he would pass, a little fishing village or maybe a bustling port of some kind -he was fuzzy as to what that would look like but he was able to imagine it. Then past some large boats and into the deep, blue depths. 

“How many do you think are here with coin from Balert to watch the shark?” Colin whispered, breaking into his thoughts. 

“Probably a few,” Boots whispered back, “who would believe that anyone in this village would actually try to sneak in and steal a shark – or its teeth?” 

“Yeah. Who would ever plan on such a thing?” Colin responded, and Boots could hear his impish grin even if he could not fully see it. 

“Do you have a plan?” Boots asked. 

“Ummm, no,” Colin admitted. He held up the sac he had brought to collect their trophies in. “Well, I brought this to put the teeth in. I just decided today when I heard they were going to start butchering it up that we needed to get those teeth first.” 

They scanned the area in the flickering firelight, weighing their options when a new voice joined in. Boots and Colin both cursed silently as the figure approached. Bridda called out a greeting to the people assembled and started talking to Tale. 

“I believe he should arrive soon,” she was saying, “he’s been making his way across the country and was able to stop by with someone who could help.” 

“Is he coming straight here?” Tale asked. 

“Yes, then to the village hall briefly.” 

“What about Balert, I thought he was heavily interested in being here.” Tale said, his voice was neutral but Colin and Boots both knew how Tale felt about Balert. 

Bridda’s reply was such a study in neutrality that it was almost funny. “I told Balert the party would stop at the village hall to gather he and Yuggen before coming to the river. It’s possible I was incorrect. How very unfortunate”  

“Ah.” Was Tale’s diplomatic answer. 

Boots and Colin grinned at each other in spite of themselves. Bridda’s alert presence would make it more difficult to steal the teeth, but her way of dealing with some of Holding’s more eccentric personalities was increasingly entertaining. 

Albo had wandered over to Tale and Bridda, the three stood speaking in lowered voices. Boots and Colin looked over the shrub again, trying to better hear what was being said. 

They were so focused on trying to decipher Albo’s deep tones they did not notice Bridda peering in their direction. Colin gave Boots a warning jab, and Boots saw the commander looking their way. Had it been daylight, he was certain she would have met his eyes. 

Boots and Colin froze. Maybe if they did not move she would not be able to distinguish them from the bushes. She turned her attention back to Tale and Albo. 

“If I could propose that we carry on just over the bank, beyond the smell? I don’t think our friend here will go anywhere,” she said, with a nod towards the shark. 

The two men agreed and the three of them went up the riverbank. Their voices joining with those of the villagers at the fire. 

Well, maybe that had been luck or maybe that had been a gift from the commander, but they would not waste time wondering which. Boots looked a question at Colin, who nodded vigorously. The two set off down to the riverbank. They stopped at the final tufts of grass and reeds right before the exposed sandy patch where the shark had been dragged ashore. Boots plucked at Colin’s shirt and gestured at the ground near his feet. Sticking out from Colin’s shoe was a bundle of herbs tied with string that was half-crushed under his weight. No doubt the result of Luthi’s, Jayna’s and Meranin’s efforts. Colin lifted his foot and picked up the wreath, it looked like it was supposed to be a pentagram. He carefully bent it back into shape and placed it on the ground again. It sat somewhat lopsided, Boots gave it another nudge to adjust it, having some vague idea that one of the points should face east. 

They looked up over the beach in the flickering torchlight and saw that there were other animals on the beach. A few turtle shells could be seen on the other side of the shark body, some with legs and heads mouldering away in the dirt. A little beyond that someone was standing by a torch, Boots was not sure who it was based on the silhouette, but they did not seem keen on watching the shore too closely. 

Possibly it was the smell. 

Now that they were closer, the reek of rotting animal and souring fish combined into something powerfully disgusting. Overlaying the smell was the buzz of flies and the whine of tinier, biting insects. Boots waved one away from his face and wished he had some of his mother’s piney bug paste to keep away the bugs and the smell – it was so strong he could taste it. 

“Isn’t this past the point of eating?” Boots whispered. 

“I wouldn’t try any,” Colin said. Although it was likely if someone actually prepared the shark meat, they would both try it in a heartbeat. 

“We’re going to have to use the shark’s body to hide behind,” Colin said, in a whisper hampered by his unwillingness to breath the rancid air. 

“I guess we were going to have to get close to it eventually,” Boots said. “You’re faster, you go first.” 

“Gee, thanks,” Colin said without enthusiasm. 

Boots shrugged, for once enjoying that he always lost to Colin in foot races. “And don’t wait for me; if you have a chance, take it. You have the bag?” 

Colin nodded and settled himself just at the edge of the small beach. His long legs carried him the short distance in three or four long strides. The man stationed by the torch didn’t even turn around. Then Colin sat behind the shark, leaning back as far as he could, as if he could avoid that smell. Boots watched the guard by the torch who still did not seem very interested in the beach. Boots followed Colin’s route to crouch beside him. 

  The smell was foul, but they were already getting used to it. At least someone had washed away the fecal matter that had gushed out of the shark, because they now crawled through the sand towards the head of the beast to get close to its mouth. There was no way to get the teeth out without being in full view. 

“You keep watch,” Colin whispered to Boots, then he crawled around to the front. Boots really had to focus to keep his attention on the guard. His eyes kept dropping to the lipless maw that Colin was about to stick his arm into. It occurred to Boots that Colin should be extremely careful not to cut himself. Who knew what strange disease of the blood he could catch from those teeth strung with rotting fish guts. 

Even as Boots had the thought, Colin scrambled back around empty handed. “I don’t want to get cut,” he explained. 

“I was thinking the same thing,” Boots agreed. 

“The teeth are so jagged and look difficult to grab. Give me your shirt.” Colin demanded in a whisper, putting out a hand. 

“What? My shirt? Use your own shirt!” Boots hissed back. 

Colin peeked over the shark again. “I need to wrap my hand in something to grab the teeth. I don’t want to be caught out there with no shirt and my hand in a shark’s mouth!” 

Boots could see his friend’s point, but he did not want to be caught shirtless hiding behind a shark either. 

“Here, use my stockings,” Boots said, slipping off his shoe. “You can put your hand right in it like a glove. Take both.” 

Colin slid the footwear over his hands and up his forearms. He grimaced at the sweatiness. 

“Your hands are about to be someplace much worse.” Boots chided. 

Colin made a face and went to crouch near the shark’s nose. He waited until Boots gave him the signal to sneak back around. Boots was feeling a new sense of urgency about their quest, and he had an easier time focusing beyond the dead shark at the man in the torchlight. He ignored the occasional loud breath from Colin and the faint clicking sounds of the teeth falling into the bag. 

“Colin,” he hissed, “someone’s coming.” 

A figure was heading towards the man who had been standing by the torch, one hand extended like he was carrying something, maybe a drink or food. They called greetings to each other as Colin scrambled behind the shark again. His eyes wide. His hands wrapped around the bag. 

“Did it work?” Boots breathed. 

In response Colin opened the bag and held it in front of Boots. Boots peered in and saw a dull sheen of white from inside. He tentatively put his hand in and very carefully felt the smooth surfaces and jagged edges. They felt strangely human and he subconsciously ran his tongue along his own teeth. It was disconcerting and incredible. 

He gave a silent laugh, a push of air that was relief and amazement all together. Colin’s face had gone from near-disbelief to excitement he stripped the socks off of his hands and tossed them into the sand. 

They had a stolen bag of shark’s teeth! But their quest was not over until they made it home again. Boots risked a quick look over the shark’s body. The two men by the torch were now turned, looking over the past the shark and towards the river. Running across the open space to get back to the grasses was not going to be an option. 

They were deciding if they should throw a rock as a distraction when another arrival changed their plan. 

Hoof beats could be heard approaching, there were raised voices calling out greetings, Bridda’s among them. Who would Bridda be so eager to greet in Holding? 

“Captain Burig,” Tale’s voice carried through the chatter, “thank you for taking time to visit.” 

Colin and Boots stiffened as the captain’s voice answered, “Really, it’s in my interests I assure you. Thank you for taking the time to meet with us.” His greeting rolled into a series of instructions for the soldiers that must have arrived with him. 

Boots felt a trickle of panic. Why else would Burig be back in Holding except to see the shark? Beside him Colin clutched the bag tightly, his eyes wide. Boots was clutching the rock he had thought of throwing just as tightly. His mind jumped to the moment when they would be discovered hiding behind the shark like children, their stolen goods gripped in sweaty hands. 

Boots eyes fell on the bag. Well, he could at least do something about that last part. He looked his meaning at Colin. Boots took the bag, dropped the rock in, tied the top tightly closed, gave it a swing, and launched it off to the left at a low angle. He was hoping his aim was still good and that he would be able to find it again in the darkness, or even if they had to come back in the morning. It landed in the grasses with hardly a sound. With Burig’s orders being carried out and the stamping of horses and feet, no one noticed. 

It was a good plan, if a bit unnecessary. Because with Burig’s arrival drawing attention there was no one watching the beach anymore, and Boots and Colin easily slipped back across the sand. 

Colin waited quietly in the longer grass while Boots carefully went to retrieve the bag of shark’s teeth. He had a moment of pride when he found it had landed exactly where he had expected it to. Regardless of his slow progress with the bow, his aim was still good. 

He took a moment to remove the stone he had put inside, grimacing as he reached around the teeth. He re-tied the bag and tucked it into his shirt, not wanting to risk it dropping or spilling if they had to run. 

Boots was getting ready to head back to where Colin was hiding when a few soldiers strode closer to where he was. His thoughts bounced around. If he moved now, he would likely be heard or seen. But these soldiers did not know who he was, would not suspect he had just pilfered some shark’s teeth. He tried to picture just standing up casually in the grass and greeting the soldiers in a nonchalant way as Colin might do. After all, the only suspicious thing he was doing right now was hiding. Maybe he could pretend he had fallen asleep. 

He shifted his weight, thinking he could take very slow, crouching steps backwards through the long grass. But the approach of Burig’s voice changed his plans again. Accompanying Burig was an intriguing figure, cloaked despite the warmth of the evening. A third, shorter figure, also hooded, followed quickly behind. Soldiers were moving torches to light a path and brighten the beach. Except for Tale, no other villagers remained nearby. 

Curiosity winning out over the fear of being caught, Boots sank a little deeper into his hiding place to watch and listen. 

“I think it would be best if the good villagers of Holding started to make their way home,” Boots heard Burig say to Tale, “this will take some time and Chandra’s work is that of the Cloisters. It is carefully guarded.” 

“I understand,” Tale said. “Albo can send word to them, unless you want me to leave as well.” 

“Not just yet, if you please,” Burig said. “But send Albo, and I will have soldiers to help clear the area.” 

Boots took in a deep, silent gasp as a million thoughts flooded his brain at once. 

The Cloisters.  

The Cloisters was, according to those who considered themselves worldly, a rambling stone building found in some remote area of the kingdom. A place that used to be home to a religious order whose purpose and gods were long forgotten. All that remained was the name of what it had been: The Cloisters. And that had remained as its title, as befittingly vague as its purpose. 

Ostensibly, The Cloisters was a place where academics trained in specialized fields to serve the castle. Men and women who could design bridges, plan villages, balance large accounts, track trade goods and plan how and when to store foodstuffs towards a famine. There was a great deal of power attributed to those roles. And it was easy to imagine a place filled with clicking abaci, murmured discussions over detailed maps, and the smell of ink and paper as these fine minds set order to the kingdom. 

But there was another image of The Cloisters, also in service to the king, but one that held much more allure and trained its recruits in fields that were much more specialized. This was a place of secret passages, shadowed halls, and greenhouses filled with mysterious plants. Of alchemists and assassins brewing poisons and forging gold behind a forest of glass tubes and coloured smoke. It was a place where you could learn fighting arts that were nothing like the brash clashing of an army. 

There was also magic, it was said. But that was spoken in hushed whispers. Ever since the old king and the wizard, so went some of the rumours, a student of The Cloisters gone to the bad. The new king could not risk another upset, not after the last incident. Rumour was that The Cloisters had been shut down, or forbidden from using magic. 

Crouched unseen in the grasses, Boots was not about to miss an opportunity to glean something about the mysterious place. The cloaked figure with Burig was, Boots discovered, a woman named Chandra. She was almost as tall as Burig, with her darkish hair piled on top of her head making her seem even taller. The way she was dressed showed off a silhouette that was so elegant it was intimidating. As she turned this way and that to survey the shark, bits of her clothes and hair glinted a warm amber in the flickering torchlight. Bits of metal, Boots wagered, either gold or copper. 

The third person, shorter, could have been a girl or boy. Also cloaked, but long limbed and a little gawky, they seemed to be assisting the mysterious Chandra in some way. The woman moved with purpose, as though looking for something or listening for someone. The assistant followed at a discreet distance, darting forward when needed then falling back again. 

Burig stood further off, but was clearly waiting for a moment he would jump into action – or maybe he always looked that way. Tale and Bridda stood even further, talking to each other, but glancing the woman’s way. 

Looking at Tale, Boots could read that the man was on edge. It was the set of his shoulders, the way he kept crossing and uncrossing his arms, trying to keep his hands busy in the absence of something to actually do with them. It was the same way Colin acted in the rare moments that he was nervous enough to show it. 

Boots glanced behind to see if there was any sign that Colin was nearby but he could see nothing in the waving grasses. He wondered if his friend could hear and see what was happening too. 

Chandra, was now holding some sort of mobile in front of her. Bits and bobs dangled on strings and slowly turned in the night breeze, glinting as pieces caught the flickering firelight. 

For the first time, Boots heard her speak clearly. Her voice was pleasant and bore the cultured accents of the city. 

“Someone has already been here. And done quite impressively well,” she said, still watching the mobile. 

Tale uncrossed his arms again and lifted his voice to answer. “We do have a very competent healer here in Holding.” 

“And a vidari woodsman,” Bridda piped in. “I’ve met him. And he is as close to genuine as I have ever seen.” 

This did break the woman’s attention from what she was doing as she turned to Bridda. “Really?” Chandra’s tone focused on the commander. “And is that what you have been doing here all this time?” 

“Oh, I am not at liberty to discuss that,” Bridda said, with a smile in her voice. 

“I’ve trained you so well,” Burig responded, sounding annoyed. Boots could not be sure, but he thought Chandra clucked at him, as if at a petulant child. 

“Well, I wish we had more time here, I would love to meet this man – and your healer woman too. The work that’s been done here is quite fine. I would almost think they’d had Cloister training.” Chandra said. 

“I could send someone around to see if Jayna or Luthi are free to meet us at Yuggen’s,” Tale offered, and his voice was a little higher pitched than usual.  

I suppose, Boots thought, that the combination of Burig and this woman would be a little unnerving. 

It did not escape Boots’ notice that his mother’s name had not been mentioned in all of this. No doubt Tale would correctly assume that Meranin would not want to be drawn into the conversation, being the recluse that she was. Boots did wonder that Bridda and Burig, given their seeming interest in Meranin, did not mention her either. 

“As much as I am curious about some of the methods I see here, I don’t suppose we have time for that. Much to your relief, I am sure, captain,” Chandra said to Burig. “I will set to work and we will be on our way as scheduled.” 

“Your diligence is appreciated,” The captain responded politely. 

She said something they were too far away to hear as she turned to give instructions to her assistant and others. The assistant dashed away, Bridda had some soldiers set up a folding table and a lantern, the assistant reappeared lugging a heavy bag and carrying a cumbersome box under one arm. The woman thanked everyone as they came and went, then began searching through the bag for items and setting them on the table. 

The assistant scurried around with a smaller lantern peering at the sand. The figured paused in the spot where Colin and Boots had hidden before. 

“Here, Lady.” He or she called in a voice that was still not clearly male or female. 

Chandra looked up from what she was doing and then lifted her skirts so they would not trail through the sand as she made her way over. 

“What is it, Vicely?” she asked. 

Boots could see what was in the assistant’s, or Vicely’s, hands. It was the pentagram of bent twigs and herbs that he and Colin had crushed earlier. Chandra inspected it, as if reading some message written on the stems and bark. 

“Best make a new one,” she said. “Someone thinks we need a high level of protection here, and who am I to judge?” 

“Well,” Vicely said, “you actually are one of the best people to judge.” 

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Chandra said, with a voice like a cat’s purr. “And since I am in a position to judge, I would have to say I agree. Can you make a new one? And quickly, I don’t think we can –” Her voice trailed off. 

She held up a finger to indicate silence. 

And there was silence. Total silence. 

Boots’ breathing sounded strangely ragged and harsh in his ears and he tried to lessen it lest he be heard in the sudden quiet of the night. 

He realized that the chirrup of the crickets and the buzz of the insects had gone. The grasses had ceased to sway in the breeze. The only other sound was the trickling along of the river and even that had a different quality to it. There was a regularity that should not be there, a rhythm, like the rowing of oars, or someone walking very slowly through the shallows. 

“Vicely, you need to put the wax in your ears, now. And stay close to me.” The sudden command in Chandra’s voice put Boots on edge, something was happening. 

Vicely dropped the bundle of twigs and scrambled to obey. Chandra had issued her orders without looking away from the river, she kept her eyes trained in that direction as she called the Captain over. 

“Burig,” she said. 

Her voice was not too loud, but it was very taught and it pulled Burig quickly to her side. He also looked out into the darkness as they spoke. 

“They’re coming.”