Dear Muse (Those Whom the Gods Wish to Destroy Book 1) (22 page)

Its bulging black eyes were like globules of oil, obscuring any means of deciphering the face’s expression. The sharp tip of its nose pointed upward in a lame attempt to divert from its flaring nostrils. The flesh around the cheeks was smooth, but wrinkled near the wide, lipless mouth and eye sockets and especially around the broad hairless brow. Its teeth were thin and pointed, spread far enough to reveal its red gums.

It did not grace us with its presence merely once, but with every white flash of thunder. The countenance did not change, as though it were previously printed rather than actively watching us. The entire hall emptied outside, even the children, to watch the grim display. Some called it the devil, others a demon, and one fool said it was God. The menace in the entity’s glare did not go unnoted.

There were no more quakes, but the storm continued through the night. We all watched the sky, drenched in rainfall by dawn, for glimpses of the face until the dawn shone through the clouds and cast light on the night’s devastation. The scattered wreckage left no means of distinguishing our homes. A doorknob here, a chair leg there, a tattered blouse dangling on a naked branch, and a baby cradle split down the middle by a collapsed roof. Many of the women could not cease weeping over this particular sight. Their ostensible grief brought out the worst in many, especially Janice. It was open season on salvage for new shelters.

Quarrels broke out over what belonged to whom. Plenty of harsh words to go around, as well as a few shoves here and there. I managed to find my writings inside my desk, the pages wrinkled and scattered out of order. Fortunately, my entries are numbered. Losing my entire home was a bit heartbreaking, but the shattered ink bottle truly stung, though the stag head’s destruction was consolatory enough.

Perhaps the most shocking event happened next, even if it may seem impossible to top a floating face in the sky. I will admit, even in my bias, the discovery trumps these intact pages.

The effigy had fallen and shattered into pieces. Inside the hollow torso were a mass of bones. These belonged to someone long dead, and my uncle, through keen wit, declared them the bones of Luther. For somebody so adamantly dedicated to the mayor, his next actions troubled me personally. The mayor denied these claims, despite the crowd’s fiery glares. This revelation came at an inopportune time, he probably thought. As the mob closed in on him, demanding an explanation, he foolishly babbled about the lack and proof and compared their behavior to animals. He turned to my uncle, who promptly punched him in the face.

The mayor tumbled to the ground and was forced to shield himself against a barrage of incoming blows. The entire crowd took part, and though my uncle relented, he did not say a word to curb their thrashing. I ran as close as I could, shouted that I stole and destroyed his portrait of Benjamin and killed him. His brain was probably battered enough to believe the latter.

Somebody had knifed him at some point. This was enough to get most to scatter, while the ones who lingered lessened their blows and increased their gloating. The mayor lay in a muddy pool of blood, either dead or on the verge. Gerald leapt into the air and pressed all his weight onto his skull. Cheers and applause followed the wet crunch.

While this had gone on, Paul was beaten by a smaller group. When Hilda came to her husband’s aid, she was stabbed by Patrick, who then slit Paul’s throat. He went on to repeatedly stab Hilda’s twitching body as she mewled like an old cat.

The mob gradually separated after a few squabbles, some of which were physical. They seemed to realize that the guilty had been killed, leaving three more corpses and nowhere to lay their heads. Before another fight could break out, my uncle suggested we bury the deceased. I quickly added that despite the dead’s crimes, they were part of the community and should not be left to the dogs. When one of the fools accused us of siding with the mayor, I reminded him of the ten unburied men killed in the excavation.

It was a lengthy funeral service, many speaking on behalf of the men. Aiden made a particularly touching speech. My uncle wrapped it all up nicely before moving onto the recently slain. He did an adequate service of Paul, who he was convinced had no part or knowledge of the Luther's demise, reminding the crowd it was too late to have regrets. He spoke a bit favorably of the mayor, catering especially to the more infamous expatriates and the hard work building this community. We all parted peacefully. Even those who previously fought gave condolences to one another. Almost all of us had lost somebody dear since arriving.

I write this entry on a broken tabletop, under a small portico made from sticks and leaves, on a short break from watching the children. I must work double time during the rebuilding. For now, we sleep in the town hall. I must return to relieve Bernice, my substitute. David had struck me with a rock, and without giving me a good reason for doing so, I slapped him across the cheek. With his father dead from the cave collapse, someone needs to discipline that wretched boy.

Not even the children speak of the face. I thought about asking my uncle, but he is too busy rebuilding, acting as a temporary leader in place of our departed mayor. That will not last long. I will take advantage of the chaos and venture into the woods. If the quake did not open that cavern, I will do so myself, rock by rock.

Entry 42

I have no one to confide in at the present. Of course, I should not discount you, even if you are too coy to respond. My incessant complaints must arouse some annoyance. Perhaps that is an understatement. I believe you pine over my every word, and when I am absent, muse about my current activates. Know that most of my toils are occupied thinking about our time together. No matter how difficult my work, it will end with you and a night of well-deserved sleep.

Anyone with their sanity in check would relate this information before petty complaints. Given the last few weeks, I feel more comfort from the hill’s whispers than the people of this damned town.

I returned to the fields with my mother. The crops have been thoroughly ravaged by the quakes, but in time, we will repair. Even the children have been put to work, and since their parents are either dead or inbred backwater bastards, my burden is doubled by keeping a watchful eye on the lovable nitwits.

I managed to clear quite a bit of debris from the cave’s mouth. I am afraid there is much left, probably pieces of rock too heavy for ten men. I hear the flute through the cracks, and though Kantos will not respond to my call, I know he is waiting for me to clear the path. Hopefully the drunken louse will grow tired of his own laziness and help.

Most people would buckle under the strain of such an ominous presence. It is not without moments of dread, but I welcome the occasional dark flashes. My days are so mundane, I even welcome the pangs of unpleasantness. I hear frequent mutterings, nothing close to coherent, like a voice underwater—just a few words to cause alarm, then nothing. I can feel it in the air. It is heavy, much like the moment before a rainfall.

I will move a bit more debris tonight. Between this and tending fields, I have been finding no trouble sleeping. I could grow accustomed to the peasant’s life, which would include only me, my work, and the faint murmurings of the landscape’s ghost. I feel as though the cave’s breath is in each breeze. I smile at the swaying grass, for she is letting loose a great sigh of relief. The rocks blocking her mouth are gradually cleared by a new friend. I must get to work. Imagine having a mouth jammed tight with pebbles and lacking the fingers to pry them out or the tongue to spit. I would surely reward the one who rid me of such a burden, even if it were a tiny mouse. He would gorge himself on cheese and curl up in my warm pocket. We would never part, me and my little vassal.

I apologize for my rambling nonsense. Take it with a grain a salt. Speaking of which, I must gather food for the children. As long as they remain well, life in this silly town is not so bad.

I decided to skip sleep and push rocks instead. A foolish decision I must not repeat. I was exhausted by sunrise and did my work poorly all day, longing for the moment my head could meet the pillow. The day is done, and yet, here I am, scribbling another entry. I do not have much to report. Really, this is all just a waste of ink. I suppose I felt the need to write due to some imaginary obligation to you. Take heart. We will speak at length tomorrow.

Entry 43

A pair of fools tried to leave the island on a raft. No one gave a damn until they tried to bring along their child, Russell, who became a student of mine shortly before the disease outbreak. We watched those fools construct the laughable little boat out of sticks and string. They were harangued for wasting effort on a worthless endeavor a few times, but nobody stopped them, since it would prove equally useless. The couple was obviously on the verge of madness. Perhaps this project would get it out of their system.

The boy cried the moment his father placed him on the raft. Then he got a splinter between his fingers and the cries grew to an unbearable pitch. This caught the attention of a few others, including my uncle and Aiden, on their way to the cave. My uncle made a lame attempt at trying to dissuade them from leaving. They declined, and the others continued on their way. Fewer mouths to feed, they probably supposed. The brief exchange infuriated me to an unreasonable extent. Poor Russell’s life was at stake.

I marched up to the couple and screamed all sorts of heinous insults in regards to their parental duty. When Russell cried again, I slapped his mother and father. The latter knocked me over with a slight shove, then pinned me to the sandy beach. In the entire minute it required for Aiden to arrive, quite a bit of sand filled my mouth and nostrils. I thought he was really going to suffocate me.

A single punch to the face laid him out. His wife leapt onto Aiden, and my uncle arrived just in time to break up the conflict. Too bad the raft was left unscathed. In hindsight, I should have shred the bindings.

After brushing off and calming down a bit, I was told to explain my actions. I did so in a courteous and eloquent manner. Russell’s father said the nearest land was a day’s journey, that they would arrive home long before Walter’s next appointed visit in four days. My uncle assured him that it was a three day journey on a first-class vessel, nigh impossible on shoddy raft. He called my uncle a liar.

Gerald stepped in, and initially, I thought he was playing devil’s advocate. When he mentioned my uncle’s loyalty to the old regime, it seemed like an accusation stemmed in a long-harbored distrust. The other two men agreed with this statement, while Aiden stayed neutral.

And so the fools left on their raft. I begged Russell to swim ashore, watching him cry all the way until he turned into a speck on the horizon. This speck started to grow, and for a moment, it seemed they had a change of heart. The occupants shouted at the onlookers, their voices scarcely audible over Russell’s shrill scream. It was clearly a plea for help. The raft lay still on the tide, budging neither forward nor backward, no matter how hard they beat their oars against the waves. This lasted until dark, when the vessel seemed to collapse into the ocean, swallowing all three. Four hours later, Russell’s body washed ashore. Just before sunrise, the bodies of his parents were found half a mile apart. The message was clear: no one was permitted to leave this island.

My uncle got into another fight with Gerald, and before it could come to blows, he walked away. Fiona calmed down her fuming husband while I chased after my uncle. It took some begging for him to finally speak.

He admitted to taking part in the Luther conspiracy, but not the murder. It was his idea to place the bones in the effigy, leading to it being treated as a sacred object so that it would not be damaged. Luther had been communicating with a third party for additional resources, intent on building it into a full-fledged city. Our home country would be in shambles by then, he insisted. Before a final deal could be made, the mayor had made a rash decision.

The people of this island had every right to kill him, my uncle said, and though Gerald was suspicious of him, he had no solid evidence. In his own rage, my uncle could act rashly. Hiding will only reinforce his suspicions, I retorted. That is why I needed to act as a go-between. He planned to keep productive during his exile by exploring the northern side of the woods and living off the land. Even with Walter’s upcoming provisions, we would be short on supplies.

I told this to my mother and Aiden, who went on to tell others. Before rumors could spread, I confronted Gerald. He apologized for putting my uncle’s life at risk, and to me for convincing Russell’s family to leave. He went on to heap compliments and gratitude for helping his wife save Patrick’s life. I appreciated his sincerity and hoped he could spread some of those kind words to my uncle. He grunted and shook his head.

It would do no good. My uncle needed a chance to brood, and the surrounding woods were the best place this island had to offer—as long as it did not go on for long. Walter was due, and we have no better negotiator than my shrew uncle. Also, those working to rebuild the houses will see how sorely this community needs his architectural skills. It was not a pleasant decision, but certainly the perfect one.

This gives me an excuse to continue my daily ventures. There is still plenty of rubble to remove.

Entry 44

I brought my uncle a blanket and fresh bread, courtesy of Mother. He refuses to return until tomorrow at noon, when Walter would arrive with the next shipment of supplies. He could easily negotiate a ship large enough to carry whoever wished to leave. I do not think he intends to be among them. One more night in the wilds would do him good, he said.