It Is Said (Mathias Bootmaker and the Keepers of the Sandbox) (11 page)

Then he heard hoof beats. This sound he knew. This sound he remembered. This sound made him run. He scrambled and tripped.
 
He fell, but kept running. Low-lying branches snatched at him.
 
Prickly bushes scratched at him and still he ran.

Mathias snagged his foot on a tree root and crashed to the ground.
 
He could only lay there as the hoof beats came down upon him, and then passed over him.
 
Like the pretty, little blonde girl, there was no rider.
 
Only the ghost of the rider. Only the echo of a memory.

The forest fell silent again.

Mathias picked himself up and gradually found his way back to the path. He resumed his journey away from the madness of the village, through the lunacy of the forest and towards the sure insanity of the castle in the sky. At this moment, the mind of Mathias Bootmaker was twisted. He could no longer tell the real from the unreal. His mind and his body were weak. He needed to rest.

As Mathias walked he searched for the puzzle pieces. Some were there. Some were not. He was beginning to not care. There were new ones. Dark ones. Strange ones. None of them fit together. None of it mattered anymore. Mathias was alone in a world he did not know. He was lonely in a place where isolation seemed a given, and he had lost a child that was lost himself.

Mathias counted each uncertain step he took. Each step was getting him closer to Mouse. The sand on the path was still dark, but it was beginning to shimmer. With each step he took, Mathias could see more of it. He could also see there was a turn in the path. He could see because there was a source of light up ahead of him.

He started moving faster through the turn, but he remained cautious. He spotted a large boulder just off the path. He stayed low and ran to it. It provided him cover to spy on the scene taking place just beyond him.

There was what appeared to be an inn or tavern at the side of the road. The light came from two brass lanterns hanging on long poles set on either side of the small path leading to its door. The door was open, and a man was standing beside a carriage that had stopped in front of the establishment.
 

The small, burly man wore a long, filthy apron. His rolled up sleeves exposed his big muscular arms. He wore loose-fitting work pants, and his work boots were unlaced. The man ran his thick fingers through his unkempt red hair. He was desperately trying to improve his appearance for the occupant of the carriage.

He wiped his hands, front and back, on the apron and gingerly reached out with his right hand, palm up.

A hand reached out from the carriage window. It was very much like a child’s hand, but aged. The occupant dropped seven silver coins, one by one, onto the innkeeper’s waiting palm. The burly man bowed. He then went to the back of the carriage and began to turn a heavily tarnished key set into the rear of the coach. A ratcheting sound could be heard with each turn.

The man knocked twice on the roof, and the carriage lurched forward.

Mathias was fascinated by the conveyance. Its dainty size was more for a child than it was for an adult. It was obvious that it had once been a beautiful piece of craftsmanship that was no longer cared for. But the thing that was most curious about the carriage was that it had no driver and no horses.

It had the classic shape of a covered horse drawn carriage, but it moved entirely under its own power. It was a very well designed, very sophisticated mechanical toy.

The large wind up toy travelled to the end of the road where a jumble of trees and branches and roots blocked any further passage.
 
The plaything did not stop. It travelled right into the blockade. It seemed to melt right through it.

The innkeeper stood and watched this happen. He didn’t seem at all surprised by the vehicle’s mystical exit. Once the carriage was gone, he counted each coin, one by one, one hand to the other.
 
Convinced he had not been cheated, he pocketed the bounty and with a noticeable limp, stepped back into the inn.
 

Having no other choice, Mathias walked towards the small structure.
 
Its construction was sound, but its haphazard collection of construction materials gave it an unbalanced appearance. Woods of various sizes and shapes blended with stones of various weights and colors. Brick and mortar framed the door and windows, and large lumbering logs created a tall, imposing roof.

When Mathias arrived at the door, he found his only clue to the name of this establishment.

A weathered rope was looped around a large rusted nail that had long ago been imbedded into the center of the door. The rope was tied on either end to a fractured plank of wood.

Carved and burned into the plank was the image of a house on one side and what Mathias believed to be a representation of the castle in the sky on the other. A series of lines connected the two structures, and at their center was a large X.
 

The castle in the sky was his destination. The small house was the village he had come from. The lines were the road he was walking on, and the mark at its center was where he stood. Anyone traveling in either direction would find this spot the middle of their journey.

This place was the Inn Between.

Mathias tried peeking through the two large windows at the front of the inn. There was faint light coming from within, but the decorative etched glass provided no view. Not knowing what to expect, he slowly pushed the door open and took one step over the threshold.

8
.

The Village Darke

The Inn Between was bare and the innkeeper was not to be seen.
 
Its small main room had a bar to the right of the entry. A door in the corner behind it led to what Mathias assumed was a storeroom.
 
Mathias suspected the innkeeper was in there, hiding his new found wealth.
 

There were four simple square wooden tables, each with four simple round wooden stools. Each table had a tall white candle in a short brass holder. Each candle was lit, and they provided the only light in the room.
 

Three of the tables and their stools were covered in a thick layer of dust. This inn did not receive many visitors. The fourth, set apart from the others, had been moved to the back corner of the room. This pristine table and stools were situated to best take advantage of the only other window in the room.
 

At that table, with her back to the wall and her gaze transfixed out the small window, sat a thin and mysterious woman. Her shocking white hair fell past her shoulders and down to her waist. She wore several layers of purple garments. No one garment was the same shade of purple, and in the wash of candlelight, she seemed to move even though she sat quite still.
 

The mysterious woman seemed indifferent to the other woman seated at the table with her. She was young, and her clothes were drab and grey. In comparison to the dramatic countenance of the mysterious woman, the young woman appeared small and frail. Even though she sat with her back to Mathias, he could tell she was crying.
 

The crying woman stood up, dropped a coin on the table and ran towards the door. As she brushed past Mathias, he could see her eyes were red from what could only have been endless crying. The woman ran out the door and up the road towards the village.

Mathias wasn’t sure what to do, but he needed help. He stepped into the inn and started towards the woman.

“Excuse me,” he said to her, “I’m a traveler and I’ve lost my way.”

A knife flew through the air and stuck in the table top closest to him. Mathias turned to find the innkeeper standing behind the bar.
 
His big arms were crossed on his chest.

 
“I’m also looking for a young boy,” Mathias said to his would be murderer. “We were traveling together. We became separated.”

Mathias pulled the blade from the table. Like the man that wielded it, the knife was rustic and roughly fashioned and very sharp. Mathias held the knife by the short wide blade.

“Have you seen the boy?” he asked the innkeeper.

In the long silence that followed, Mathias laid the knife down on the table.

“Where is this place?” he asked of them both. “Where am I?”

The mysterious woman never took her gaze from the window as she slowly lifted her hand and pointed to the stool across from her. With a quick glance at the innkeeper, Mathias cautiously approached and took the crying woman’s place at the table.

 
The woman broke her distant stare and looked directly at him for the first time. Her gaze was powerful and Mathias suddenly felt vulnerable. Then she reached inside his mind.

“The castle in the sky has a name.” she said.

The woman never took her eyes away from his as she leaned in closer to him.

“It’s called Darke Tower Castle,” she whispered.

“Remember your place, woman,” the innkeeper barked, “or your benefactor will come down and remind you.”

“That thing is not my benefactor,” she snapped back after breaking her gaze. “He is yours.”

 
The mysterious woman picked the coin up from the table and began to polish it against her sleeve.

 
“I ask for no compensation,” she said as she held the coin up to the candlelight. “It is given as a token of appreciation.”
 

With just the right turn, she caught the candle light. The coin burst into brilliance. The reflected light traveled across her face. Her lips were thin and tight. Her nose was small and round. Her skin was a pale map of lines and wrinkles. When the light crossed over her violet eyes, Mathias recognized that this had once been a very beautiful woman.
 

She dropped the coin into a small purple bag that hung from her neck on a delicate purple chain.
 

“To understand anything in this world,” she began, “you have to first know the tragic story of Lord and Lady Darke and their two children, Oracle and Rebecca.”

“Alma, please,” the innkeeper pleaded.

“I am a teller of tales,” she said sharply. “You are a keeper of inns.
 
And since you have only one charming, but dismal, little inn, and I have many fascinating and colorful tales to tell, I can do as I please.”

With the innkeeper properly silenced, Alma closed her eyes. She sat quietly gathering her thoughts and breathing gently. After a moment, she opened her eyes and began again.
 

“Welcome to the Village Darke, where it is said that for many years its people lived and worked in relative peace and happiness. Under the governance of the Darke family, they lived their lives without incident, raising their children to grow up to be skilled artisans, industrious farmers and smart shopkeepers.”

“They worked together as a community, to solve whatever problems arose, and they celebrated together whenever something wonderful happened, as they did the day when Lady Darke gave birth to their firstborn. A son.
 
They named him Oracle.”

There was a loud bang as the innkeeper began to shutter the large windows. Satisfied they were secured, he snatched his knife from the table and returned it to the sheath at his hip. He closed the door and locked it. He slid the key from the keyhole and held it up for Alma to see.

“There will be no wanderings for you tonight. After this, this story you’re telling to this stranger. It won’t be safe for you to be out and about.”

“It’s never safe for anyone to be out and about,” she whispered under her breath.

The innkeeper did not hear what she said, but he could recognize her mumblings of defiance. He began mumbling himself as he walked back behind the bar to the storeroom. He slammed the door hard.