Tom crawled along the carnage of a kitchen cellar, and two ladies were working above him. The kitchen was, like most other buildings in Armind, deserted, and used when the need arose. This, he had been told, was where they threw their gnawed bones. An odd task he had been set by his master, and he dreaded the outcome. The floor stank. Mice and rats crawled amongst his feet and toes, as he struggled along in the poor light. His grasping fingers closed on a half-visible cheekbone.
Staggering out, Tom gasped to the kitchen owners, still remembering his manners, ”thank you”. As he turned to the door to leave, a hand landed on his back, not hard, as a reminder. “He left a message for you”.
Staring at, amongst the many bones he had been ordered to collect, Tom noticed the sheer amount of notes his master had sent to him. There were almost as many as there were bones, and he had thrown a lot of them away. He read the one the chef had given to him. “Come to the ruined mill”
Tom knocked politely, and stepped backwards. The door was opened and a tall, stern figure greeted his eyes.He had a purple waistcoat over a white shirt, and fine cuffs. A green tie blazoned on his chest, and a pair of fine leggings spoke of his power. His voice was slightly deep, and chilled Tom to the bone, as it did every time he heard it. “Have you got what I asked for?”…
“Where are we going?”, asked Tom, eyes only on the path. His master paused, and turned to face him, which made Tom glad he had his eyes on the ground. “Encaprate”, he said, grimly. Tom did not object, but was surprised all the same. Encaprate was an icy wilderness, where the ground was blue. No food grew there, and they only had the ten bones , and a saltir cake which Tom had been given.
Once again, Tom had been given a message. But his master had said not to read it until the time is right. On their third day, the saltir cake ran out. Saltir cakes are large, but even a supply of those would not keep a man alive in Encaprate. Tom went to sleep on the barren ice the next day, delirious and starving. A weary scene came to him. The same Encaprate, but there was someone else, even though his master was gone.
Where was everyone? Tom thought he had finally gone mad. He heard a voice, and was drawn to it. It didn’t speak. It remembered, echoed, thought, but a direct voice could not be placed. Tom strode dreamily towards it ,and saw them. A body, in the now almost un-recognizable purple tunic, colored red, from still oozing blood.
Tom’s senses slowly came back to him, as he reached into his pocket, and fished out the note his master had most recently given him. It read: “I am gone . Remember home, and she will live.” Home. Armind. Tom saw nothing, heard nothing but the edge of the voice, useless words to him, completely focused on the single thought. Home. Paradise. Comfort.
Tom saw a woman, on a bear, with another bear beside.
The woman loaded his master’s body onto the other bear, and Tom watched them leave before sinking into the ground, exhausted, on the spot where his master had been. He watched, with the last minutes of his life, the woman and the bears leave him. He asked the sheets, the last words his master had told him. “Why not me? . He died, tired, but glad.
