SONG of EMBER

2

TO CATCH A THIEF

🙜

Ember rolled one of the green apples he’d bought at the market that morning back and forth across the rickety wooden surface, elbows propped on the table as he stared at the mended pile of netting by the door. Now that he was home (and the hard cider had somewhat worn off), he wasn’t entirely sure why he had felt so compelled to trap the thief.

It had made him sound bold and adventurous.

Two things Ember liked to think he was.

But truthfully, he preferred routine. He liked his work, this cabin, the river, and he enjoyed selling his fish and bartering in town every other morning. Still, there was a strangeness about the forest these days. It was probably just the changing of the seasons.

River-folk, he thought, taking a scornful bite of apple. That’s how superstitious people explain their problems away.

The rain had slowed to a light drizzle and a single ray of sunshine gleamed on the windowpane. He tilted the chair back and glanced outside.

“I should set those nets anyhow,” he muttered, finishing his snack and flicking the stem to the floor.

❧

Five minutes later, Ember stood at his front stoop—a mossy flagstone and a wooden stair which had mostly rotted away—looking out across the lazy river. He had gathered four nets, a knife, a rope, a bundle of fishing twine, and several bruised apples for snacking.

After snagging the fishing spear from its post by the door, he headed down to the river.

It was late afternoon, the sky had cleared, and golden light sparkled on the water’s surface. Sunshine filtered through the branches above and illuminated drops of leftover rain, many of which gathered and fell from the leaves, dampening Ember’s curly hair as he walked the short path to the river. The stripped pine poles lodged on either bank were where he usually strung his nets, but Ember didn’t immediately get to work.

Instead, he glanced upstream.

One of the oldest trees on the riverbank leaned across the water, branches reaching almost to the other side.

“Hmh.” He squinted at it, smiling.

Netting small rodents had been the favored pastime of a much younger Ember, and though out of practice, he was confident that with a bit of luck and finagling he could rig up a similar surprise for his unwelcome visitor.

He would set two nets today: one for the fish, and one for the thief.

After making his way down to the old tree, Ember dropped his bundle and cast about for some suitable branches. Once he had caught the meddlesome creature he would have to either kill it or relocate it to deeper woods.

Whatever it was had waded downstream or upstream to reach his nets, for he’d been tramping about on both sides of the river looking for bear tracks. Perhaps something smaller like a raccoon might have gone unnoticed, but it would have to be a very clever, very gluttonous raccoon to cover its trail and devour so many fish.

What if it’s not an animal? Ember thought grimly, testing a weak branch on a nearby tree before meandering further up the bank. What if it’s a person?

He snatched a fallen branch and twisted the twigs and leaves away. Then he sat down to peel the bark loose with his knife.

There—that would do.

Wriggling around until he was somewhat comfortable, Ember splashed his bare feet into the water and glanced at the pebbly riverbed while he worked, watching the minnows swim around his ankles. He’d have to start setting his mudbug traps again; the little shell-backed fish would get him by for the summer if he couldn’t afford a meal in town. Mending basket traps was always more tedious than mending his nets, which was why they were still hanging dry in his cabin instead of floating in the fresh, clear water.

Holding the shorn branch at arm’s length, Ember admired his handiwork for a moment before retrieving a similarly shaped stick from the bushes. He stripped this as well, and then began sharpening the end to a dull point.

He had one chance to make it work. If a trap was sprung and failed to catch the thief, it might not return for a second meal… or it would become far craftier in stealing his only source of income.

Once he had five branches sheared and shaped to his liking, Ember dragged the nets down to the old tree and threw one end of the rope across the knotted limb, tying it securely and cutting it to the length he desired. He did the same to one corner of a freshly mended net.

The ancient tree limb nearly spanned the riverbed, and it wouldn’t be too hard to disguise the rope in the grass along the embankment and cover the net with sand and pebbles.

Ember grinned at how possible it suddenly seemed.

“River-folk or no,” he muttered around the knife, tying off a second piece of rope. “Those fish are mine.”

❧

It was almost dark by the time Ember had finished rigging both of his nets, but he stepped back to appreciate the view with some satisfaction. The only potential flaw was the four ropes which wound from net to branch. He hoped the thief was unfamiliar with such snares, and that the trap itself (despite being partially submerged) would pull snug fast enough to ensnare it. He couldn’t set it off to make sure it would work, for it would take him several hours to set it again.

Surprise was his only advantage.

Brushing dirt and crumbles of tree bark from his hands, Ember gathered the spare nets, retrieved his fishing spear, and stuffed the knife under his belt before heading back up the path to the house.

Evening birds whistled over his head and little animals scurried here and there in the undergrowth. He was well used to the rustling shadows, but a sense of unease hung over the path. He glanced back toward the river.

It was a small silvery gleam in the dying sunlight.

A bush crackled nearby, and when he stopped to listen, something else drifted past on the breeze from far beyond his cabin. Ember held his breath, eyes darting among the shadows.

It came again.

A few high notes, a low note…

And then a very, very high note that filled the whole forest with echoes.

Ember swallowed once. He’d forgotten how strange an unfamiliar call could sound in the twilight. This one seemed almost human.

It’s a bird, Ember. Don’t be a fool.

But Ember hurried up the last five steps to the door, flung it open, slammed it shut behind him, and slid the bolt firmly into place. He dropped the nets to the wooden floorboards and glanced around the tiny cabin, still holding his spear.

Nothing moved.

There, you see? You were just imagining things.

But Ember knew he had not imagined the disappearing fish or broken nets.

Once he had lit a few candles on the table, things didn’t seem quite so eerie inside the cabin. Assured that all was well, he swiped the single loaf of bread he had purchased and sat down to enjoy a quick meal, thinking on what wonders he might find by the river tomorrow.

With any luck, a sprung trap and a very surprised thief.

❧

Ember lay on his back, staring at the wooden beams above his head and watching dust float in the dim blue glow near the window. He wasn’t sure why he was awake.

The sun hadn’t risen yet.

Splash.

He remained still, bare-chested and hardly breathing. It took him a moment to remember what had happened yesterday.

Splash!

Ember sat straight up, staring at the wall and holding his breath.

Something creaked outside—a tree—a branch—

Springing out of bed, Ember threw his blanket to the floor and ran for the door in nothing but his trousers, scarcely pausing to grab the knife and his fishing spear before he unbolted the door and dashed barefoot down the shadowy path to the river. It was a crisp spring morning, and the packed dirt cooled the soles of his feet.

It wasn’t until he had almost reached the nets that logic caught up to his excitement; he dropped low to the ground, gripping the fishing spear and panting quietly.

Water lapped the shoreline, murmuring along as always, though it seemed much quieter in the hazy morning light. A faint mist rolled across the river’s glassy surface. Crouching behind the tall grasses that lined the path, Ember listened.

The splashing had stopped.

It must have heard him coming.

You fool! Ember hefted the spear and began to creep along the path again. When he reached the river’s edge, he leaned forward until he could barely see the tree where he had set his trap.

His heart leaped in his chest.

The limb bowed low over the water, all four ropes pulled taut and quivering. The nets sagged in the river and something was bound tight, bobbing slightly in the current as if it had recently ceased struggling.

A heavy scent hung in the air.

He might have called it musky, had it not smelled so much like a flower. It was both subtle and heady, like a strong red wine from the tavern stores. Or summer berries crushed underfoot. He could feel it on his skin and taste it in his mouth.

Ember had never encountered anything even remotely magical in the woods around his house, but if he had to put a word to it, it matched the stories he’d heard from lonely travelers.

The bundle swayed, water gurgling as it flowed around the net.

Ember tightened his fist around the spear and swallowed, hesitating.

It was a pale creature, long and gangly, and even from this distance it appeared to be human. One finger reached through the cords, the rest of the body hanging awkwardly in the net, bound and bent at odd angles.

And then a bird flapped out of the reeds near the old oak, squawking its displeasure and shattering the eerie silence. The net bounced to life, thrashing like a fish aground.

Ember seized the moment and sprinted through the tall grass before his courage failed him.

“Stop!” he shouted, splashing to a halt just a few paces from the net and jabbing the spear forward. “Who are you? What are you doing here? You thief! You—”

He broke off mid-sentence as a single eye met his through the netting, wedged between a shoulder and a bent elbow. The eye was inhumanly large and round, and almost entirely black with pupil.

He stumbled sideways in the water, not sure what he was looking at.

The eye was a void, ringed with flecks with dark green—and the whites were scarcely visible.

It stared at him in unblinking rage.

Or fear.

Ember stood very still, half-afraid, half-hoping it would vanish from his sight. He heard faint snuffling, as of someone trying not to breathe hard when they were quite out of breath. Aside from that it hung in wary resignation, watching him, quiet.

Ember lowered the spear.

The creature—whatever it was—seemed a tangle of pale flesh and wet netting. It was hard to make out any details, save smooth slimy skin and a delicate softness. It remained as still as a stone, only moving when the net caught in the current and the old tree branch creaked and bobbed.

That fermented flowery scent was much stronger now, off-putting and strangely alluring. The harder he stared, the more unreal the creature seemed, shimmering in the net as if he had captured a mirage. They gazed at each other for a long while in near-perfect silence, until a few startled birds dared to sing again and the dim shadows of early dawn began to shift into a cool blue light.

Words crawled across the dumbfounded emptiness of his mind, as if being planted there by an outside force.

Don’t you dare hurt me, it seemed to hiss. Don’t you dare…

Two things made themselves very plain to him then.

First, that this creature knew he was responsible for stringing it up in the gnarled old tree—a truly terrifying realization. And there was no doubt in Ember’s mind as to its nature.

Here, before his waking eyes, was one of the river-folk.

His intention had been to kill the thief, if necessary, or cart it away to purloin its meals from some other chump. Now he found himself at a loss.

Spearing or bludgeoning this thing was beyond Ember’s resolve—it resembled (at least in part) his own kin. Keeping it caged like some sort of animal seemed doubly perverse, and he had no idea how to haul it through the forest or even where it could live. But all stories he had heard warned of the river-folk’s savagery, the reason parents shepherded their children indoors at night and kept them away from the streams and rivers in the wet season.

And the stories had proved true enough thus far that Ember had no wish to put himself in arm's reach.

Yet at length, after much inner debate, he concluded that he could not leave it dangling from the tree—in one of his best fishing nets, no less! What if a bigger animal wandered by and decided to mangle it or outright devour it? The thought forced him to swallow a mouthful of bile; if he couldn’t do away with it himself, he wouldn’t let some dumb animal do it for him.

Ember eyed the knots he had tied around the branch, and then reached for the knife at his belt, palms wet with panic at the thought of what he had to do. Wordless, terrified, and reduced to half his wits by the intoxicating scents that swirled above the water, he set his jaw and clenched the wooden handle.

Its wild eye never left him.

He tore his gaze away and began sawing at the nearest rope, jerkily at first. It was slow going. He refused to drop the spear while he worked.

The instant the knife broke through, Ember leaped back with a tremendous splash. The net sagged lower into the water and the creature wriggled slightly, but its arms remained pinned within the net.

Disappointed, Ember dutifully lifted the knife and began to sever the second length of rope with even more caution than before. River-folk were renowned for their enchanting voices, and Ember had no wish to become another free meal.

If it makes any sound, he decided, I’ll just cover my ears and run.

His hands shook and slipped more than once. When the rope finally gave with a snap and a creak, he hopped backward, water sloshing around his ankles.

The net exploded in a tangle of cords and pale ferocity.

One of the ropes smacked him across the face.

Stunned, he ducked away.

The creature dropped like a rock and vanished with a gentle splash. Ember leaped up onto the bank, spear at the ready, but only a faint ripple remained on the surface to indicate the direction in which it had gone—upstream.

He took a few deep breaths to steady himself and backed away from the water’s edge. That lingering, heady scent had already started to dissipate.

Maker above…

Dizzy, bemused, and strangely numb, Ember headed for the house. It was not until the door was safely shut behind him that he realized he was shaking like a leaf from head to toe.