Chapter Four

The sound of locusts fluttering about overhead could be heard. Even inside the stone coffin, it felt like nothing separated Katalene from them. And yet, the overbearing sound was only in one ear. In one ear, the sound of the locusts, in the other, was a distinctive ring that never relented. A melodic sound of chaos, an eternal loop of unrelenting anguish. The combined sounds were not ideal.

It made her think back to an early childhood memory. Of Rooven and her in the days of their youth, battling back in fourth with sticks. Rooven’s long-sword. Katalene’s ax. Though, that could only be inferred by imagination. She thought of the time Rooven hit her in the side of the head. And when the, then, unfamiliar ringing sound scared the shit out of her. At the time, she was convinced she’d never be able to hear from that ear again, yelling to the heavens that he had left her deaf.

This ringing also scared her shit-less.

Beneath her, she could feel the remains of a corpse crackling and breaking beneath her. The corpse of some asshole. Some asshole that had to go for an extravagant tomb instead of a six-foot hole in the ground like everyone else. The corpses’ broken bones gouged into her back like shards of glass, but she ignored them. Above her, she could feel the remains of her brother on-top of her. Still warm. The only one she had in this world. Dead. Gone.

The smell was not of death. The scent of well-earned body odor and an eternity’s worth of dust is what she smelled.

Tears swam down her cheek and fled her face, and whimpering had become almost an involuntary act. Her brother was dead. And, with the locust’s intent on mutilating her should she try to make leave, she would die with him.

* * *

Katalene smiled. At her brother. At the only person she cared about. The love of her life. For lack of a better term. And he reciprocated.

The smell of nature was plentiful and abundant in Wilson. Visiting folk were always quick to comment on it. “Sure ain’t like the streets of Jerleak, that’s for sure!” one would say. “Smells like cow shit!” said the other.

But Wilson residents had become immune to the foul odor. They no longer smelled it. As if one day the Gods deciding to toss Wilson a bone and blessed them Anosmia from all the manure they lived in.

The brother and sister walked about the tall grass, the sweat gleaming off them from the sun’s warm embrace. The rays of light shone about the patch of tomato plants on the outskirts of their path. Geese squawked in their wooden pins like they were trapped in with a herd of hungry coyotes.

Rooven shoved the wheel-barrel forward, Katalene dragged the scythe in her hands.

Agriculture. The corner-stone for sedentary human civilization. Wilson’s survival was built around the concept. A big old farm that fed themselves, clothed themselves, and lived through their resources. The remainder not kept for Winter was sold to Jerleak.

A big city like Jerleak didn’t have a corn-field in sight. All Jerleak had was horses and wagons, castles and decorative abodes, and bright, pebble-laid cobblestone.

“Another day in the field,” Katalene proclaimed, without the enthuse or inflection needed for a proper proclamation. She swiped at the ground with the scythe, reaping down some blades of grass. Plant murder was one of the only luxuries Wilson offered.

“Another day in the field!” Rooven repeated, yelling out with some actual excitement in his voice, feigned, of course. Nothing was excited about the fields. The damning sun down over them with such blistering intensity, it’d be a full day of the same old, same old. “At least Uncle Morgis will be here, you always seem to enjoy his stories.”

“Yeah, even though they’re all a crock of shit,” Katalene quipped fast.

“That adds to their charm.” One of Rooven’s best traits was his uncanny way of finding the positive in every bad situation.

“It’s just one more delusion of grandeur too far.” And one of Katalene’s worst traits was her uncanny way of bringing him down to her level.

Roo brushed it off, but as he shoved the wagon forward, smiled at a group of small children sitting outside the field, digging holes with sticks and piling mounds of dirt. “You guys all here? Nobody’s playing in the cornfield, are they?”

The children answered back with grins of their own and shook their heads.

“They aren’t ever supposed to be in the fields, under any circumstances,” Katalene remarked, glaring at Rooven.

“Yeah, but who can resist such easy hiding spots!?”

“Anyone who wants to keep their head, I’d expect,” Katalene said, swiping at the blades of grass with the scythe.

“Heads are overrated, the best of us rarely use them anyways,” Roo jested, as Katalene and him left the children behind.

“Can become phantoms like The Strongtooth Specter,” Katalene answered, with some small amusement.

“Been a while since we’ve tormented Frank with that,” Roo said, letting out a chuckle, “Maybe we outta take a trip out of Wilson sometime and do something with that.”

“Yeah?” Katalene said, though, it was more a question than a statement. She wanted nothing more than to leave Wilson, even, if only, for a night.

“Yeah, … but not until after the harvest, have a lot of work to do, don’t want to be exhausted, right?”

“Right,” Katalene said dryly and, simultaneous to that, drove the scythe into one of the stocks of corn.

“Seems like a good enough place as any to start.”

* * *

The stuffiness of the coffin made it difficult, if impossible, for Katalene to sleep. It wasn’t like she’d make the attempt anyways, not at first. At first, the idea seemed unthinkable. She’d rather shove open the coffin lid and try her luck with the locusts. But then, seconds transpired and became minutes, and those minutes segued into hours, the whimpers whimpered out and the tears ran dry. And it started to become easier and easier to … drift.

* * *

Morgis was an old man who had seen much greater days, most folk in Wilson respected him. Then again, all it took be to be respected in Wilson was actually managing to escape the hell-hole. At least by some of them.

In Wilson, there were two types of people. Most youth hated Wilson’s inability to evolve or better itself. Days were hard.

Taking a scythe and cutting down the stocks of corn was one thing, but planting it was even worse. They didn’t hunt either, which might have helped break up some of the monotony of plants, plants, plants. Instead, they sold crop in-exchange for meats.

Plain and simple, Wilson was a boring village where all you did was look after crops and stand beneath the hot sun. The older folk, both men and women, looked after the children and the clothing.

Knitting was more of a hobby for them though, as Wilson’s governance had every individual be provided clothing from the coin attained from the year’s harvest.

That was one type of person Wilson had, the type that yearned the greater big city living Jerleak could provide. The other type was like Katalene and Rooven’s parents.

“Your uncle’s stories are the fabled delusions of an old-man that was always too immature to ever grow up,” Father Ark said. “Morgis’ whimsical tales might entertain for the merest of seconds, but once that fades, what is his contribution to society? A storyteller spews nothing but lies and false hope. It’s rubbish is what it is.” Ark walked about their small home, leaving the kitchen’s fire-place with a large mug in his hands. Tea.

Ark had a seat in a wooden chair. His wooden chair. It was padded down with pillows for comfort. He sipped the tea from his mug.

“Maybe the world needs more rubbish then?” Katalene countered, rubbing her aching hands together. Her brother handed her a jar of vinegar with a loaf of bread at the bottom. She took the jar and nodded gratefully. Her hands left with callouses after the field.

Ark chuckled, rolling his eyes with condescension, “This life isn’t about bullshit lies or bullshit adventures.”

“This life’s about bullshit crops!” Katalene fired back.

“That’s right!” Ark replied, laughing with some amusement.

The sibling’s father was a good man. Rarely raised his voice or argued. His strong beliefs about the world contrasted Katalene’s, however.

“This world only means so much. A proving ground for those mighty enough to survive through it. God’s mission for us.”

“Right,” Katalene said. One thing she had learned in a short-time was that arguing over the meaning life was a discussion not worth having. After all, there was no point.

“When you die, you will have provided a service to all and everyone in Wilson. You will have helped cloth and feed the children, the elderly, and will have made an honest life for yourself. What will Uncle Morgis have provided?”

Katalene nodded at him, holding her tongue. Arguments never led anywhere, and in the end, she knew herself to be fighting a losing battle. Instead, she took the loaf of bread out from the vinegar and applied it onto her left hand. An old remedy meant to help get rid of callouses. From the vinegar, the bread became something close to a paste, whether it helped or not was anyone’s guess.

Tomorrow, Rooven and her would be back in the fields swiping down and collecting the fallen stocks of corn.

“We should be having you work with the children, your hands just aren’t made for this sort-of thing.”

“Dainty hands don’t make kids any less bratty, I’m afraid. Rather my hands be covered in scabs than shit any day.”

Ark let out a groan, inferring his grievance with Katalene swearing, and took a sip out from his mug. He no longer fought about such things, knowing Katalene unwillingness to conform on his behalf. But he’d still raise his voice if Mother was in the room with them. “I don’t know why you dislike children so much, one day you’ll be a great mother of your own and won’t feel this way.”

Katalene did her best to ignore the comment. She had no interest in children, … ever, for any moment in her life, and had made her feeling about this known to anyone who’d ask. Ark seemed to detect her discomfort, as he swayed his attention over to her sibling.

“And, what about you? Have your eyes on any lucky someone in Wilson?” Katalene looked over to Rooven, who looked like he’d seen the Strongtooth Specter.

Rooven, at once, readjusted his demeanor and coolly replied, “Maybe a few.”

* * *

 

Katalene readjusted herself and her deceased brother, making it so she laid on him and not the broken remains of whoever was in the coffin. The sound of the buzzing locusts could still be heard, but it was becoming difficult for her to breathe. Exerting all her strength on the stone lid, she pried it open, sliding it just enough so that a crack of light could bleed into her confines.

The light burned her eyes at first, seeming much brighter than it was after her eyes fixed. She wondered how long she’d been inside the coffin. One word couldn’t describe the feeling she dealt with. Endured. She didn’t even know for certain it could be described with words. A feeling in her heart. Or around that, … her lungs. As though she was running out of air, but didn’t need to gasp. On the inside, there was nothing in her. No organs, no heart-beat, a stillness. Or at least, she couldn’t grasp them. So distant. She wanted to vomit, but knew not what there would be to throw up.

Katalene closed her eyes to the light. Hoping the feeling would be gone by the time they looked back. She looked back. She. Not they. They was dead. She was the only one left.

The only thing she truly felt was the sound of a thousand madmen screaming in her head. Constant thoughts, none contributing coherence or cognitive means out of her situation. They simply yelled and yelled and yelled! If, for only a second, she knew what it was to be God. And she hated them for it. All of them. The thoughts. Wanting so much of her. To have all the answers. Fuck them. It should be them that keel over, that break. And shatter.

* * *

 

Days after the corn was harvested and the sky was full of stars, the moon loomed over Katalene and Rooven. A constant, no matter where you went. The sky was always the same. And so, why did Jerleak’s sky seem so much brighter. They had been there, once, twice, a few times, visited, but never for more than a few hours at a time. Old Man Frank made sure of that. Watched over them like a hawk. May the Specter haunt over his ass when they were gone.

Katalene and Rooven walked about the fields. The corn had long-since been chopped down and scavenged, and now, nothing was left.

In a couple of months, Winter would come, and everyone would be left nestled in-doors until the white blanket left them. Granted, in Winter, they grew garlic, radishes, onions and kale, but these were hardly tasking affairs.

“You’re afraid to leave all this?” Katalene asked, looking to Rooven with eyes of wonderment and contempt.

“It isn’t really that bad, Kat,” Rooven said, walking about the fields, paying no attention to where he was heading, like her, he looked up in the sky.

“Do you believe this, … what Ark says about God? That our time here in Wilson is us paying our dues for the after-life?”

“Do you?”

“I believe if God really sees things that way, he should have given us a letter and confirmed it. Not have us stand around here with our thumbs up our asses.”

“Can’t exactly expect him to send a bird down for us,” Roo jested. “That’s just faith, Kat.”

“That’s shit, Roo.” Katalene looked down from the sky, there was nothing up there that concerned her. “I want to experience this world, find my own meaning and purpose.”

“But, at what cost?” Roo looked down from the sky and they made eye-contact, “You steal a map and now you’re willing to leave your family behind to chase something you don’t even know is out there?”

“Whatever is out there. Because the alternative’s wasting my life for something I don’t believe is true.” Kat smiled weakly, and added: “Besides, I wanted to have you.”

* * *

 

“God,” Katalene began, peering out into the light shining from the coffin. She clasped her hands together, knowing it’d appease him. “I don’t think I can escape you. Most the time, I don’t think I believe in you. But, you clearly believe in me. Maybe I went away from your course, maybe it’s my fault for swimming against the tides. I was bored, and I was bitter. I resented you. For not having a fulfilled life. And I took a chance. A leap of faith against faith in you. And you killed my brother.” Tears started to run down Katalene’s face, she had more to give after all.

“I’ve had two moods since then. One of those moods was fear and sadness. Fear of your unrelenting hand and the damnation and ruthlessness it brings. But, that fear left me, once I realized something I already knew, but feigned obliviousness to. I don’t care about anyone else. You could wipe everyone else on the face of the planet and I’d be alright, long as I had him.” Katalene clamped her eyes shut again, the light burned her eyes.

“The second feeling, that’s the feeling I think I’ll stick with. It isn’t that I don’t have belief in your wrath, in your evil. But, I think I believe in my own wrath now too. I feel wronged by you and I hate you for it. You will undoubtedly make my life worse. Battles and wars and devastation. Death and blood and more suffering, and I’ll take it all in stride. But I will be a chore for you. An inconvenience. A pesky fly that the Hand of God can’t swat down. I will bring this world a reckoning.” The whispered rambling silenced itself, her thoughts scurried so fast and so inconsistently it was difficult to make words from them.

Katalene opened her eyes. The light was gone and in the darkness, she found herself. “Hallelujah,” she whispered, forsaken and free.

* * *

 

As children, the novelty hadn’t worn. The sight of the farm animals, the cows and geese, peacocks and pigs. It all was interesting, and both Father Ark and Mother Jane seemed to really enjoy themselves. They were happy, is what Katalene assumed, and maybe they were.

Tall grass and patch upon patch of vegetation, the corn-stocks stood so much higher for them as children than they did as adults.

“Ready or not, here I come!” The very young Katalene exclaimed, in a state of awed admiration. She roamed about, her eyes went to her dearest mother with a wide-grin. Jane smiled and shrugged, offering no insight on the whereabouts of Katalene’s brother.

Mother Jane sat on a wooden stoop, she wore old, battered clothing, like she had rags draped over her. It was by choice, Jane never concerned herself with what was fashionable and what wasn’t. The other girls had painted nails, but Jane’s were bare. An old soul, although her face carried a hopeful complexion of reverberating youth. One thing she did have was the scent of daffodils and conglomeration of different fragrances. It was a home-made perfume, Katalene could remember her throwing together different items into a pot and melting them down. The most distinctive smell Katalene recalled were daffodils.

Katalene looked behind her mother, not really expecting to find Rooven, but having to make for certain.

She ran off, her eyes moving about the whole of Wilson, which was filled with hiding spots. The cornfield was off-limits, ever since one of the children nearly got their arm cut-off by Old Man Frank when he was swinging the scythe around. That was back when Frank was just Frank though, now, he was just a grouchy man who sat in a rocking chair at his porch. Roo had an issue with breaking the rule about the corn-field. Saying it was too good to pass up, … like a cheater.

A man unknowingly walked in-front of her, and Katalene found herself unable to stop, bumping into him as a result. The man flinched, standing off on one leg and flailing his arms like he was about to fall.

“Careful!” Katalene heard Mother holler out from behind her.

The man regained himself and found stability, his teeth snarled out and he grumbled something too under his breath for Kat to hear.

“Sorry, mister,” she said, bowing her head, and innocently went on her way.

A wagon sat; stationary, filled with hay. Katalene smirked, “Come out, come out,” and shoved her hands into the stack. Nothing though, Rooven was nowhere to be seen.

“Help!” Kat heard her brother exclaim from afar, out in the cornfields.

That cheater, she thought at first, then ran into the field in search of her brother. The field’s stocks towered over her, she had a hard time maneuvering through them. The sound of her brother’s cries could still be heard, and with every yelp, her fear heightened. Her foot caught itself on a fallen limb and tumbled her down, her upper-body clashing into the ground. She was okay, she brought herself up at once. Some scrapes and scratches, but nothing worth belly-aching over too much. Be that as it may, she couldn’t keep the tears from drooling down her cheek, running now as fast as she could, until … at last.

She found her brother, fallen, in a large patch where the crop had already been cut down. Sleeping?

The skies denigrated to blackness, dissipated, did the sun, and downward, came the faint whispers of bug-creatures overhead.

Katalene ran to her brother, pulling his arm, sobbing as she did so, “Get up, Roo! We have to go now!”

Locusts were death in Wilson, or at least, that’s how Father Ark always explained it. They ate the crop and left the whole village with nothing to survive on. Katalene brought Roo’s arm over her shoulder and carried him up to a standing position, his legs buckled. “Come,” She stopped from exertion, “… on, Roo!”

The locusts began to engulf the fields and spread like fire about them. Katalene screamed.

* * *

 

Still yelling and whimpering, Katalene shoved the lid off from the coffin. She had spent a day inside, and now, the locusts had, at last, left. Covered in someone else’s blood and sobbing, in a place of death, she would begin life anew.

She crawled out from the coffin, her legs trembled and bent with every step she took, like a small infant, not yet having learned to walk for the first time, buckling in on themselves, she dropped to her knees. She took in a breath, and let it leave, of all the thoughts and all the feelings she felt, she felt completely numb and hollow above all else. Her hands brushed the hair out from her eyes, and in that second, she noticed something she hadn’t before. A gauntlet was wrapped around her arm. Not stupendous in its décor, it had neither diamond embroidery nor was it made from gold. The gauntlet looked grimy and old, a small slit at the wrist expressed use of a mechanism she knew not of. The gauntlet was made from steel at least, which might fetch it a few coin in the right market, but Kat found herself unable to be excited about little victories like that.

She did wonder how it ended up her arm, however. In the coffin, it likely belonged to whoever the tomb was for. The tomb was for, Katalene thought to herself for a second, and climbed to her feet. In-front of her, Rooven’s laid on-top of the shattered remains of the skeleton the coffin was made to encase. That asshole who just HAD to have an extravagant tomb with all the works in it, Kat grabbed Roo’s arm and leaned him forward, then, she grabbed the skeletal remains beneath him. The remains might very well have belonged to an upright fellow, kind and generous, but that didn’t really matter much in the end.

This Tomb no longer belonged to him. This was her brother’s tomb. Roo’s Tomb. From now on.

She got rid of the skeleton remains, having to toss out the limbs and the ribs first, most of it had broken down to dust. She situated and positioned her brother, laying him flat on his back with his hands clasped on his chest, made him look really dead-like and respectable. From now on and forever more, tomb raiders would try and infiltrate this tomb. His tomb. They would find riches aplenty, like the gold coin on Kat’s left and right, or the sets of armor. She, herself, could no longer imagine taking it, desecrating the worth of her brother’s final resting place. She would have taken the gauntlet and thrown it in there as well, but as she tugged and pulled on the armored glove, it showed no give or sign of coming loose. The only thing her efforts seemed to cause were a feeling of prickling pain in her wrist; she relented.

Katalene walked over to the other end of the Tomb and shoved the stone lid closed, and as she did, her eyes looked at where the light from outside peeked into the tomb. Blood covered the clothing on her torso and leggings, and with no resources, it seemed more likely than not she’d die in the Whispey Deserts.

She had some immediate thoughts, of taking one of the chalices by the coffin and making way back over to the dirty-water. Using the powder in the barrels by the pine-sticks to create a fire. She could boil the water and kill the contaminates, feed her thirst. But the very thought of having to delve back into the tombs was too much to bare and besides, the floor wasn’t even intact.

Instead, she walked over to the gold coin and chalices and treasure, a long spear with a wooden handle, steel on the end, that’s the only item she’d take with her. Useless anyways. That, and the gauntlet, but that was involuntary.

The light peeking out from a crevice in the walls of the tomb came from the outside. On this side of the room, a large grassy décor of moss and greenery decorated the wall. Katalene made careful note and observation. The Tomb had been relentless all the times beforehand, it was hard to know whether it was finished with its torment. Bet the vines are part of a poisonous plant that will make my eyes bleed, Kat speculated, but it wasn’t as though she had any other choice left to her.

She backed away and readied herself, chucking the spear forward out of the tomb like a harpoon. The exertion caused immediate discomfort to her ribs, though, after a night’s “rest,” they had eased up their agony on some level.

From there, she began the ascension up the vine wall, the vines supported her and weren’t difficult to grip onto. In time, she found herself sitting on the wall of the tomb and could look outside at the Whispey Deserts. The Tomb only uprooted some six or seven feet over the sand. How much easier it would’ve been had they discovered the end of this tomb first, instead of last. Though, maybe it was another of the “disappearing” tombs Morgis told stories about.

Kat doubted it, but, be that as it may, she still looked down from the wall of the tomb and at the coffin inside. In that coffin was the only person she had ever loved, and he was dead. It was a thought she tried to push and shove to the back of her mind, but the fact couldn’t be so easily ignored.

He was gone, but “her adventure” would continue.