Under the Oak Tree - Chapter 199
Chapter 199: Side Story Chapter 5
Riftan glanced over again and caught the girl’s crystal bead-like eyes twinkling.
Did she come to give this to me?
He brushed his finger against one of the flowers. Just then, someone bellowed through the door.
“What in the devil are you doing? We’re up to our ears in work here!”
Startled by the angry voice, the girl froze for a moment before spinning on her heels and darting into the forest.
Riftan shot the blacksmith an annoyed glare. “We’re out of charcoal. I was on my way to get more.”
With a sigh, he pushed the cart onto the forest path the girl had taken. He did not think he would be able to relax until he was sure she had reached the annex safely.
Support our WebNovelGo(com)
After catching up with her, he followed from a distance as she skipped around the dense trees. He glanced down at the wreath dangling from the cart’s handle. Had she made this for him? A smile tugged at his lips as he imagined the girl weaving it with her tiny hands.
Riftan pushed the cart along with a newfound strength. His steps seemed to land lightly on the forest floor. When he returned to the workshop after watching the girl enter the annex, the blacksmiths were still busy hammering. One of them shot daggers at him as a warning to stop dawdling. Riftan suppressed a sigh.
Though he wanted to race home so that he could preserve the girl’s gift, there were still many hours before the day’s work was over. He ended up hiding it in the storeroom before returning to the furnace to work the bellows. By the end of the day, his whole body was drenched in sweat.
Riftan hurriedly washed his face in a pail of water and retrieved the wreath from the storeroom. It had only been half a day, but the flowers were already wilting. He gazed ruefully down at them. Then, holding the wreath gingerly in one hand so as not to damage the petals, he stepped out of the smithy.
The forest was bathed in the red glow of sunset. He circled the annex to reach the front, where a lush garden of summer flowers emerged between the trees. Still, the little girl was nowhere to be seen. It was possible that she had been given a scolding for wandering out on her own.
Riftan silently stared at the spot where she usually sat before pulling out the horseshoe crown from his pocket. He considered leaving it behind for her before deciding that it was simply too inadequate. After running his fingers over the dull iron surface, Riftan shoved the circlet back into his pocket.
It might not look so pathetic with a few beads set into it. I could buy some in the village.
Riftan slipped past the annex and out of the castle gate as if to shake off the foolish idea. He felt as light as a feather despite the grueling day. Afraid that the flowers might flutter away in the breeze, he descended the hill with all the care he could manage.
The shack was dead silent when he reached it. His mother was probably waiting atop the hill again. He fought down a bitter sigh as he gazed up at the smokeless chimney. He could not help but feel stifled when he thought of his mother, who was forever climbing the hill to stare off into the distance; his stepfather, who ignored her; and the cold, uncomfortable air inside their squalid home.
Looking down at the wreath as if to seek solace, he pushed open the door. Inside, a strange stench assaulted his nose. He wondered if a wild animal had snuck inside to relieve itself.
Scowling, he went to open the window. As he turned to light the brazier, he saw a shadowy form dangling in midair.
He stumbled back. His foot caught on the leg of a fallen chair, sending him crashing onto the floor. The wreath he had carried with such care lay squashed beneath him, but it was the last thing on his mind. Riftan blinked up in bewilderment. His mind could not grasp what he was seeing.
Black hair, once enviably full of shine as if treated with oil, clung like a spider web to a pallid human face. It took a while for him to realize that the face was his mother’s.
Riftan slowly backed away. A taut rope that looked as if it could snap at any moment was looped around her neck. Legs as white as plaster dangled beneath the hem of her frayed dress.
Finally, he came to his senses. He raced out of the shack as violent sobs racked his body, and his heart pounded wildly in terror. He had no idea how long he ran. The hill before him was illuminated by the red sunset.
By complete chance, he spotted his stepfather dragging a cow from the field. The words to describe what he had seen completely eluded him. He could only grab his stepfather’s arm and begin pulling.
Taken aback by the sudden action, his stepfather started spewing curses, but he quieted as soon as he noticed Riftan’s ashen face. He followed without further protest as though he could sense something was amiss.
Riftan’s breath came in ragged gasps as he raced back to the shack. When they finally reached the door, he found himself unable to go any further. He looked terrified as he stood there trembling. His stepfather had been watching him with a scowl. He now pushed Riftan aside, disgruntledly asking him what the problem was.
Still rooted to the same spot a few steps away from the door, Riftan desperately prayed that he had imagined everything. Any moment now, his stepfather would start rebuking him for causing a fuss over nothing.
His hopes were soon dashed. His stepfather burst out of the shack and dragged Riftan inside, his face drained of all color. He slammed the door behind them and lit a lamp.
“Shut the window!”
Riftan mechanically followed his stepfather’s order. When the window was secure, his stepfather gave Riftan the lamp and disappeared into the shadows. He returned with a ladder.
“Hold the light up.”
Riftan looked at his stepfather in horror before slowly turning his gaze to the body hanging from the ceiling. He could not imagine a nightmare worse than this. He held up the lamp as his stepfather pulled his mother’s body down.
An icy terror made his hands shake the whole time. A chill ran down his spine as the body dropped to the floor with a thud. He began backing away when his stepfather strode over and grabbed him by the shoulder.
“Pull yourself together and listen to me. You remember what happened to the wench who lived across the street, don’t you?”
Riftan stared at his stepfather in a daze. He could not process anything. His face turned as white as a sheet.
“The miller’s youngest daughter!” his stepfather yelled, shaking Riftan awake. “Hanged herself after she was violated by those miners! She wasn’t allowed a proper funeral because she took her own life. Those Orthodox Church bastards condemn suicide as an unforgivable sin.”
Suicide. Took her own life. Funeral…
The words spewing from his stepfather’s mouth barely registered in Riftan’s mind. He glanced at the dark corpse limp on the floor before whirling around to hurl. The putrid stench of decay in the room mixed with pungent bile. His stepfather helped him up as he gasped for air.
“If the clerics don’t perform the purification ceremony for her, she will become a wandering spirit and, eventually, a ghoul. You don’t want your mother to become a monster, do you? Then you mustn’t tell anyone about this. You hear me?”
When Riftan bit his lip and nodded, his stepfather released his arm and walked over to the bed. Riftan watched as he wrapped the body in a blanket, placed a sickle and candle inside a leather bag, and tied the bag to his waist.
How on earth was the man so calm? No matter how hard he tried, Riftan could not regain his composure. He could hardly believe it despite seeing it with his own eyes.
Riftan sat curled in the corner and wondered what the man was planning. His stepfather wiped the cold sweat from his forehead and opened a liquor bottle with trembling fingers. He took a swig.
“When it gets dark, we’ll take her to the forest and make it look like she was attacked by a beast. We must move as quietly as possible so no one sees us.”
He tried to cork the bottle but fumbled and dropped it instead, spilling the contents over the floor. Though his stepfather was a man who valued alcohol more than his own blood, he made no move to pick the bottle back up. He simply stood frozen over the spilled liquor.
They waited in hellish silence. When the night was finally pitch-black, they each threw on the only coat they owned.
His stepfather hauled the corpse onto his back, but he only managed a few steps before his legs gave out. It was clear that he was not as calm as he appeared. He tried several more times to struggle to his feet, to no avail. Eventually, he gave up and sat slumped for a long time, his head clutched in his hands.
He finally turned to look at Riftan with weary eyes. “You will have to carry her. Do you think you can do it?”
Riftan gulped past his parched throat. He silently took his mother’s swaddled corpse and hauled it onto his back. When he managed to struggle to his feet, his stepfather held aloft a lamp and led the way.
Riftan staggered after him. Even though he carried heavier sacks of charcoal and iron every day, the body felt so dense that he feared it would crush his spine. His breathing grew ragged as he tried to ignore the sensation of cold mud pressed against his back.
As the blanket slipped down, locks of his mother’s hair began to stick unpleasantly to his nape. Soon he felt flaccid flesh against his skin. He could not tell whether it was horror or grief that overwhelmed him.
Why? What on earth drove her to do such a thing?
Sobs escaped his lips between ragged gasps. They continued through the dark for some time before his stepfather stopped to survey the area. He pointed to a huge tree.
“This should be far enough. Place her down here.”
Riftan stumbled to the spot and lowered the body to the ground. His stepfather lifted the blanket off and motioned to Riftan with his head.
“You stay over there.”
He then shakily pulled the sickle from the bag.
Ducking behind a tree, Riftan listened to the distant cawing of a bird. The rustling leaves almost sounded like weeping. Riftan buried his head in his arms.
***
The next day, a huntsman discovered his mother’s body. His stepfather collected it and immediately went to the temple to request a funeral. It was no secret that the Orthodox Church was ill-disposed to foreigners, and his stepfather had to offer all of their remaining silver before the clerics begrudgingly allowed his mother to be buried in the temple cemetery.
The funeral was held that afternoon. Delaying it for even a day would have been impractical, as the summer heat sped up decay.
Riftan watched impassively as they threw dirt on top of the overpriced coffin they had barely managed to procure. When the cleric recited a lengthy prayer for the salvation of her soul, Riftan wondered if her soul really could be saved.
He silently watched his stepfather’s slumped shoulders from behind. Was the man willing to go this far just to redeem her soul? Riftan clenched his fist until his nails dug into his flesh. His stepfather would likely be plagued by nightmares for the rest of his life. So would he.
Strangely enough, Riftan did not shed a single tear. He stood paralyzed, and it was only at the urging of his stepfather that he finally laid a flower in front of the shoddy headstone. When the humble ceremony ended, the mourners took turns offering their condolences.
There were only four in total – two maidservants from Croyso Castle who had been friendly with his mother, their elderly neighbor, and a man in his mid-thirties whom Riftan did not recognize.
Baffled, Riftan studied the imposing stranger. He was sturdily built and had a dark brown beard. Even at first glance, it was clear that he was of noble birth. Why was such a man at his mother’s funeral?
Riftan was looking quizzically at him when the man made his way over.
“You look so much like him,” said the stranger. “A lot more than I expected.”
Riftan stiffened at his odd tone. The man rummaged in his pocket before holding something out to him.
“Take it. It’s your father’s keepsake. Though custom dictates that I deliver it to his kin… I am giving it to you because he has no other living blood relatives.”
It was a dagger a little over a kevette in length. When Riftan did not move to take it, the man impatiently grabbed his hand and forced him to accept. Then, with his duty fulfilled, the man began marching away.
Riftan ran after him. “What do you mean this is my father’s keepsake?”
“Did your mother not tell you?” The man furrowed his brow and sighed. “Your birth father died recently in battle. That dagger was his favorite.”
Riftan scowled. “Why give it to me? That man had nothing to do with-”
“I agree,” the stranger muttered dryly, “but the rogue never started a family of his own, nor was he betrothed. You were the only one I could give it to. That is why I came here… before I even heard the unfortunate news.”
He shook his head.
“You have my condolences.”
Having said the words as a parting formality, the man hurried away from the devastated boy.
Riftan let out a dejected laugh. At last, the reason for his mother’s actions became clear. Anger and betrayal began to boil up from the pit of his stomach.
