The Ghost of Vermil-Chapter 20: The Rat

Anton twirled the little crystal in his little fingers. Pretty, he thought. Light reflected inside and outside of it, making it glimmer with tints of red and blue, yellow and green. And if he looked close enough, and held it up against the sun, he could glimpse a dark inky worm in its core, wriggling inside as though it was alive.

If I sold it, would we get enough food for a few days?

"What is it?" He heard Father's voice. He was peeking out of the entrance of their makeshift tent.

"A rock I found," Anton answered, clasping it in his palm hurriedly.

"Careful not to swallow it." He crawled out of the tent and stood up, stretching his back and legs.

Sliding the crystal into a small pouch, Anton tucked and tied it securely onto the waist of his trousers.

The tent they lived in was Mother's favourite blanket held up by sticks and decorated by a three-pronged star carved out of wood and it was supposed to only fit two people. But they squeezed the five of them inside, together with some of their belongings which only consisted of pots and tattered clothes and a cage of ducks they kept close in fear of losing them to thieves.

They had been outside the city for two days, out of East Bismuth for twelve. Anton had spent the better half of the trip from their humble village on top of a cart that their donkey pulled. The Jewel Road had taken the donkey and more.

He is in a better place now. It was their misfortune that a storm poured as they trudged down the Jewel Road from the heart of East Bismuth down to the West. His little brother of barely a year old caught a cold and fever the next morning. His health worsened quickly. They rested for a while in a nearby gorge, but the mosquitoes threatened to suck their blood dry. Despite the sweltering heat and the baby's sickness, they resumed their journey. It was the next day that they buried him.

Then one night when they had passed the fork and joined the Pilgrim Road, he found this stone glinting under a rat's corpse. The Road had not been so kind to them. He should at least take this precious stone for compensation.

"Help me with the clothes," Father ordered. He had to take out the china and clay pots from the only basket they carried in order to make room for their unwashed clothes. If they were to stay outside the city for a few more days, they could not afford to keep reusing unwashed clothing. "The river should be close by. Lind, will you be okay by yourself?"

Anton could barely recall how many times he heard Mother spoke since the tragedy. It was not so many, he believed.

The death of her youngest took words from her, along with her vitality. He wondered if the pretty stone he had could make her smile. She needed nutrition first of all, but they were on their last couple of birds. Father traded one for potatoes to some other family who needed meat.

He spotted his elder brother returning from his excursion. "Francis is back, Father."

"Where have you been? Where did you sleep?"

"In the grass. There is no fucking space in here," he spat.

Father scanned his groggy figure head to toe. An open shirt, dishevelled hair, a red mark on his neck. "You've laid with some girl? How could you think about screwing a girl in this state?" Father pointed to the tent and the other tents next to them, none of which looked better than theirs.

"I'd rather die happy. I told you we shouldn't have left," he said with slumped shoulders.

"Enough. Stay with your mother and little sister. Help them prepare some meal to break fast. You can do that at least. Come, Anton."

Anton regarded his brother with sympathy. Francis had a lover back home. Her family remained while the rest of the village evacuated. He held on to the hope they would follow sooner but he had not found them yet.

Anton strode after Father on his short legs, carrying the pieces of clothes that the small basket had no room for.

A pair of soldiers spotted them. They held spears tipped with sharp black iron. "Where you off to, rats? Come to piss in the river, dirty it with your sick?" The soldier with a pockmarked face stopped them.

"We simply wanted to wash our clothes, Ser, if we may. We had not had the opportunity on the Jewelled Road. We have run out of clean clothing."

The other soldier cocked his head and mouthed, his uneven teeth showing, "That explains all the stink. Not possible. We can't afford you killing all the fish with your dirt."

"Ser—"

His words were cut off by a spear they pointed at his chest. "Off you go. Your reek makes me want to throw up the bacon I just had."

Father turned without a word.

They snapped at Anton. "What are you staring for kid? Want some?"

He ingrained them in his memory. A pustulent face. Crooked teeth.

They had to trace back where they came and circle around to avoid the soldiers. The Gallen River rushed to the sea with fervour. Anton knew it started from the copper mountains that lined the boundary of West Bismuth and Gallagher. They said you could find gold and copper and other metals in the silt. Close to Gallenport, the river forked into braided streams that spilled into the delta and finally into the salt sea. The city sat opposite the delta and the mangrove forests, overlooking it.

"Let's wash quickly. Just stay near the bank. Don't go too far from the shallows."

Anton waded into the water and separated out the clothes that had stuck to each other due to the grime and sweat. He asked, "When are we getting a home, Father?" He suddenly missed the small cottage back in East Bismuth where they had a small piece of land and roof over their heads. It was not much but it was enough. Back then, his little brother was still alive.

"The King has promised us sanctuary. He's talking with some of the lords now," he said, beating a shirt with a wooden paddle against a stone.

Anton brought the clothes and put it on top of the pile. "But he's the King. His words are law. He only needs to say it."

"It doesn't work like that."

"How does it work then?"

He sighed tiredly, "I wish I knew how the highborn mind works."

Drenched but also freshly bathed, Anton and his father walked back to their tent, avoiding the soldiers. They took longer than they planned.

His little sister Nela, barely three came running off to meet them, crying. Father dropped the basket and paddle to scoop her into his arms. "Shhh, shhh, why are you crying?"

"Bad guys."

Father rushed to the tent, leaving Anton to pick up the basket heavy with soaked fabrics. He lifted them up with his small arms and staggered to catch up. He found Francis's face swollen and purple, broken pots and china all over the ground. Francis looked at him, his shoulders even more sagged, defeated.

The cage of ducks lay empty and broken. The sack of potatoes was nowhere to be found. Their neighbors looked on. They must have witnessed everything, yet Anton expected no help from them. They all looked worn and sunken, resigned to the hope that if they waited, the King would come and save them from misery. They had lost the spirit to fight back. Only left with enough to survive and steal.

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"I'll take them back," Father declared angrily, his hands fisted. His usually calm expression darkened. Yet, he still bore the face of a farmer who tilled the land and provided for his family in peace, not a fighter.

"Take them back with what? A paddle?" Francis sniffed and massaged the bruise on his jaw. "They'll just hurt you. They're a bunch of motherfuckers but they're strong and many."

Mother sat in a corner, dazed. The incident must have left her in utter shock. She used to be quiet but as Father stormed away with the paddle, she mouthed, "My husband, no..."

"Fuck it!" Francis bolted to his feet and chased after their father.

Anton was curious. When we encountered the soldiers, you folded and walked away in submission. Why are you going after the thieves now? To him, the situations were not different. They could get hurt in both.

"I'll follow after them, Mother. Stay here," he kissed his mother on the forehead. His sister caught his hand but he shook her off, "Keep Mother company, Nela. We'll be back."

Anton could not catch up to them on his little feet, even when he sprinted. But it was easy to find them. He heard noise, shouting, and bodies being thrown around.

It was his first time seeing Father settle things with his fist and paddle. Of Francis's violence, he had known of it for years. They were getting battered, sure, but they were also giving them back a beating. Pow. Pow. Father thrashed at them with the wooden paddle while Francis brawled with two men.

"NO!" Anton yelled as a foot kicked Francis in the abdomen, sending him to the ground. Father took one quick glance at his son who groaned in pain and that was his mistake. The bulkiest among them grabbed the paddle from Father's grip and began to beat him with it.

No! No! Anton looked around for help. The other refugees watched. No one braved stepping in. He spotted the two soldiers from earlier. He ran to them.

"Help! Ser, please help us. They're going to kill my family!"

They stared down at him with disinterest. "Heh, less people to pillage our lands."

Anton thought of the pretty crystal in his pouch. "I can pay! Please! Here." He showed it to them, its glint reflecting off their eyes.

"Where did you get that?" The Crooked Teeth dove for it but Anton moved it away.

"I'll give you the crystal if you help me. Please. They're going to die."

"Well, we're soldiers after all. We have to keep peace here," mumbled the Pustulent Face.

He led them to the commotion where he was surprised to see Francis back to his feet. He managed to find a shard of broken chinaware somehow, leaving their adversaries with wounds. But there were simply too many of them. They circled around him and the broken figure of their father lying on the ground, threatening to overwhelm the two of them with sheer numbers.

"You vermins!" The soldier yelled, charging.

The end of their spear proved to be sharp as they stabbed mercilessly at the brawlers. They managed to skewer two by the chest and one by the neck before the others dispersed with their tails between their legs.

But Anton realized too late that the soldiers did not come to ask questions. They came for blood.

Francis dropped the shard but the spear still came for his chest. "He's my brother!" Anton shouted after them. He could not understand what was happening. As if for good measure, they stabbed him some more.

"They're my family," Anton cried, sobs heaving.

Then they stood over Father's body who was still breathing but barely. Chuk! Anton watched as the blood pooled beneath five bodies, two of which were his family. He could not understand why the soldiers refused to listen to him.

He sank to his knees and tried to wake his brother up who still had his eyes open, even though he knew it was futile. He could taste the salt of his own tears in his lips, could smell the metallic tang of fresh blood. Why? Why would they kill them? I told them...

"Where is the payment, rat?" The voice of the pockmarked soldier said behind him.

Anton gripped the sharp crystal with his little hand and turned. Stab. Stab. He lunged for his waist where he could reach, but the crystal only met the clang of mail.

They started to laugh. "Give it to me while I'm being kind. You want to follow them to the afterlife?"

Anton crouched and attacked the skin of his exposed ankle instead. There he drew blood.

"Aww, you son of a bitch!" The soldier easily held up Anton by the neck.

Anton kept jabbing, even as he choked. Crack. As the crystal met hardened plate, it shattered. Some shards buried into his palm but he was in too much grief to care. Yet when something squirmed in his hand and buried itself into his skin, he screamed. The soldier dropped him, kicking him in the shin.

Anton saw the tail of some black worm burrowing into the wound a crystal shard left on his skin. Holy angel of God, he prayed

He craned his neck as a throe of pain travelled from the palm to his head. He glimpsed the sun, glaring ever so brightly over him. The next second, it began to dim. His vision became splashed with red — as dark as the blood of his brother and father next to him.