"Her Father's Ashes by Logan Tytus

Her Father's Ashes

An Excerpt

Just down Honeythicket Road, along the dirt trail so often traveled by the local Zester Seed traders, sat a lopsided little inn, The Wheelie Inn. Its walls were made of a damp wood and the roof, which was covered in a smothering deep green moss, seemingly crushed the slanted building beneath it. Most folks who stopped by had to duck under the dense natural blanket, but not a soul complained. The inside dining area was dimly lit, even with the array of candles hanging from the ceiling, and many of the tables were worn down after years of use. 

Lianna Twen, a local seven year old human girl, crawled through a small opening along the side wall and settled within it; she wore stitched together rags, and her golden short hair was stained with mud. She glanced down as a large spider sped past her leg, but she paid it little mind. A shadow crossed her vision and her eyes darted forward to see the owner marching in after his trip to the outhouse. She watched his lips part and form many silent words for his few patrons while cleaning a pair of drinking glasses. She understood him well when he faced her.  

The owner was a Western Hirundrol, a race recognized for their three arms as well as the annoyed expression they wear, even when they seem jovial. A single wooden nameplate rested on the bar; it read, Mylandil, but most patrons called their host Myll. Myll stood at his bar top, which he was far too tall for, and polished the last of the glasses before hanging them inside a hidden slit in the ceiling. The bar top was situated at the center of the inn, where the ceiling was highest; it was just enough for him. He stowed the last of the glasses, wiped the sweat from his brow with his third arm, and glanced over at the placard on the far wall. Lianna followed his gaze, but failed to understand the written words. 

This establishment was purchased from the Wheelie Brothers for the price of six horses, and a donkey. This bill of sale was made official in the Summer Months of the Thirteenth Age. 

Myll frowned as his attention moved from the wall piece. Lianna watched as he eyed his patrons, who all sat at a single table playing cards, and sighed. It was the early hours of the afternoon, yet for him, he looked like he had worked since the sun set the day before. He wiped his eyes, brushed himself off with all three of his limbs, and wandered around the bar top. He hunched over to avoid the lowered ceiling and inched his way to another sign, which bore a large sketch of the Winter Peak; it was a symbol of the new Lunar Festival. 

 See your loved ones again. Bring their ashes to the Winter Peak, and pay a toll. You will witness their smiles again. It read. 

Lianna, with wide, eager eyes, stared at the words she could not understand. She had left the house to pick up a new set of milk jugs for her mother, but put it on pause to see if Myll had hung the festival placard as the shaman said he would. She learned of the festival from the shaman, their recently appointed village healer, and was eager to see if there was truth in her words and in the festival flyer she spoke of. 

Myll was a friend of her father’s and he visited her many times after the incident to offer condolences and comfort. She believed, from chats with her late father as well as details she scavenged out of conversations with Myll, that he was involved with the festival ritual somehow. All she knew is that he was rewarded with the chance to see his lover again. The thought alone of embracing her father sent excitement through her body and she waited for the local patrons to leave so she could speak to Myll alone. 

Her gaze softened however, at the sight of Myll scratching the swollen patch on his left thigh. She often saw him limp about, even when not inside the bar and her excited heart wavered as pity flooded her mind; she had no idea how he had become so sick. He slid his third arm into his breast pocket and unfolded a drawing of his passed lover. His lip quivered as he smiled and he caressed the paper as if it were her cheek. He dropped it back into his pocket and his eyes, which were growing tired, slanted back down to the bar top in front of him. His smile vanished and he clawed at his stomach with growing anger. He glared at the few patrons he had and waved. 

“Get out! We’re closing early today!” 

Lianna jolted in her spot, but kept her feet planted. The customers moaned and checked their cards. 

“I’ll talk to you all tomorrow and cover your losses. Scram!” 

They all paused, looked at him, looked at each other with growing suspicion, then frantically shoved what gold coins they could into their pockets. 

“I said, out!” 

Myll snatched a wooden club from underneath the bar top and sprinted around the side. All three of the gamblers looked on in horror and bolted for the door, dropping coins as they fled. As the door slammed on the last one, he returned to the safety of his bar, and placed the club back in its resting place. 

Now’s my chance, she thought. 

The door swung open, much to his surprise, and in walked Lianna with a confident stride. He cleared his throat and leaned forward, greeting her with a warm smile. She halted just before the bar top and looked up at him with indifference. She held an empty bag and lowered it onto the floor. She waved her hands around and made symbols with her fingers, her way of communicating. 

“Can we have an extra glass today?” She signed.

He nodded and lowered himself behind the wooden barrier. As he searched out of sight, Lianna’s eyes gravitated over to the sketched mountain on the wall. She left her bag on the floor and skipped over to it. She scanned the sign with curiosity and cocked her head to one side. Myll popped up from underneath the bar and set down six milk jugs in a line. He wiped off the smudges on the glasses and leaned over to address her. He frowned and snapped his head to the other end of the bar. He walked down and noted where her eyes were fixed. He took a deep breath and leaned over again. She glanced up at him. 

“That’s just from the local shaman,” he said. 

She signed to him. “What does it say?” 

He gulped at the question and held his tongue. She pointed again and grunted while glaring at him. 

He nodded. “It’s an invitation to visit the Winter Peak. Should one take the old trail up the mountain, they could see their loved ones again.” 

Her eyes lit up and she smiled. 

“How do you do it?” she asked. 

His third hand scratched the back of his neck and he avoided eye contact. She watched as he shifted through many different emotions: anger, fear, desperation, pity, sorrow, then sympathy. His eyes welled up with tears. She knew how much he loved her father and imagined his aching heart weakening at the thought of their loss.  His eyes darted between the tables, which dwarfed her in size, and her short figure. He inhaled a weak breath and spoke in a soft voice. 

“It’s a dangerous journey. Too dangerous for a little girl.” 

“But you did it, right?” 

“Many years ago, yes. I was a different man.” 

“So I could do it?” 

He narrowed his gaze and furrowed his eyebrows in concern. He pulled his third hand around and pointed at her. 

“You are not prepared for the toll it takes. You have your whole life ahead of you…I know it’s not what you want to hear right now, but it’s time to…” 

She flipped around and bolted for the door, snatching her empty bag as she left. Startled, he snapped up and slammed his head into the roof. 

“Kid!” He yelled, then looked over at the milk. “You forgot your…” 

Logan Tytus