Written by Jacob VanWagner; told by Hattun the Madcap.
(Above: Highhold, and the Bloodboulder Span.)
Preface: This story is an excerpt taken from the second book of a series I have been working on for a number of years now and will likely be working on for a far greater number of years more. Hattun, one of the novel’s major characters, tells this tale to Bakkan (a main character) in an effort to buoy both their spirits in the face of their current situation. It is my hope that any who read this tale will also find the message within to be enlightening.
It is spent without buying.
– A Reachland riddle; BCE Unknown – Present
and earned without labor.
It is won through failure
and lost through victory.
It is inconceivable
yet fools know it all the same.
“Nonsense! There’s a tale for every situation. Even the most dire. True, there isn’t always time for tales, but seein’ as we can’t rightly go anywhere at the moment, and seein’ as that’s not bound t’be changin’ anytime soon, I don’t believe our current predicament is of the tale-less sort. Now, b’fore I begin, I should prob’ly ask… Ye haven’t heard the story o’ the Nothinger before, have ye?”
Bakkan heaved a begrudging sigh, “No, Hat. I haven’t.”
To this, Hattun clapped his hands together, or perhaps he slapped a thigh; it could not be discerned in the Ways-accursed darkness, “Perfect! Perfect. Now. The tale of the Nothinger is a little known story, told to me by the Lord o’ Highhold himself. A man named Higglin whose last name… well. It was Highhold, too. A fittin’ name for the town he keeps.
“Highhold is perched atop a rocky ridge at the end of a very steep and very narrow switchback lane known as Lornwend Trail – a shortcut of sorts that shears about forty or so odd miles off o’ the Spyre Road’s windin’ course. Lornwend comes in from the south over stony, weed-ridden slopes, bringin’ the traveler up n’ up, rather than keepin’ ‘em down in Gwendalen’s Crag. The Crag, now that I’ve mentioned it, passes to the west o’ the town. Meanwhile, to the east, is Mount Lieu-Pierre—don’t ask me how the place got its name, ‘cause I don’t have a clue. And then, to the north… to the north is the Bloodboulder Deeps, and as of the past five or so decades, Bloodboulder Span. The Deeps bein’ the canyon into which Gwendalen Crag merges, and the Span bein’ the bridge that Highhold’s best known fer.
“As to the town itself, Highhold is a tiny place not much larger than the center lane o’ Rhoanoke Village. It came into bein’ back in the day when Great Grandaddy Highhold found a silver vein at the base o’ Mount Pierre. Got himself a fortune, he did, but was tight with his marks. Didn’t spend hardly any o’ them before he passed, so that wealth went on to his next of kin; a son, I think it was, though I don’t rightly remember his name. He didn’t have quite as much luck as his daddy nor as much sense. Was the son that saw the big ole hole in the mountain’s base – the remains left o’er by the miners – and thought to himself, ‘Hells… This must be the most bloody defensible place in the entire kingdom.’
“Don’t know why he wanted a castle, but he used his Daddy’s fortune to build some big ole walls, some gates, and some more gates to close off and make the mine a holdfast. The Silvered Vault, it’s still called on account of its origins as a mine. The sad part – or not-so-sad part, dependin’ on how you look at it – is that the Vault never got to see any use while he lived. Who’d ever want to storm a keep up in the mountains, eh? ‘Specially, a keep with no resources and no wealth…
“Eventually, as always happens, the fellow died and left all lands to his only heir, a girly named Taretha, and if her father was a blunderin’ idjit, she was a bloody genius. Pardon my language, but this was a literal case o’it, for her tale concerns the Bloodboulder Deeps.
“She roped in a halfway rich hubby named Olliard Gull, and she used his currency to build the Bloodboulder Span – till this day, one of the most remarkable bridges on the continent. ‘But what’s so special about a bridge?’ you might ask. Well, firstly, it’s a feat o’ engineering the likes of which surpasses that o’ the Bluthwalt in Footstone by at least two times o’er. And secondly, it’s a figurative goldmine that’s about thrice as valuable as that silver-laden pit her granddaddy found. This is due t’ the fact that she started up a toll – an admittedly hefty toll – that had t’ be paid t’ cross the span.
“Three high-moons after the bridge was complete, Taretha bore a healthy baby boy named Higglin. Folk thought it was Higglin Gull for a time, but that wasn’t the case. Y’see, Taretha ‘ad made a bet with her hubby. She bet, on the night o’ the bridge’s – and likely o’ Hig’s – conception, that she could get Olly all his marks back that’d been used in the span’s construction before their firstborn ‘hit the ground’. T’be honest, Olliard probably didn’t care ‘bout the marks – he loved his woman more’n anythin’ – but he played ‘long nonetheless and even added t’ the stakes, sayin’ that he’d grant her ‘full namin’ privilege after the child was born if what she said came true.
“Needless t’ say, it’s Higglin’ Highhold who came crawlin’ out o’ the womb – a testament to the prosperity Taretha had brought about. Olly wasn’t sour. Not in the slightest. He loved that boy, he loved his woman, and he got spend as much time as he wanted with the two o’ them, ‘cause it was the Bloodboulder Span winnin’ all the bread. Alas, just as that family o’ Highholds had become well n’ established n’ shortly after little Higglin had found his first words and taken his first steps, tragedy struck.
“Swana decided it was time to take Spyre, and they didn’t want to march their troops on some ritsabittle for forty miles. Time bein’ o the essence n’ whatnot, they asked to be let through over the Bloodboulder Span. I shouldn’t say asked, though. They more or less demanded that Taretha open the gates – somethin’ the woman did not take very kindly to. Taretha wouldn’t let them through on the grounds o’ their not payin’. That… and I meself think she saw they were up to no good.
“And so, her Daddy’s defenses were tested. And so they eventually fell. Straight walls just can’t stand up t’ the trebuchets… of which the Swani army had aplenty. They were gonna assault Spyre, after all – the most heavily fortified city in the Eastern Sphere. Taretha died on those ill-wrought walls along with most o’ her lil’ platoon. As for ‘er husband, he went on a rampage after his beloved’s demise where he defended the front gates for a whole five ticks on ‘is own. Probably would o’ kept goin’, too, if they hadn’t brought out the damned crossbows.
“Fortunately, Orphan Higglin was taken in by a kind woman and her daughter – the former bein’ an owner o’ that pleasure house, er… what was it’s name? What was it’s name… Hm. I know the mother’s name was Raella, and I know her daughter’s name was – is – Baella. Baella the Tall they name her, and I’ve seen her legs. The longest, shapeliest things that a man could ever lay eyes on… Hm. Ahh, Gwen Ghuldy’s Groghouse! Now, who could go n’ forget a name like that?”
“Y—” Bakkan began.
“On second thought, don’t answer the question,” Hat interrupted, “Gotta get through the history, so we can get t’ Higglin and his-story.
“Indeed, Higglin ‘ad been made an orphan, but he was taken in and cared for by a mother who ended up lovin’ him as her own and a sister who was of the same kindly nature. Ended up bein’ a decent childhood, considerin’, but one that was cut a tad short when King Gilghar o’ the Swana Coalition heard tell of what’d happened up in the Reachlands.
“Gilghar, as ye may know, was not that bad o’ a fellow himself, and I reckon because o’ that, he was struck by a mighty sense o’ guilt on hearing how the Highhold boy ‘ad lost kin, lands, and fortune all at once. As such, the king came to Highhold and asked forgiveness. Raella, Higglin’s adoptive mother, was there at the time, and – king or no – gave’im a brow beatin’ the likes of which he probably hadn’t heard since his own mother walked in the realm o’ the livin’.
“Many say it’s cause o’ Raella that Higglin’ came back into lordship, for after the king’s departure, Higglin – then aged about seven roundin’s – was, by Swani law, given partial control o’ Highold. And that partial control was t’ become full control when he came of age. Along with this gift, his family seat was rebuilt – a two story dwellin’ where he himself would stay in the upstairs and all future communal meetin’s would occur in the downstairs. Oh, and I should probably mention he was also granted a sum o’ seventy-five thousand marks.”
Bakkan produced a thoughtful grunt, to which Hat agreed;
“Aye, that’s a lot o’ marks. But for ‘bout nine years, Highold was quiet. Under partial-rule, everythin’ stayed the same… y’know how it goes. It was when Higglin’s seventeenth roundin’ came along that things started goin’ south. BUT just hold a moment ‘fore you go makin’ judgments. Higglin is a fine ruler these days – one of the best a fellow might say – but back then at the beginning, he wasn’t. And who’s t’blame the poor lad? He was raised a commoner in a whorehouse for gods’ sakes. Sure, he was intelligent – a trait of his mothers, both maternal and foster – but he was shy, quiet, and above all, young. Older men already have plenty o’ trouble governin’ their little towns and donjons and holdfasts, so it only makes sense that a seventeen year old boy wasn’t up t’ the task.
“He had this trouble, a disorder o’ sorts, where he wanted to make everyone happy. And that, Bak,is the surest way to fail. It just ain’t possiblet’keep all parties contented. Too many folk bearin’ too many wants… too many needs. But he tried all the same.
“Higglin failed o’ course. Fortunately for him, though, the first was not much of a failure at all. Half the folk wanted him to rebuild and fortify the city walls, and the other half wanted him to repair the cobblestone lane leading down along Gwendalen Crag toward Spyre Road. He chose the first, because the first folk were louder. That’s actually the reason he gave me when he told the story. His mother, Raella, went to him after and straight up told him he had erred. Unlike the other folk, though, she gave a reason.
“This world is full of good people, Higglin – great people. Only a fraction wish harm upon others. Don’t you think it’s more important gettin’ good, payin’ folk to n’ through the town rather than makin’ sure the one or two ill-folk are walled out?”
“T’was good advice, and he had every intention o’ followin’ it whenever similar debates cropped up in the future. However, that didn’t help the fact o’ the mistake he’d already made – a mistake whose shame only became worse when a few folk from a caravan came up the way to say how their carriage had gotten stuck in some upturned cobbles. Hig and a couple other men got the carriage unstuck, but shortly after, it got caught in another rut and it was decided that the thing just wouldn’t make it t’ Highhold. Probably lost a good thousand or so marks what with there being a number o’ rich folk belongin’ to that caravan, and needless to say, Higglin spent a tad more o’ his fortune after that t’get the road in better shape.
“Second mistake came when – as young men are oft t’do – he got entangled with a girly named Margaurite. She was a beauty that one… or at least that’s what he told me, and he said it got t’ the point where he’d do just about anything for her. She must o’ sensed this, too, because she – the bitch – manipulated ‘im into buyin’ her some pretty jewels from a merchant passin’ through.
“Higglin’ knew his fortune was meant for the roads and walls and whatnot, but e’ thought the sum he paid for the jewels was harmless. A mere forty-five marks for six o’ the gems. That was a steal for rubidines back in the day, and it still is a damned good deal. Doesn’t change the fact that word o’ his spendin’ got out to the town’s populace when Marguarite showed her friends what ‘the Lord o’ Highhold’ had given ‘er. They started to wonder, and it was finally his Mum – ye, Raella again – that asked him how he paid for the jewels. He came clean, and on doing so, realized his folly. Also realized that he had t’ stop associatin’ with that Marguarite.
“He tried nicely at first, explainin’ to the girl that he loved her, but what he had done was wrong. Told ‘er that until he was older and wiser, he’d have to stop seein’ her. Margaurite, however, wouldn’t stand for it. She tried stringin’ him along even further, puttin’ on her saddest face and guilty-trippin’ him for a good couple o’ weeks. Higglin had grown wise t’her tactics, though, and as such had to give’r a good ‘bugger off’ to make ‘er finally leave him alone.
“‘Felt terrible about it’, he told me, ‘But felt far worse the mornin’ after when I and the townsfolk discovered she’d gone n’ leapt from Bloodboulder Span.’
“The proceedings went as they often do in that little town. They lit a pyre at the Ledge o’ Evenfall – a lil’ cliff just south o’ Highhold – and upon that pyre, they placed an effigy o’ his first love, Marguarite.”
Bakkan was perplexed, “An effigy?”
“Aye,” Hat nodded, “A dummy… or a doll o’ sorts. Y’see, hoppin’ off o’ cliffs is perhaps the most common mode o’ self-imposed demise o’er in them parts, both the purposeful and unpurposeful sort. So prevalent it is, in fact, that they had t’ come up with a way so more folks didn’t fall down any crags or crevices whilst searchin’ for their friend’s or family’s body for the burnin’.
“In this case, Higglin made the effigy, and he was the one t’ light the fire. Both were honors usually only reserved for kindred, and Marguarite did have a mother, brother, and sister. None of them wanted anythin’ to do with the lass, though. I s’pose, they knew her for what she’d been. Higglin’, though, on seein’ that they weren’t gonna make the effigy, made one himself. A pretty piece o’ art, too, from the sounds of it. Baella ‘erself told me that much.
“The last rites were a simple affair. Not many folk showed, and as is t’be expected, Hig was the one t’ stay the longest out o’ all who attended. Stayed there on vigil ‘til it was almost midnight. T’was then that he left the Pyre and headed back homeward.
“As he drifted up to Highhold, followin’ the switchback Lornwend trail, he was understandably feeling a bit down on ‘imself. Here he was, the son of a great line of folk, lord o’ a fine lil’ realm, and owner o’ a hefty fortune that still amounted to well over fifty thousan’ marks. Yet all he could manage to do was slip or muck or fuck up, o’er and o’er and o’er again – this time leadin’ to the demise of someone he’d cared about… bitch that she was.
“Whilst being tormented by these sentiments and while contemplatin’ how he was a nobody – a nothing – compared to his predecessors, that’s when the whisperin’ came. It emerged as the faintest of breaths. Something resemblin’ the softest o’ summer breezes.
“It slid past him, murmurin’;
‘Nooooothing.’
“And aye, as if heedin’ the wind’s advice, he thought nothin’ o’ the word at first. Was a trick o’ the mind, he knew, and so he just kept right on walkin’. Walked bend by bend till he reached the gates, and there he knocked t’be let in by his men. They’d gone t’ sleep, though, or at least the one on duty had fallen asleep.
“Higglin couldn’t get back in that night, and so he slumbered under an oak his grandfather planted. It was a gnarled little tree that grew against Highhold’s souther’most battlements. ‘Sat ‘gainst that lil ol’ thing,’ he told me, ‘Sat ‘gainst it and slept right out there in the elements’. Heh. Just like you n’ I’ve been doin’ Bak. Well, at least until… you know.”
“I do,” Bakkan grumbled.
A brief moment of silence was followed by Hattun’s continuing his tale, “Higglin said it wasn’t the most fun experience out there in the cold evenin’ air – for it always gets chilly at night o’er in the Reaches – but he also admitted that those roots were a tad comfy in a way. He remembered that spot after getting’ up the next mornin’ and made it his new place o’ midday repose – a retreat for his more tirin’ days.
“Now, leap forward a couple roundin’s or so, and you’ll find Higglin’ sittin’ at the base of that tree. He was sittin’, readin’, and watchin’ over his newly bought nans and billies – goats, fer if you don’t know the terms… though I’m sure ye do – and this is what he commenced t’ tell me;
“‘So there I was, watchin’ my new acquisitions. I marveled at the way that they climbed the rocks of the territory, and I was awed at the way they were able to eat the most scruffy n’ twig-like of weeds n’ convert them into slick hides of the glossiest black n’ white.
“‘Most remarkable, though, were the young. And that’s where the day’s events came into play. I’d just gotten done witnessin’ a mother nan pop out her newborns. Three, there were, and within minutes, they were already standing and fightin’ for suck at her two danglin’ teats. I watched them for hours that day, watched as they went from wobbly legged little things to ones that could climb atop rocks… then atop boulders – surfaces already more sheer than many men could ever climb. It was a restful bit o’ work, until it wasn’t.
“‘You see,’ he said, ‘I was just sittin’ there and watchin’ those lil’ goats cavort atop an especially large boulder; was lookin’ straight at ‘em, smilin’ to myself in wonderment at it all, when all of a sudden there were two instead o’ three. I got up, squinted, and ran to the spot. Then I heard it. The bleatin’ of a little one.’
“Rounded the boulder, he did – Higglin wasn’t much o’ a climber, after all – but by the time he got to the other side, he only saw a bit of striped fur disappearin’ down and around into a nearby crag. A mountain tiger, it was. He tried followin’, but by the time he reached the crag, the beast had gone. In that brief moment of dismay, young Higglin heard it a second time. A wind whistlin’ through that cleft, utterin’ naught but one word;
“Noooothing.”
“The next incident came only a brief time later. No more n’ a couple o’ weeks. By that time, he along with some lad he’d paid, had built a little corral for the goats: a place where the critters could be penned up for the evenin’ that’d keep ‘em relatively safe from ravenin’ beasts.
“Well, it was the final day o’ spring when Higglin’ saw a thunderstorm brewin’ at the end o’ Highhold Vale. He decided that he’d put the goats into their corral early so they wouldn’t get frightened by the flashes n’ crashes of lightnin’ and thunder. And he did just that. Even as the wind started blowin’, when the peals of thunder began to echo ‘long the valley’s length, and when the rain started droppin’, he herded those goats into that little holdfast – a goodly twenty or thirty of the beasts. Then, Hig started to head back for town. The lightning started cracklin’ in true right ‘round then, and he himself went on t’ tell me;
“‘It fell like hammers all ‘round me! Some t’ the left, some t’ the right. Some close ‘nough to cause pieces of pebble and stone to spray against me, and one so close that I could feel the heat of the damned thing.’
“That last one is when he started running, because he thought for sure someone or something was aimin’ the bloody bolts at ‘im. On reachin’ the gates, he pounded and pounded. The thunder, though, kept the guards from hearin’. So, in a semblance of last time, he sought refuge beneath that lil’ gnarled oak. Right as he began to approach it though, a lurid bolt leapt from the heavens and smote the tree to ash.
“Well. It didn’t happen quite that quickly, but he did say that a bolt struck the poor tree and started it aflame despite the pourin’ rain and blusterin’ gusts. As it burnt, the tempest picked up. It whistled, it wailed, and upon the back of its breathe? The word;
“‘NOTHING.’
“He whirled around to face that gale. He wanted to retort to it, to say something so it’d take the word back, and he was just ‘bout to do so. But that’s when the lightnin’ flashed once more, and revealed… it.
“The Nothinger, is what he named it. A pale white specter, shaped as a woman with smooth, slender legs but with arms and long-clawed hands that stretched all the way t’ the stony soil. As to its face, it ‘ad none ‘cept an enormous maw…. a maw with the teeth of a bloody mountain tiger. That was its only feature. It had no eyes, no ears, no hair – none, not even on its body – and no pleasure parts either; that goes for the nips and the nethers.
“It just stood there and looked at ‘im, or lookin’ as best it could with no eyes – its teeth, meanwhile, bared in a very large and menacin’ grin. As one could imagine, Higglin was scared shiteless at that point. Lit’rally so from the way I heard him tell it. He turned back toward the town, and he beat against the door, shoutin’ and pleadin’ with his full ability. Still, no one came t’ relieve him, and ‘that thing’ he said, ‘It started toward me, each flash o’ lightnin’ bringin’ its outstretched arms and malevolent snarl ever nearer.’
“The door opened at that point, and the guards, thinkin’ ole Higgy had lost his wits, brought ‘im to his mother. Er, Raella that is. Higglin took ill the next couple o’ weeks. It was a span tormented by vile dreams. Ones in which the thing – the Nothinger – came to haunt him. To chase him. To capture him. And finally t’ feast on him while he was still alive n’ thrashin’.
“His mother, Raella, and sister, Baella, watched o’er him during those troubled weeks and nursed him back to health. Eventually, he got back t’ living on his own in that apartment o’ his above the meetin’ house. ‘
“ ‘Cept now it wasn’t really on his own, ‘cause the ole Nothinger was there at every turn. Hig would wake up in the mornin’ and feel its arm draped o’er him like a lover… feel its panted breath on the nape o’ his neck. Then he’d go to cook breakfast, and inevitably, he’d turn around to find it sittin’ at the table, one leg crossed o’er the other like it had nothin’ better t’do than wait for ‘im.
“‘Nothing’, it’d say, and then it’d just get up and walk out the room.
“Nothinger appeared at every meal, it appeared when Higglin was reading his beloved books, it appeared after his easy days and his hard days, and he told me that the Nothinger even appeared when havin’… er… self-time.‘Never lost the iron so quickly in me life,’ he told me.
“Hat.” Bakkan stated bluntly, to which the big man gave a small cough;
“Right. Prob’ly a tad too far, innit? Either way, at first, the Nothinger’s appearances were a jolt. It would startle Higglin, and for some weeks, he was one very jumpy fellow. Who wouldn’t be, though, if you had that thing appearin’ when ye least expect?
“But of course the townsfolk, doin’ as people so often tend t’ do, began t’ think the worst. They thought Hig had bought some form o’ powder from one o’ the peddlers who came through – a druggist, perhaps – and was tweakin’ on it. ‘They’d shake their heads’, he said, ‘They’d shake their heads and think I didn’t see. But I did. And in their eyes they’d look at me with that mixture o’ pity and revulsion reserved for ev’ry type o’ addict.’
“To combat this, he began t’ train himself. Whenever he turned around in any direction, he steeled his nerves and expected it. He was usually right, and with him expectin’ the beasty, he was no longer nervous. Aye, it was more o’ a surprise when the thing wasn’t there than when it was.
“Things returned to normal or as normal as could be for some time. The folk o’ Highhold even began to see the change in him. ‘Something is different,’ they’d say. ‘The lad’s more serious, now’, other’d mutter; ‘The boy’s finally grown into a man.’
“Only Hig’s sister, Baella, knew the truth, for she was the only one he confided in about the Nothinger. I don’t know that Baella believed the apparition t’ be real, but she did know that her brother was goin’ through somethin’. So, she’d drop by every day and check up on him. Y’know the sort: Ask how he’s doin’, see what he’s readin’, help clean up the place, and so on and so forth. She’d cook for him, too, when he allowed it, and sometimes they’d cook together, making delicious meals that there was no way the two of ‘em could possibly eat in one sittin’. The latter occurred so frequently, it was a common sight to see the siblin’s goin’ ‘round town deliverin’ it to the folk who shared their culinary tastes.
“Alas, as it always goes when a young man and a pretty woman group with one another for more than twice or thrice or four ‘r five times, Higglin’ grew fond of his sister in ways that were not entirely brotherly. These feelin’s, eventually b’came mutual. Hig and Baella were discreet about it, of course, and it also helped that poor young Baella – though perhaps the fairest face in Highhold – was barren ‘tween the legs.”
Bakkan coughed, to which Hattun asked, “You alright, Bak?”
“You just said they were brother and sister, Hat!” Bakkan protested.
Hat slowly nodded his head, “In name, aye. But they weren’t kin. Higglin was an orphan, remember?”
“A sister’s a sister, the way I see it,” Bakkan answered.
“But—” Hat spluttered, then sighed, “You see, I think that’s what happened, Bak. Folk get so caught up in their expectations – their traditions and taboos – that they fail t’ note the good of what’s happenin’ right before’m. They didn’t see how Higglin’ was improving. He was no longer afflicted by the Nothinger, and there was new n’ welcome spring to ‘is step. Nay, all they saw was that the brother and sister who’d been bringin’ about delicious breads n’ jerkies n’ sausages were no longer doin’ so despite their still gettin’ together everyday at Higglin’s house – er, the Meetin’ House, rather.
“That’s when folk started t’ gossip.”
“Higglin and Baella heard these rumors o’course, but for a time they ignored ‘em. Their mother heard the rumors, too. She didn’t know what to think at first, I reckon, but bein’ a wise old lady, she accepted it for what it was: that is, not a problem. Matter o’ fact, Raella made no mention of the supposed scandal at all other than tellin’ her daughter to quit lendin’ herself to the men who came t’ the Groghouse and t’ tend to the bar instead.”
“T’was at a town meetin’ that those rumors finally grew fangs. Higglin had just introduced a new plan. ‘I proposed t’ let outlanders enter Highhold free of charge,’ he recanted, ‘and to let them stay for a reasonable price. Then, we’d toll ‘em if they plan on exiting the opposite way from which they came. I thought it would get more folk comin’ to see what our bridge was all ‘bout and it wouldn’t dissuade’m from takin’ refuge in the winter gales.’
“A lot of folk don’t like the sound o’ change when they first hear it, and the folk o’ Highhold were no different. So, as ye may guess, this plan – a plan that threatened the quaint lil’ lives those Highholders were living – was berated straight away. They thought that it would allow too many outlanders through the town, and that those outlanders would make a downright mess out o’ the town’s lov’ly quietude.
“That, however, was the point. Highhold was runnin’ out of funds – the man and the town both. I mean, Higglin did still have a goodly sum o’ marks, but he saw that they weren’t amassin’, and bein’ the smart fellow he was, he wanted t’ change that before it became too late. More outlanders meant more trade and potentially more tolls, so ‘openin the gates’ t’ all comers seemed like the best courses o’ action t’take.
“The guards, those incompetents who had twice denied their own lord speedy access through the town gates, put up the biggest fight, and when it became clear that Higglin’ wasn’t gonna budge, it was they who went on the offensive, sayin’ that it was all the ‘whore’s idea’. Higglin did his best to ignore that attack because he knew they were try’na bait him, but then one o’ them started spoutin’ shite, sayin’;
“His sister, bein’ the whore she is, wants as many men as possible comin’ in t’use ‘er ‘wy’ Higgy here watches.”
“Understandably, Higglin began t’get a tad miffed. He tried explanin’ again, sayin’ that if the Hold was more welcomin’ t’ outlanders, they’d bring in a lot more marks and a lot more trade – the sort o’ things that maintain the bridges, roads, and walls and that keeps food in everyun’s bellies… But t’that one o’ the guardsmen went on t’ask;
“‘Is that what happened with Baella? You welcomed her into yer home, so she gave ye a taste o’ HER trade?’
“And it only got worse from there. In the followin’ meetings, those folk ridiculed Higglin to no end. The people of Highhold are known for that—for spoutin’ the first things that come to their heads. It’s prob’ly why they live for so bloody long. Well…aside from the few driven off the Bloodboulder Span because o’ it.
“Either way. It was in the fourth or fith meetin’ after – still discussin’ the ‘new’ plan, o’course – that Higglin went and uttered somethin’ that really set the trigger. Don’t know what it was he said, but it was right round then, that the term ‘sister-fucker’ first got thrown at ‘im.”
“Ways, Hat!” Bakkan squinted in the big man’s direction, to which he could almost see the fellow shrug, “Story’s a story, mate. We’ve come too far t’ omit a single detail, and it’d do Higglin an injustice t’ try.
“More meetin’s followed, along with more insults, and like even the hardest o’ stones, poor Higglin weathered away beneath those sallies. The Nothinger began to appear once again, and this time it straight up hounded him.
“When he woke in the mornin’ – in bed with Baella and worries already goin’ through his head – it was there, whisperin’ through its ghastly teeth; “nooothing…” When he was cookin’ with his woman, it was in the pantry when he opened it – eyeless face peerin’ out at him and mouth ever-murmurin’. When he was herdin’ sheep, it walked right ‘longside him – slender legs, ganglin’ arms, and all – utterin’ the same word o’er and o’er again. And most certainly it arrived at meetings, walkin’ behind every single individual who was present and proddin’ them with its bony fingers – unbeknownst tothe attendees, apparently – saying again and again that word;
‘Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.’
“Those were the hardest times for ole Higglin. Folk would pick on him, and he couldn’t even attempt to form a proper riposte ‘cause the Nothinger was drivin’ him t’ distraction. Only his beloved Baella saw the stress he was under, and she did her best t’ alleviate it in oh-so-many ways. He wasn’t t’be helped, though.
“‘I snapped at her,’ Hig admitted t’me, ‘I snapped at her because she was the only one I could hurt.’
“Baella went back to livin’ with her mother in the Groghouse after that, and understandably, without her strength to aid him, Higglin only grew worse. He ceased showin’ up for meetings, he stopped his cooking, and he didn’t even tend the goats. Fortunately, the lil’ buggers are tough, and he only lost a couple in that span o’ time due to their bein’ left out for the tigers at night.
“‘My life had lost all joy’, he told me, ‘and it was all because of the phantom that followed me, whispering – shouting – into my ear.’
“Finally, the time came for an end. I think we both know what I mean. Higglin got up out of bed one morning… to the ‘nothings’ of the Nothinger, of course. He didn’t eat, he didn’t stop for a glass o’ water, he didn’t let water. Hells, he didn’t even put on his shoes. He just plain walked out into Highhold wearin’ nothin’ more than his undergarments – a feat of great strength or of a manic will, considerin’ that there was a full-blown blizzard in effect.
“And so, he strode north along Highhold’s thoroughfare, the snow flurryin’ coldly about him. Through the buildin’ drifts, he trudged, passin’ the ‘Stitch and Solder’, passin’ the ‘Grand Traveler’s Emporium’, and aye, passin’‘Ghuldy’s Groghouse’ where his step faltered for but the slightest of moments before ‘e continued on.
“Oh, and of course, he shambled right by the barracks with not one guard seein’ him – the useless lot – and there, he heaved and hoved at the town gate ’til it gave way, groanin’ open just enough for Hig t’ pass through. Two things greeted him on the other side. The first was a blast o’ freezing air that knocked a bit o’ sense into his fevered mind. And the second? His Nothinger. The white specter held its arms outspread in a gesture o’ welcome, and its teeth were bared in a vicious smile. ‘Appeared the herald of Winter ‘erself ,’ Higglin told me, ‘…excludin’ the crimson of its wide, thin lips.’
“As the blizzard assaulted ‘im with it’s mightiest might, so too did the word. We know the one. It whistled and it roared in Higglin’s ears, near freezin’ him on the spot where not even the blizzard had succeeded. He steeled his will, though, and lurched forward, venturin’ straight to the Nothinger who commenced t’lead him to the bridge’s edge.
‘And that was a sight t’behold’, he told me, ‘white t’ all sides – even below – obscured by winter mist and fallin’ snow.’
“Nothing!”
“The thing startled him from his wonderment, and to it, he finally spoke, or shouted, on account o’ the storm’s ferocity.
“‘Who are you?’ Higglin cried, ‘What are you?’
“Y’can guess the answer.
“‘Please,’ he begged, ‘Tell me what you want.’
“‘Nooothing….”
“‘Leave me be, then,’ he roared at the thing, to which it only reached toward him and wrapped its long sinewy claws ‘round his arm.
‘Leave me be,’ he cried once more, tryin’ to rip his arm away from those bestial claws. The Nothinger’s grasp was strong, though – terrifyingly so – and it drew him ever nearer to the bridge’s edge. Higglin’ protested and struggled with all his might, for somewhere in his depths, he’d found the will t’ live. As they reached the bridge’s very brink, Higglin’ was becomin’ desperate. He pleaded with the Nothinger once more – or ‘begged it’, he told me, ‘What do you want from me? What would y’ have me do?’
“‘Nothing,’ another voice answered – this one sweet and filled with tears, ‘Nothing, Higglin, nothing.’
“The fearsome, frigid grip on his right arm suddenly vanished as a soft, warm hand clasped his left. Higglin looked in the direction and found ‘er. Baella.
“‘Do nothing, Hig,” she implored in ‘er soft voice, “Please. Don’t you see? That’s why it came for you; your Nothinger. It wanted to teach you, to show you. What folk are sayin’, what they expect of you, what you expect of yourself… none of it matters. All that matters if that you give yourself a bit of peace every once in a while. A bit of nothing. Please, Higglin. Do nothing… Do nothing and come back with me into the warm.”
“And for per’aps the first time in his life, Higglin did just that.
“Higglin never saw the Nothinger again, and to this day, he remains the Lord of Highhold. Needless t’say, he’s learned a lot since that blizzardy morn on Bloodboulder Span. He told me that people – includin’ himself – make a lot more sense when y’know they act under a trifecta o’ constraints: comfort, family, n’ tradition.
“‘There’s a problem with that, though’, he explained t’me, ‘From youth, we’re trained to succeed and to improve – all accordin’ to our parents’ sights. They, in turn, were bred and trained the same, as were their parents and grand parents before ‘em and so on and so forth. But think on that for a moment. Think. If each generation is performin’ such mighty feats, and reenacting such grand traditions – ALL of which are carried on to the next generation – what’s gonna happen?’”
Hattun paused, and Bakkan realized that the big man actually meant for him to try and answer the question. Fortunately, Hat was not one for waiting;
“I tell ye what’s gonna happen, Bak. It’s akin t’ building a pyramid. Nay, It’s worse n’ that. It’s akin t’ stackin’ barrels o’ oufs. Oufs are monkeys, by the way… and monkeys, if ye’ve never ‘eard o’ them, are basically rambunctious humans with long, limber tails and hair all over. Either way, with each generation, the tower grows taller – invention and innovation climbin’ and climbin’ ‘til it reaches such a teeterin’ point where even the slightest bit o’ movement from the uppermost tenants threatens t’ topple the whole thing over.
“Ole Hig’ was the one t’ finally do just that. He married Baella, the town’s brothel-keeper these days I do b’lieve and, yes, his barren surrogate sister. But it was a perfect match. In marryin’ her, he broke himself out the barrel, and then smashed the rest o’ the Highhold ‘monkey tower’ to such smithereens that no one, not even himself, would ever be able to piece it back together again.
“Aye. Today, Higglin Highhold is the last o’ his line, and now, I have no doubt, the happiest.”