The Jack of Souls (Multi-award winner!)

Chapter 19 - Father Kogan's Hidey Hole

Let none of you worship or pray gods for favors,

Nor bow down to high lords among you.

Neither rely you on magic,

And you shall be strong.

 — The Blessing of Arkus

Chapter Nineteen

Kogan saw the farmer from across a field of oats, and set out for him at a trot down a well-trod path between the furrows, clutching the Phyros ax beneath its massive head. The man saw him and stopped outside the front door of a small log farm house, tilting his leather hat back to watch the priest's approach.

"I need a place to hide, brother," Kogan said when he reached him, panting. "Crossing your fields. I seen the collar on your scarecrow, and knowed you was friendly to the cause o' freedom." Kogan pulled aside his hedge of beard to expose the forged iron collar of his calling. "Father Kogan's the name."

The farmer doffed his hat and nodded his respect. "Name's Miles," he said. "We owes everything to Father Oren. He run us out three year gone, and helped dig our first cellar, too. Be a right shame if I didn't help ye now. What's chasing ye?"

"Westie knights." Kogan spat.

 "Don't surprise me none. Heard the horns all morning. They seen ye?"

"Not as I think."

"They got scent-dogs?"

"None as I heard."

The farmer gave a sly grin. "Not that they'd need 'em. Father Oren weren't much for bathing neither." Before Kogan could regain enough breath to object, Miles turned into the house. "Step inside, Father. We'll hide you in the old root cellar."

Kogan followed, ducking low beneath the door frame, and once inside stood tall amidst log rafters and the scent of new-baked bread. His stomach growled so loud it startled the farmer. "Mighty obliged, brother. But a cellar's the first place they'll look."

"We got two cellars. Old one went sour last spring, so we dug a new. We'll let 'em search the fresh one and they'll never guess we got another."

Kogan glanced back through the door and across the hay field, where the lance pennons of his pursuers bobbed beyond a distant rise. "Let's see it," he said.

"Help me move this table, Father. It's right under."

Together they moved a massive log table across the plank floor. The farmer swept the rag rug aside that hid a trap door sealed with tar.

"Puttied her with tar to keep the stink in."

Kogan frowned. "Can a man breathe in that hole?"

"I reckon you could, Father." The yeoman grinned.

"Now, hold on there! Just cause a man don't bathe don't mean he like the smell o' shit." Kogan frowned as he dug the hand-ring from its recess in the door, and yanked. "Unless it's his own shit, a'course. But everyone likes that."

The door swung up, stretching and tearing the tar seal at the edges. A smell like soured cream and compost wafted out. Below, the hole was deep and wide, and every visible surface — including the underside of the door — was covered in thick sheets of downy fungus, white as snow.

Kogan peered in doubtfully. "You don't got a third cellar?"

"No, Father. But get in quick. I can hear the hoofs now."

A horn sounded brightly in the fields. The tune was Hang High, Father, which gave Kogan visions of ramming trumpets up the arses of the squires who played it.

"Quick, Father, so I can get the table back!"

"I'll be found out if my belly growls like that again. Best you give me a loaf or two to quiet her."

The yeoman scrambled and fetched a loaf and tossed it down the hatch. "There!"

"That weren't but a crumb for a man my size!"

"Blast it, Father, if ye get us found out — "

"Just toss another," Kogan said, dropping his ax into the hole, and placing a bare foot on the first step. The step folded like paper beneath his weight, and he fell like a stone through the rest of the treads to the bottom.

"Sit tight now, Father," Miles said, an edge of panic in his voice. "Quit your cursing or they'll hear ye sure."

Fear in the man's voice made Kogan bite his tongue. The trap door slammed, engulfing him in darkness. He wrestled free of the wooden wreckage, and located the loaf flattened beneath him, now slippery with sour-smelling fungus.

"Coulda done with another loaf!" he shouted.

*************************************

Thanks for reading!

-- If you liked this chapter, please tell a friend!

-- And let me know with a comment or vote.

-- Even if you didn't enjoy it, please let me know. That's how I improve! :)

* For JACK OF SOULS news , sign up for the newsletter at stephenmerlino.com. *