Oct 16th (evening): The Trial of Oar Ellis

In the middle of the forest, there is a clearing.  It is filled with a crowd that wears the same stern visage.  The crowd surrounds a hill, as tall as a mountain yet still not as tall as the trees.

On top of the hill, the Tall King takes a seat on a throne woven from black trees.  Before him stands a tiny speck of a man.  Oar Ellis.  The man with the serene smile.  I cannot see his face from here, but I doubt he is smiling now.

From our vantage point at the edge of the crowd, we cannot make out what words, if any, are spoken.  Nobody moves, except for the throne, which writhes as if the tree branches are growing underneath him.  It.  The Tall King leans forward and reaches out a long pale hand with too many fingers and too many joints.  It lays the palm over Oar Ellis' face and wraps slender fingers over his scalp to lay flush against his jaw...

Some instinct makes me look away before the deed is done, but I still hear the wet 'pop' across the clearing as the Tall King crushes Oar Ellis' head like an over-ripe grape.  My hand hurts.  I look down and see that Sam's hand is still in mine.  The Trader's knuckles are grey under dusky skin.  Mine are white; I am sure my grip is no less forceful.

A sudden intake of breath from my companion.  I do not want to look, but I must.

It is a pin-striped suit.  The stripes are thin and ivory, they rise above the material of the suit somewhat, and as my eyes travel higher and I see joints and cracks, I realize the stripes are made of bone.  The suit is not made of material, the Tall King is the suit.  The jacket blends into the shirt, which melds into the tie wrapped around a slim neck and the cold white sun is staring down at me.  His face is the face of the sun and he sees everything.

I clench my eyes shut and wait for the hand to wrap around my skull.  Will it be cold?  Clammy?  Will it burn to the touch?  For a brief moment, I want to ask Oar Ellis if it had the rough texture of bark.

"Your passage was fairly bartered."  The deep thrum of the Bone Men echo around us.  "You may continue along your way."

Some instinct pulls me down into a deep bow, perhaps the self-preservation that Sam so thoroughly ridicules.  When I finally gather the courage to raise my head and open my eyes, the clearing is empty.  Wind tosses a scattering of black leaves across the open space, where they settle on to Oar Ellis' headless corpse for a moment before being swept away again.

Sam has to lead me back the narrow path.  I am struck dumb.  Speechless and sightless, unnerved by the callous violence of recent events.  I have lost two companions in equally brutal and horrifying ways.  For the first time, I truly miss the comforts of home.

I have to wonder if this is all worth it.