Secunda

By Joanne Kwan

Patience Firmin has grown accustomed to her own company after her parents' passing. But one day, after a seemingly innocuous delivery, she becomes the host to a monstrous parasitic skull that needs her body to live. Somehow, despite this disruption to her normal life, Pati

• Language: English
• Publisher: Just Rendered Knowledge Press
• Release date: Dec 15, 2020
• ISBN: 9781736004210

Book preview

Secunda

Strange Taxonomy ~ Book One

Secunda

Joanne Kwan

Just Rendered Knowledge Press — California

While this story is based on turn-of-the-century, historical America, all of the characters and places are either products of the author’s imagination or presented as fictionalized counterparts to their real-life inspirations.

As this is a work of fiction, the actions of the characters in this story do not necessarily reflect what the author would condone or encourage in real-life.

Copyright © 2020 Joanne Kwan

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

First Printing, 2020

ISBN 978-1-7360042-1-0

Cover and Interior Design by Joanne Kwan

Cover Illustration by Joanne Kwan

Collage elements sourced from works in the public domain:

Brooke, Leslie L. The Story of the Three Little Pigs. London: Frederick Warne & Company, 1904

Burgess, Thornton W. The Tale of Peter Rabbit. Boston: Little, Brown & Company, 1919

Crane, Walter. Baby’s Own Aesop. London: George Routledge & Sons. 1887

Sidney, Margaret. Ballad of the Lost Hare. Boston: D. Lothrop & Company, 1882

For myself,

because writing this book saved me

from creative and mental burnout.

You’ll get your dedication

later, Trevor

Contents

One ~ The Box

Two ~ Anax

Three ~ Keaton

Four ~ The Bath

Five ~ Incendiary

Six ~ Bereft

Seven ~ Bleed

Eight ~ The Spring Festival

Nine ~ Schuler

Eleven ~ Disclosure

Twelve ~ Cemetery

Thirteen ~ Departure

Fourteen ~ The Witches

Fifteen ~ The Hunter

Sixteen ~ Parley

Seventeen ~ Valon

Eighteen ~ Return Home

Nineteen ~ Haverston

Twenty ~ Origins

Twenty-one ~ The Plan

Twenty-two ~ The Witch Market

Twenty-three ~ New Amstel

Twenty-four ~ The Museum

Twenty-five ~ A Day Out

Twenty-six ~ Iasis

Twenty-seven ~ Farewell

Twenty-eight ~ Fever

Twenty-nine ~ Life-Donor

Thirty ~ Bedmates

Thirty-one ~ Proposal

Thirty-two ~ Together As One

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

About the Author

One ~ The Box

The bitter grasp of winter still clung to the early spring mornings. However, each new day saw its grip weakened. In the dim light of the modest kitchen, Patience sat close to the burning stove, warding off the cold. She rubbed her button nose, leaving thin streaks of moisture on her fingers. Above her, next to the stovepipe, was a small nest seated on a ledge. It cradled a robin eternally resting in dried grass and mud.

Patience mumbled to it, Oh, I’ve neglected to dust you for a while.

Unlike the robin in the kitchen, live birds twittered outside, their songs joined by clucks from the hens in the garden. They went about their business despite losing their patriarch a week before. The old rooster had survived the winter, stubbornly holding out to pass during a milder time. Patience felt guilty for enjoying the absence of her usual morning alarm, but waking up naturally to the sun warming her face was a treat.

Tiny bubbles drifted to the surface of a pot of water on the verge of boiling. Two eggs rested in a bowl on the table behind her. It would be a meager breakfast. Patience had run out of bread yesterday, and she did not feel like making more just yet. Other tasks needed addressing first. She had to prepare and seed the garden. She had to go into town to sell the fabric dolls she made during the winter. She had to purchase new galoshes, a new rooster, and do a hundred other things. She might as well buy a loaf or two at the bakery since they usually tasted better than hers anyway.

The dread of going to town began to creep into her chest before a knock on the door brought her back to the present. Patience stood up with a start. Visitors never came this early. Visitors never came.

She gazed across the kitchen to the entrance. Who could that be at this time?

Patience had a habit of making quips to herself. The sound of her voice helped to fill her empty home. And while in years past the cottage was a bit livelier, it rarely received house calls.

She approached the front door with hesitant steps. Her stiff fingers wrapped around the knob and turned. The door creaked open. As she blinked back the bright sun, a face came into focus.

Good morning. I have a delivery for Patience Firmin.

The very same, said the girl. She rarely received packages, so she was always amused whenever something would come, even if she herself ordered an item from the stores in town.

The courier gave a timid smile and fumbled with his ledger. Patience wondered if he was caught off guard by her scarred head. The left half of her scalp had been burned in a fire as an infant, resulting in uneven, discolored skin. Unfortunately, the large patch was free for the whole world to see as it was barren. There were no switches of false hair thick or long enough to hide it, none smooth enough to dulcify its irritable tendencies.

Patience kept the hair on her right side braided tightly along the base of her scalp to limit it from interfering with her old, sensitive burn. The bristled end of her deep umber hair shot out to the left like a crooked groundhog tail, leaving her coiffure asymmetrical and unfashionable. Worst of all, appearance aside, pain still clawed across her scalp at times.

The girl smoothed loose strands of hair from her eye as the courier found the correct page. She exchanged a signature in the receipt book for the wooden box he carried. With the package now off his hands, the young man tipped his hat and returned to his motorcar parked neatly on the side of the road. She watched him trek through the flower garden, making sure he stayed on the cobbled path.

When he drove away, Patience peered at the box by her feet. She did not recall ordering anything. It was rather large; on the ground it came up to her knee. She crouched down to lift it. Despite its size, the box was not heavy at all, further stoking her curiosity. Then she remembered the water on the stove.

Once settled back in the kitchen, Patience devoured the hard-boiled eggs before she turned her attention to the box which now occupied the space between the table and stove. While the eggs had been boiling, she had retrieved a crowbar from the shed at the back of the house. Patience licked her lips clean as she hefted the tool in her hand.

Well, here it goes.

The metal wedged into the wood, prying the box open. Nails bared in the dim light like fangs. The lid flopped over with a crunch of splinters. Inside was a nest of shredded paper, wood shavings, and a card half-buried in the pile. Patience took it in her hands and read.

‘Dear Patience, I came across this specimen whilst traveling through Vyugary and thought it the perfect gift for your twenty-fifth birthday. Perhaps you can add it to your collection. The locals said it belongs to a rare beast, a legend of some sort. Even if it is a facsimile, I’m sure you’ll enjoy it. Wishing you good health, a very happy belated birthday, and all the best. Leland Unger’ … Patience mused out loud, Unger … Oh, Uncle Lung! Hm, still traveling at your age. Commendable! How sweet of him to think of her.

She thought back to the elderly man who was an uncle solely by familial association; he had been dear friends with her late father. As a small child, she garbled his name, but he had happily accepted it. She was never sure of his occupation, and only knew that he traveled the world and had strong connections to anthropologists, archaeologists, and naturalists. Patience had not seen him in years and last heard from him via a letter paired with a delivery of flowers after her mother’s wake four years prior.

Patience’s grin widened. Hm, a rare beast? Whatever did he get me?

Uncle Lung knew of her proclivities, and Patience was certain her father had kept him up to date with her interests. From the time she could walk, she grabbed hold of feathers, leaves, rocks, or any sort of natural object that intrigued her. Her fascination simply grew from there. Now a young adult, she had amassed a nice collection, not even counting the specimens from her other hobby.

Patience dove into the box, feeling for the prize it hid. Excitement thrummed through her body as her fingers came upon a cool, hard surface. In a flurry of wood shavings, she lifted the specimen out. She gasped.

Wide, vacant eye sockets stared at her. They flanked a long, smooth snout devoid of a nasal cavity. Two large canines splayed away from the other four front teeth, the only teeth present in the top half of the skull. Attached to the top skull by some strange ligament were mandibles. They were the creature’s unfused jaw, much like that of a snake, except these each ended with a long, solitary, pointed tooth. If the shape of the skull was not strange enough, the entire thing was a rich, dark, chestnut brown with a subtle iridescent sheen.

A skull! Amazing! Patience gushed. She tilted the specimen around, inspecting every inch. This thing is massive! But so light. She moved the bottom mandibles up and down. How odd that the ligament is still intact.

She ran her hands all over the skull. At the back was a large fracture that appeared to have weathered down over time, the sole imperfection she could spot. The entire surface was unnaturally smooth, only the ligament felt similar to a flap of tough leather. It was unlike anything she had ever seen. Aside from a few subtle notches and nodes on the underside, the skull was completely concave and seemed more like a mask carved by some primitive tribe.

Patience paused and evaluated its size once again. Bet I could fit it on my head.

She smirked and glanced over her shoulder. Of course, there was no one around to pass judgment. With a sharp exhale, Patience lifted the monstrous skull and placed it over her head.

A jolt shot through her neck. She panicked and brought a hand to her braid. For a moment, she thought her burn was acting up, but she had never felt such a twinge. The sensation had gone as quickly as it struck. Patience calmed herself and angled her head around with its new, strange helm. She could see through the skull’s eye sockets. However, she could not see the fine mist that began to trickle out the back of the skull.

Incredible! I can see through. Well, not well enough. I’d still have to take it off while sewing. Wait, why would I do anything with this on? Patience chuckled and reached to take the skull off.

Something stopped her wrists in place.

She froze.

Her gaze inched over to her arms. Snaked around them were thick, smoking tendrils.

Wh-WHAT IN THE NAME OF HELL—

Let’s not do that right now.

Patience yelped, eyes darting back and forth. Wh—who’s there? she hollered.

I am Anax, hissed the voice, sending shivers down her spine.

It came from nowhere and everywhere. This voice with an unearthly timbre crept in from behind, tingling and pricking its way to her temples. It was searing. She shuddered.

W-what? If the voice was not enough, the sound of Patience’s own blood pumping blasted her ears. Her eyes could open no wider.

The cold weight of muscled arms tightened over her chest. You’re all mine now!

Patience screamed, and fainted.

Two ~ Anax

Fingers kneaded into soft fabric, tracing over stitches running along worn cotton. Eyes slowly fluttered open to view a blank ceiling. Only it seemed distant, as if peering up at the sky from the bottom of a well. Patience’s hands blindly searched beside her. She was atop her quilt. She was on her bed. She distinctly remembered being in the kitchen.

Patience scrambled to sit up. A cold, rigid form glanced off her chest. The skull was still on her head. Her stomach twisted to still her. Taking deep breaths, she attempted to remove the skeletal helm once more. And just as before, cloudy tendrils shot around her arms to thwart its removal. It had not been a dream.

This can’t be! she cried, face wrenching in distress.

The voice rammed through her head. What do you think you’re doing? Take me off and I’m an inanimate object once more!

Oh, really? What an excellent idea! shouted Patience.

She pulled at the skull again, this time stopped by fully formed arms. At the end of the arms were large hands. At the end of the hands were sharp claws. The girl whimpered. She was nowhere near strong enough to wrestle free from this thing’s grasp.

We are tethered now, it chortled darkly.

Defeated, tears began to well in Patience’s eyes. She flung herself back onto her quilt. This cannot be real …

Oh, but it is! And I have fortune to thank! sang the skull.

Patience gripped the corner of her pillow, desperately clinging to the familiar object. In the face of this monster, she was still home at least. This was her territory. And somehow the creature took her to her personal sanctum.

How did I get back in my room? Patience asked, voice wavering.

I carried you. No good resting on the kitchen floor. This time its voice flowed more mildly around her. It seemed to have been shouting before.

You carried me?

I caught you as you fell off the chair in the kitchen. I then brought you here.

Patience’s stomach dropped. She sat up in her bed, prompted by some ancient instinct triggered by the presence of unknowable danger. She pressed a hand to her chest to meet the furious drumming of her heart. A skull that talked was unsettling enough, and one that sprouted tentacles of smoke was quite jarring. But one that could carry a grown person to bed was something more disconcerting, more threatening.

Taking a few deep breaths, Patience balled her fists. One always approached wild animals with caution. She would have to do the same. The advantage she had in this case was that she could speak to it, she could learn from it. Without many other options, Patience decided to establish a rapport with this creature for the time being.

How did you carry me? she asked.

I formed a body.

Similar to how you formed those coils around my arms?

Yes.

Patience balked. She had seen a witch shape-shift once at an exhibition, but this thing now surrounding her was something else entirely. The witch had shifted into an owl. It was quite wondrous, but she had seen an owl before. This creature could form into things she had never laid eyes upon or knew existed. Genuine curiosity bubbled now.

How is your body this way?

See that fly over there? With a firm grasp around the back of her neck, it forced her head to focus on the insect cleaning itself on the windowsill. What do you suppose is inside it? Bone? Like you? No.

A fist formed and smashed the fly in a blink. The girl gaped.

Nothing but liquid and guts. You see, its skeleton is on the outside. This is the way my kind are.

Then … this mist around me that you use to form a body is your insides?

Yes. But unlike insects we can harden and reform it at will—well, once our external bodies are destroyed.

What happened to yours?

Something awful. My body was shattered. So my insides sucked themselves up into my skull, which was luckily intact, and I waited.

And you needed a living being to reform again?

Only a living thing can spark our second life. We need to share the fire of life from our donor to exist in this state.

Patience breathed a slight sigh of relief. If the creature needed her to survive, it was unlikely there would be immediate danger to her health. Her father had taught her about a number of parasites; some lived peacefully with their hosts, others ravaged the host’s bodies, and yet others did both at different stages in their life cycle. She wondered which of these categories the skull fit, yet she also feared to learn the answer.

Wh-what kind of creature are you?

I am unsure if your people have a name for my kind. The ones from my home region certainly, but you …

Her voice cracked. How are you speaking my language?

Simple, with the connection to you—I’m sure you felt it when I established it, I absorb many things you know, including the tongue you speak. I don’t know everything, but a good chunk of it.

Patience flushed. She did not want this ghastly creature rummaging around her mind. A lady was due some privacy. I’d rather not have an intrusive skull going about my thoughts, thank you.

I have a name. I have an identity, it said, voice rising. The back of Patience’s neck tingled.

Sorry I wasn’t really paying attention when I had a disembodied voice yelling at me!

Without warning the mist spread over her body and pushed her into the bed with the weight of two adults. The air escaped her lungs, leaving her gasping.

It’s Anax. The voice ground into Patience’s temples.

"All right, Anax!" she wheezed. Lifting off her body, the vapor condensed into two arms and gently rested around Patience’s torso, almost in an embrace. Any more outbursts and the girl thought she would die from a heart attack. She would be of no use to Anax then. Patience hoped he had enough foresight to avoid that at the very least.

I won’t harm you. Not much. Not intentionally. So long as I am conscious, I will keep you well, said the skull.

An uneasy peace fell over the two souls. Anax may have been pleased, but all this commotion began to aggravate her scalp. Familiar stings ran across the marred surface, and a dull pain started to well. Patience hissed through her teeth.

Hm? I’m certain I did not press that hard on you to cause pain.

No. It’s my old burn. It hurts at times.

Allow me.

A gentle touch of mist began caressing the scars. A cool vapor spread, flowing between grooves and bumps. Patience was shocked how tenderly Anax moved, and even more surprised that it actually soothed her aching. The rest of his body billowed and spilled over the bed like a rolling fog, the edge lapping the air as flames would. His arms remained wrapped around her. She settled on focusing her breathing, giving herself to the odd, but serene sensations.

Feel better? asked Anax.

Shouldn’t you know? You are in my head.

Not completely. Well, I can be. I can tap into your current thoughts and memories, but as you said, you prefer I not.

That still stands.

Then consider it a grace! Most my kind completely take over their life-donors, absorb their knowledge, and erase their sense of self.

Patience gulped. Y-you can do that to m-me?

It’s more difficult with beings as highly intelligent as humans, but yes. It can and has been done before, he explained nonchalantly.

But you’re not—

I’ve no interest in a total takeover. Humans are quite interesting. I need a teacher, Anax stated in the same tone as one does when giving a disinterested excuse.

Patience’s heart rate reduced to its normal speed at last. She would be safe for now. The girl lay motionless, letting her body sink into the quilt.

Thank you. I am feeling better, she exhaled. The morning had lapsed into midday. She figured this predicament was a valid excuse not to get any work done.

May I go to the kitchen to brew some fresh tea? she asked quietly. I have a special mix that helps my pain.

Very well, said Anax, withdrawing his arms. They lost their shape and melted into the frothing mist.

Patience rose from her bed, Anax falling behind her like some mystical cape. On her way to the kitchen, she noticed a small, white, glowing orb the size of a marble floating over her right eye. It was not in her direct vision but seemed to be centered in the skull’s socket. She wondered if this was the essence of Anax’s eye, however that worked. However he worked. Patience was still baffled by his physiology, but science only explained so much of the world, and with its own systems, magic usually explained the remainder.

You have a large collection of animals and bones.

Patience stopped at the archway to the parlor and gazed at the various mounted birds and small mammals adorning the shelves. A few skeletons stalked among them. They stood guard over the dainty sofa and armchair resting in front of the fireplace.

My father was a taxidermist. Hunters everywhere gave him their trophies to immortalize. She smiled fondly. He sought to capture the essence of life. But I think there is beauty in death. I liked mounting the skeletons, so delicate, all underneath skin and muscle …

Patience groaned at the wooden box and shavings scattered over the kitchen floor. Ignoring the mess for now, she went over to the barrel in the corner and filled a kettle with water. The barrel was getting low. It would need a refill soon from the water pump outside. That could wait another day. Patience lit the stove once again. She took out a tin from a cupboard and sprinkled a pinch of its contents into a cup.

Patience … that is your name? asked Anax, moving to an entirely new topic.

The girl glanced to her side and saw that he held Unger’s letter in a clawed hand. Surprise almost grappled her mind, but she concluded it was their link that granted him literacy.

Yes.

What kind of name is that? Patience? It’s a word in your language.

Patience pursed her lips. It had been many years since she spoke of this. You see, my parents had wanted children for a long time. She touched the handle of the cup, her mother’s favorite one. "It wasn’t until the night my father rescued me as a baby from a fire that their wish finally came true.

On his way home from an engagement in the city, he passed by a burning house. I was lucky, they said. It seemed someone rolled me out of the blazing building onto the lawn. Only my scalp couldn’t escape a small piece of fiery debris that landed near me. A sad smile crossed the girl’s lips. The authorities presumed my birth family died in that fire and there were no county records of who lived there, so they let my father keep me. Pensively, her finger stroked the smooth glaze.

The story never lost its folkloric charm for Patience. And like most folktales, it elevated its characters to near-legendary status. She enjoyed sharing her origin if it meant her parents could live on in some way.

Quite a story.

I suppose so, Patience sighed. Blessed with a child at last, my parents named me after their greatest virtue.

It may have been the dull pain swaying her rationale, but for now they were inseparable, so she might as well learn a bit about this creature on a personal level. He did help her feel better after all.

How did you get your name, then? Does ‘Anax’ mean anything?

My father named me. It’s from an ancient tongue. It means ‘leader’.

Were you meant to lead?

He only hoped. It’s tradition my kind name their young after qualities they wish them to develop.

That’s quite a lot to live up to.

Anax remained silent. Patience wondered if she should have retracted her last statement. Then she considered whether she should care about this thing’s feelings at all. So long as he was not angry. So long as he was not yelling in her head.

The fervent bubbling of boiling water called her attention. Patience took the kettle off the stove and filled her cup. She brought the tea to her nose, inhaling the steam and its woody aroma. Making her way to the parlor, Patience nodded her head in the direction of the little side table between the sofa and armchair.

There’s a photograph of my parents and me when I was a toddler.

Anax extended a couple of tendrils and gingerly picked up the carved frame sitting by a book and an empty candy dish. He brought it in front of their eyes. It had been a while since the girl looked at this photo. Two austere faces peered up at them. On the left was Patience’s father, his receding hair a shade lighter than his bushy eyebrows. A mustache held fast to his wrinkled lip, refusing to wane with age. On the right was Patience’s mother, tidy curls pinned to the side of her head, the neatest she had ever seen it. Her mouth, flanked by deep lines, was set far back in her face. Between them rested a round, wide-eyed child glancing off to the side. The deformed skin of her scar was painfully apparent even in this sepia image.

They seem a fine couple, said Anax. They have passed on?

Yes.

Anax slowly returned the photograph to the side table, setting it down with great care. Patience issued a crooked smile even though she was sure he could not view it. She appreciated that he asked no further about their passing. Patience flashed the photo one final look before she nestled into the sofa and pulled a throw around herself.

Lifting the cup under the skull to her mouth, she realized how fortunate it was that Anax’s bottom jaw was unfused. She could still eat and drink with relative ease at least. Experience had taught Patience to be grateful for the small things. What the future held for her relationship with this beast was unknown. So she counted the present’s positive offerings in her head: the company, the additional help when swayed. Thus, Patience sat in the center of an audience of long passed beasts, wearing the head of a creature with a second lease on life, pondering what the next day would bestow upon her.

Three ~ Keaton

The new morning saw Patience awaken in good spirits despite the giant skull. Anax had cradled her head through the entire evening and she did not rise with the neck pain she expected. She could have been sleeping on a cloud for all she knew, which, given the state of Anax’s body, was an apt comparison. It had not been an unpleasant night with the creature.

It had been a little strange changing into her nightgown, however. Anax had made some remarks about humans needing clothing for protection, but it was no more awkward than undressing in front of a cat or dog. Fortunately, the gown’s collar was wide enough to slip over the skeletal helm. The only sourness during the previous evening was wrestling with the decision whether to go into town in the morning or not. She could not put off restocking the essentials after winter. It would be best to simply get the trip over with.

Patience fixed herself in front of the tall mirror in the hall. Her honey eyes traced the edge of the skull that seemed to fuse into her dark locks. She lifted the straps of her chemise and tucked them under the short-cinched sleeves of her off-shoulder blouse. For a young woman accustomed to working the garden and skinning animals, layered dresses were wholly impractical. They would be ruined after a week in the Firmin household. Her hands smoothed over the legs of her pantaloons, which had the town talking long before. Though now she grimaced over how the skull would be received.

She surmised it would not be completely far-fetched for her to appear at the store with a skull on her head. Most people who knew of her could opine this was a natural progression of her fascination with skeletons. Some might conclude she was a witch all along. They were often seen wearing outlandish garments, adorning their heads with unconventional decorations, some macabre. Anax would fit right in with their aesthetics.

Witches were not entirely uncommon in the area. Many passed through town on their way elsewhere and occasionally peddled their wares from carts. Regardless of the town’s familiarity with witches, hushed rumors were already spread about Patience. She might as well continue on with her day’s plans.

She could pretend Anax was not on her head at all. This would be like any other day. If she did not pay it any mind, perhaps other people would follow suit, or at least refrain from asking what it was. Obviously, it was a skull. That was all.

Outside, the sun beamed brightly. Despite the optimistic weather, Patience uttered an embittered sigh.

What’s the matter? asked Anax.

People know me in town. They’ll talk, Patience grumbled, unconsciously touching her hand to Anax’s jaw.

Why? asked Anax.

People—who aren’t witches—are rarely seen wearing face coverings—at least here where I live. And the majority of people in this country prefer that others abide by their conventional dress codes and behaviors.

And if you don’t abide by convention?

Other people will treat you differently, more often than not in a negative manner. I don’t think wearing a skull will inspire admiration and comfort among my peers.

Let them fear you, said Anax. My kind praise ferocity and intimidation.

People had feared witches once, and some still to this day. For Patience, however, their practices held a certain mystique. She wondered if witches had a solution to get the skull off her head. Force seemed out of the question. To her knowledge, Anax did not sleep either, so the girl failed to imagine how he could be subdued. Then again, she pondered how many people in the world knew of the true nature of whatever Anax was. Or how many of those people could be found here across the vast ocean far away from Vyugary and his homeland. She would have to endure her time with him.

Patience drooped and pulled on her boots. By the front door, she had placed earlier a flour sack full of dolls and stuffed animals she had sewn during the winter. Anax formed an arm and inspected them. They were all fairly primitive and made mostly from scrap fabric and old stray buttons, but there was a certain appeal to them. A few of the cloth girls had fine designs embroidered on their smocks. Some of the animals had stitches to suggest hair and fur. Each expressed a bit of the care put into making them.

Toys …

My way of earning a bit of money, said Patience, tucking a coin purse into her pocket. She smiled to herself. I never was the best at stuffing real animals, so I thought I’d stuff fake ones.

And the little people? Did your father stuff real humans?

Patience burst out laughing. She continued to chuckle out the door with the sack in tow. Parked next to the water pump was a wooden wagon. The girl set the flour sack atop a bed of smaller cloth sacks lining the bottom.

She pulled the cart into motion up the path and onto the road. Many years before, she could barely lug the thing without breaking into a sweat. But once she took the mantle of bearing physical burdens for her aging parents, the duties strengthened her muscles. Eventually the amount of labor Patience met daily rendered even full loads into simple inconveniences.

A cool breeze swirled around them, picking up the folds of Patience’s baggy pantaloons and blouse. The sky had clouded over from earlier. She rubbed her arm with her free hand, cursing the weather for being so capricious and for fooling her into foregoing a jacket.

Cold? asked Anax.

Patience sniffed. I’ll warm up after a bit of walking.

I’m sorry I can’t do much for you. My second body does not retain heat very well.

It’s all right.

Patience was surprised he cared about something so insignificant. It warmed her heart a little. Too many years had passed since anyone expressed concern over her. Condolences were easy to offer at a funeral, but not everyone asked if they could do anything for an individual at any given time of day.

Can other people hear you speak? Or have I been talking to myself all this time? mused Patience, feet falling lightly upon the dirt road.

Yes, others can hear me.

Silence in close proximity to people, then. You can’t say anything unless I address you directly. And you can’t form your mist or any limbs. I don’t need more attention drawn to me.

Understood.

Relief washed over her. Anax was much less abrasive at the moment. Perhaps he was just excited to see the new sights. The floating orb of his eye lazily bobbed around her right temple. Every so often, she felt misty tendrils nudge her head a hair to the side, most likely to get a better view of something. She did not ask about it and accepted it; the motions were benign enough.

The pair passed by fields and copses of trees flanking the road. Sprays of budding greenery flocked the landscape. The girl and the skull strolled by more and more houses until the homes condensed into proper neighborhoods. A handful of people worked on their gardens and exteriors, repairing winter’s damage. They stared of course, but quickly returned to their work without a remark.

The road then whipped into shape, becoming less windy with fewer bumps and holes. It led them across a small wooden bridge straddling a gushing stream. At last after nearly an hour had passed from the time Patience left home, the ruddy brick buildings of the town of Keaton came into view.

People bustled about with arms full of goods while dodging carriages and cyclists in the streets. The rare motorcar occasionally passed by with rapturous rattling. Patience approached the thickening crowd without haste, apprehension locking her muscles. Anax’s white orb skittered around the eye socket, taking in all the hubbub. She wondered if he was enjoying himself. More side-glances passed her way, but nothing worse than that yet.

First, Patience stopped by the dressmakers to offload her handiwork. The owner and head seamstress, Mrs. Laurence, was kind enough to let Patience sell her dolls in her store. The women who stopped by for clothing often purchased a cloth doll or animal for their children. Customers found it quite charming to