The Traveling Tinker

an infernal story

Fien fixed her eyes on the trail ahead as her wagon lumbered along. Going from place to place is what she did. She fancied herself as a gypsy of sorts, but in reality Fien was a tinker, a peddler just like her father before her, and his father before him. If people needed things fixed, she could do it. If they needed a new kettle or shovel, she could sell them one or offer a fair trade. She usually traded in simple, inexpensive things, but sometimes not. She’d worked hard to cobble together a good, simple life, and was respected throughout the valley. Villagers would await her arrival, asking for news of happenings from other villages. Local innkeepers were happy to exchange news for a simple meal, a soft bed and a warm bath, but most nights were spent on the road, camping under the stars, which in her heart was what she preferred.

It had been a long day, and she was ready to set camp for the night, picking a nice open glade just off the road. The sky was without a cloud, so it would be a good night for the stars. She had just set camp and was putting her pot of soup on the campfire when it appeared, literally out of nowhere it seemed. It was badly injured. Its arm hung limp by its side and its left leg dragged along in the dirt as if it were broken. Wearily it looked upon the fire, its breaths coming in gasping intervals. Initially, Fien was startled by its appearance coming out of the bushes as it did, and she tried to ignore it, hoping it would leave. But it didn’t. Instead, it settled across the fire from her periodically looking in her direction as she looked away before making eye contact. It remained by the fire, soaking in the heat, until finally it curled up in a ball and fell asleep. It wasn’t much bigger than a rabbit, but unlike a rabbit, its skin appeared smooth and was the color of burnt wood. Small wisps of smoke blew from its nostrils and floated up past its little cracked horns, which glinted darkly in the moonlight.

The fire flickered as she sat looking at the infernal little thing and momentarily thought of taking the stone that lay next to it and smashing its head, but she dismissed the idea as quickly as it had crept into her mind. She wasn’t the killing type. She was more of a helper, a fixer. That was why she enjoyed her life as a tinker. She looked at its arm and leg and, against her better judgment, she wondered if she could fix it. She laughed a bit to herself at the thought of traveling from village to village with a little infernal creature from the underworld in tow. People would certainly start talking. Some villages might even ban her, or worse, for bringing such a thing into their midst.

Ever since the Reaping began, many villages were looking harshly upon travelers and outsiders. In some instances being outwardly hostile toward them, herself included. In fact, on more than one occasion in recent months, she’d been followed out of town by villagers who demanded their goods or coin back while refusing to return what she’d given in trade. Essentially stealing from her. Her father had taught her that not all deals worked out, and it was best to live to trade another day. Her life was worth more than a shovel or a few coins, so she always acquiesced, but she never forgot. She looked across the fire at it again with a curious glance. She knew it was a preposterous idea, but she couldn’t shake it.

The next morning as she packed up camp, she turned to see it crawling into the back of her wagon and curl up on a tattered old yellow blanket before drifting off to sleep once again. Starting to object, she paused and shrugged her shoulders, kicking dirt on the fire to snuff it out. She’d always had a soft spot for injured creatures, infernal or not. She told herself that she’d help it for a few days, keep it hidden and nurse it back to health. That’s it. Then she’d release it back into the woods or wherever it came from. She pulled the flap down on the back of the wagon, hiding it from sight smiling to herself. It was a good plan, but what she didn’t know then was that it had different plans.

She spent the next few days nursing it back to health and was amazed at how quickly it healed. She watched it in the campfire's light, marveling at how agile it was as it collected firewood, put the kettle on the fire and even secured her horses, Patty and Paul, to the picket line. However, each night, as Fien settled down to sleep, she noticed it would get up and head out into the woods. For what purpose, she didn’t know. Never in any particular direction, but without fail, it would head out each night and each morning it would be back at camp sleeping on the tattered yellow blanket in the wagon.

Even though part of her had enjoyed its company and was getting attached to having it around, she knew it wouldn’t work to keep the infernal little thing as a pet. It was time for it to head back into the wilds. Over the course of the next week, she’d tried many times leaving it behind or dropping it off in the middle of the woods only to find that a short time later it was back sleeping on the tattered yellow blanket in the wagon none the wiser. So, it wasn’t really that she’d decided to keep it. It was more like she couldn’t get rid of it.

A short time later, as if it must have felt her efforts to rid herself of it, it started bringing her offerings, like a cat would bring a mouse to the feet of its owner. Only it didn’t bring mice, it brought little trinkets and baubles like lockets with other people’s pictures in them or timepieces carrying some unknown initials or engravings. She initially ignored them, hiding them safely away in her wagon and hoping that whomever these belonged to would never come looking for them. Still, she couldn’t help but hear the rumors spreading about a new thief in the valley and how things would go missing around the time that Fien had visited. Such rumors clearly were not good for her business and she could no longer ignore the gifts or the little evening excursions it would take, so she’d resolved to step up her efforts to go separate ways with it. However, just as before, everything she tried simply did not work. It was like it was somehow attached to her very soul, delivered to her and only her. She’d started to rue the night she’d decided to help it.

The rumors were taking hold, and some villagers refused to trade with her. Those who did trade were difficult and often more contentious than usual. She feared there was some truth to the rumors which may have to do with her new companion, so she resolved to follow it that night after leaving a small village nestled on the banks of the Atherton River. If her suspicions were confirmed, then she would deal with it and she stowed her dagger in her belt just for that purpose. That evening, she feigned falling asleep. Seeing it move through the shadows and once again leaving camp, she arose quietly, setting off in pursuit. She thought that she’d be following it into the village to see it sneak into houses to steal things, but what she learned was different, much different.

She slinked after it, staying hidden in the shadows, following it and keeping it just on the edge of her sight. It was a shadow moving in the distance among the bushes, cloaked in the darkness of night. When it stopped, she stopped. It paused, pacing around a few hundred yards from her wagon as if it were waiting for something, when finally to Fien’s left she saw them. It was two men from the village. Men she’d traded with earlier in the day. One needed some new pots and had traded his mother’s viola for them, but he was quite unhappy about it calling her things that men should not call women, ever. She knew it to be a fair trade, but he had clearly felt differently. The other man had just bought candy for his little one. As the two men drew closer, Fien strained to listen as she heard one man talking.

“There’s the wench’s wagon. Let’s go get me mum’s viola back and maybe a bit of fun as well.” He nudged his friend, and they both let out a throaty giggle that sent shivers up Fien’s spine.

Just then, she saw something move quietly in the darkness. Crouching lower behind a fallen tree, she peeked over it into the clearing ahead. She saw a set of little cracked horns moving from the bushes behind the two men, but instead of its usual seedy black eyes, they were now aflame in an eerie red glow. She continued to watch as it crept slowly, silently closer to the two men, who remained unaware that they were being hunted.

As she stole another peek, the men yelled out. The gruesome reality of the attack was horrific. One moment the infernal thing was the little creature curled up on the tattered yellow blanket in the back of her wagon, and the next it had morphed into a monstrous demon twice the size of a full grown man. Its hands were fists of sheer razors and its eyes raged with fire as it tore the two men to shreds. The two villagers stood no chance against it and were now food for the vultures in the morning. When it was over, the infernal beast returned to the petite size she knew, and it carefully picked the boots from the feet of the two men and pulled a small pocket watch from one. She paused, processing what she just witnessed. It was brutal, atrocious, but she couldn’t help thinking that it was fair, justified, as the throaty giggle of the men echoed in her mind. She strangely found herself smiling as she looked upon her new little companion. Those boots would be good for a few gold coins at one of the next villages and the watch, well she could trade it far away from this village and none would be the wiser.

She quietly returned to camp ahead of it, slipping into her sleeping bag and closing her eyes once again. A few minutes later, it spirited into camp, placing the two pairs of boots by the fire along with the pocket watch, and then it perched itself atop the wagon. She smiled as she saw its silhouette in the moonlight, looking, scanning, ever vigilant of the surrounding. Like a watchdog. Her watchdog, protective and unyielding. She wasn’t certain why it had come to her, but she knew that it was somehow tied to her and she to it.

She arose the next day, placing the boots and the pocket watch into her wagon and clearing camp. She climbed up onto the wagon, smiling as she looked in the back to see the sooty black horns of the infernal little thing. The wagon jostled a bit as the wheel stiffly rolled over a rock in the road. It briefly opened one of its beady black eyes before closing it again, digging its head back into the blanket as they headed down the road to the next village. Her father would have told her that she was crazy keeping an infernal as a pet, but she preferred to think of it as unusual, just like her.

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