Read Husk: A Maresman Tale for Free Online

thrashed.
    “Can’t hear you,” Mortis said.
    “Mmmph!”
    Mortis withdrew the gun a ways.
    Sweat stung Jeb’s eyes, and when he tried to speak this time, his mouth was dry. He licked his lips and coughed.
    Mortis sighed, spun the gun on his finger, took a fresh aim.
    “Hunter,” Jeb said. “I want to be a husk hunter.”
    “Good choice,” Mortis said, holstering his gun.
    Not really. It was the only choice; least the only one that’d give him time to consider.
    “Understand this,” Mortis said. “For now, you’re mine. When you’re ready, you’ll get to know who we hunters serve. Till then, consider yourself bound. One foot wrong, and I’ll put a bullet through your skull.”

7
    J EB GASPED FOR air as he started fully awake. He fumbled around with the oil lamp till he got it lit. The dull glow it shed on the walls told him he was still in Portis, in the room Maisie had made up for him at the Crawfish.
    He rolled off the bed and padded across the carpet to the basin. Pouring water from the jug, he washed his face and slicked back his hair.
    Mortis’s mask ghosted about his mind, slowly dissipating like smoke. It never left him fully, though. It clung to the underside of his awareness, where that night had left its indelible mark. Hunt or be hunted, was what it came down to. Kill or be killed. There had never been much of a choice, far as Jeb was concerned, and sooner or later fear became obedience, obedience became habit, and habit became duty. It no longer felt like he was taking down husks to save his own skin; it felt like he was doing the world a favor.
    Crossing to the window, Jeb tried to get a look outside, but the smeared glass mostly reflected the room back at him. With a bit of trial and error, though, he tilted his head to get the right angle and caught a glimpse of the orange glow of a brazier on the opposite side of the street, a clutch of figures hunched over it for warmth. He wondered if one of them was Davy Fana. Couldn’t see clear enough to tell.
    Raphoe had left the sky, so it had to be late. When it was up, the biggest of the moons cast enough silvery light to read by, if you were that way inclined.
    Muffled sounds came from the bar below—doors opening and slamming, bursts of jeering and laughter. Either it was a special occasion, or the Crawfish kept to Malfen opening times, which translated as ‘open all the time.’
    Jeb sat back on the bed. He stifled a yawn and resisted the urge to lie down. What would be the point? Tired as he was, his mind was racing, and the chances of getting back to sleep were zero to none.
    When he corralled his thoughts enough to tell them apart, it was Davy Fana that held his attention; or rather, it was his sister. Ilesa, Boss had called her. Up and left just after the wolf-men. Killed her own father. Maybe. Was it her? Was she the husk?
    Jeb rubbed his chin, where the stubble was getting coarse again, just enough that the ladies liked it; any more and they’d complain about the bristles chafing. Time for shaving was once the job was finished, though, never in the middle of the chase. Could have called him superstitious, he supposed, but he preferred to think of it as practical.
    Was that what he’d sensed? Had Ilesa Fana come back to Portis? Would have meant she’d been close to the Farfalls, mind, given where the blood trail had taken him; maybe even crossed over to Qlippoth for a while. Guessed it was possible. Depended on exactly what she’d done all those years ago; why she’d left. Good place to start would be questioning her brother, but it didn’t take a whole lot of shrewdness to know that’d use up what little grace Jeb had with Boss and his goons.
    You had to ask, though, if it was Ilesa, why no one had clapped eyes on her. Surely folk in town would have recognized her, even after ten years, not least of all her own brother. Could’ve been a shapeshifter, he supposed; he’d tackled a couple in his time and couldn’t say he relished