Seeker of Secrets

by Deck Davis

  “Then I’ll say goodnight to you all. And Joshua…”

  Joshua and Kordrude looked at each other, and he waited for the crowsie to speak. Kordude shook his head. “Never mind.”

  He left the cottage and stepped out into the night, shutting the door behind him.

  Joshua felt alone now. Even with Beaula and all her children in the cottage, he felt isolated. Benjen had given him strength, he realized. It was only because his best friend was at his side that he’d had the courage to leave the village. And now, without him, what was left?

  He looked at his friend’s body and felt the grief seep through him. It would never leave. Time would never change it, it would keep coming back with its strength renewed, and with it would come feelings of guilt.

  He knew that Kordrude had lived longer than him. He’d seen more of the world, and of life. He’d lost his wife and he’d somehow found a way to come through it and to carry on.

  But if Kordrude had found a way to bring her back, wouldn’t he have done it? And on the other side of things, what if Joshua had died, and Benjen was in his position? Wouldn’t he have asked the sepuna for help?

  He realized that Beula was staring at him.

  “I have to try,” he said, his mind made up.

  “The old bird might be right, you know.”

  “If I don’t do this, I’ll carry it with me for the rest of my life.”

  “Death is what makes us whole,” aid Beula. “Without it, life has no meaning. A man who cheats death won’t find anything but emptiness.”

  “I have to try. Casker, what do we need to do?”

  “I told you,” said Beula. “You can’t hear him except in silence.”

  Joshua looked around, and he saw the door cut into the kitchen floor, which led to a basement or cellar. “Can we go down there? Is it quiet enough?”

  She nodded. “That’s where I talk to him. You’ll have to go down alone.”

  “I need you to help me carry Benjen into the basement.”

  Beula crossed her arms. She sucked in her cheeks, as though deep in thought. Finally, she shook her head. “I’m sorry. As much as you helped me, I can’t be a part of this. The sepunas use necromancy, yes, but death is a line that other races shouldn’t cross.”

  “Then I’ll do it myself.”

  He approached the table and he put his hands under Benjen’s armpits. His body was nothing but a dead weight now, and his skin was white and stone cold. Straining, Joshua carefully pulled him off the table, supporting his weight onto the floor.

  From there, he realized that Benjen was too heavy for him to carry. He was going to have to drag him into the cellar. It made him feel dirty, as though he was disrespecting his friend. But it was for the greater good, to bring him back. Benjen would understand.

  He dragged his friend’s body over the stone floor. He hated the sound Benjen’s coat made as it scraped over the flooring, but he worked through it, and finally he reached the cellar. From there, he heaved Benjen down the stone steps and into the cellar, where a lone candle warded away the darkness.

  He left Benjen in the center of the room, and then he went back upstairs.

  “Casker,” he said. “I need you down there.”

  The sepuna boy looked at Beula. She nodded at him. “This is your choice. Yours and his. I won’t help, but I won’t stop you.”

  And with that, the marbled-skinned boy crossed the cottage and then followed Joshua into the cellar.

  Joshua pulled the cellar doors shut, and the darkness intensified until the glowing candle could barely fight it.

  Down there, with his dead friend and the strange boy, Joshua tried to get his pulse to settle. He was scared, he realized, but he didn’t know exactly what he was scared about.

  Was he scared that this wouldn’t work? That he’d pinned everything on the sepuna’s necromancy ritual, and that if it failed he would have lost his friend forever?

  Or was he scared that it would work? That in cheating death, he would have crossed a line, and that he’d never be able to go back?

  He couldn’t help but think that there was a reason that nobody sought the sepunas to bring back their deceased loved ones. Fathers didn’t travel to the forlorn sepuna lands and beg for the resurrection of their fallen children or wives. Heroes didn’t travel there to ask that their comrades be brought back.

  No. A true hero knew the cost of their profession. They knew the price that they might have to pay for it, and part of their heroism was that they carried on even so.

  A hero’s strength wasn’t just in their muscles and their swordplay and their magic; they had a mental strength, too. They had the strength to say goodbye to those who fell in battle.

  But Joshua was no hero. He couldn’t see a future here without his friend, and he decided that he would have to cross that line.

  “What do we do?” he said to Casker.

  It seemed that the cellar was quiet enough for him to hear the boy’s ethereal voice now.

  Snuff the candle, and then we will begin.

  Chapter Twenty-Four – Three Interludes

  Kordrude left the farm with the feeling of darkness settling on him. It wasn’t just the cast of the night sky but something heavier, something that seemed to seep deep inside him and create a sour mix in his stomach.

  Those poor, poor boys. He thought back to when he’d first met them, when they’d entered his office and tried to find a home for the goblin baby they’d found on the road. Many travelers would have just left the child, but not them. Their hearts were too kind for that.

  He pictured Benjen’s face as he’d given him a bottle of his home brewed ale. He saw the excitement in his red cheeks as he waited for Kordrude to give his verdict on the taste. Even though it was four or five days ago, it might as well have been a lifetime.

  They should have stayed at home. The lads should have settled in their village, but instead they’d sought out adventure, and now they’d learned the true cost of it. Or Joshua had, at least. There were no lessons to be learned in the place Benjen had gone.

  Kordrude couldn’t believe the feeling welling inside him. He’d known them for only a matter of days, but already he felt a closeness to them that rivalled any friendship he’d made in the past, except for his best friend, Janda.

  He couldn’t explain why he felt so strongly; maybe it was because they were kind lads, and they were brave and full of ideals, and seeking them had led them into a dark land.

  He thought about his office back in Dyrewood, where his old life awaited his return. Something about it was comforting, in a way. In the busy days of bureaucracy, he rarely had to suffer feelings like this, ones of loss of a new friend, and of utter pity when he thought about how alone Joshua was without Benjen.

  It was in that moment that Kordude realized that he hadn’t come here for just a holiday. This wasn’t just a break from his office and from his job. He had been lying to himself.

  The passion of the lads for their guild and the strength of their shared dream had changed him. It had infected him. He’d come here not for a relaxing sojourn, not just to see a few sights and then go home.

  No, he’d come here for something else, he now realized. When his wife was taken away from him, he’d promised himself that he would live his life. But instead, after the blows of grief had started to get weaker and weaker, he’d settled back into his old routines. He’d hidden his feelings under piles of paperwork, and he’d worked himself to exhaustion completing menial tasks that would be forgotten about in the long stretch of time.

  So, he knew why he was here now; he was here to feel something. To do something.

  Joshua needed a friend now. He needed somebody by his side, and Kordude didn’t know if he was a strong enough person to do it, but he would try.

  ~

  Ten miles west of Ardglass, Miana had made a decision. She wouldn’t steal anymore.

  Was that a wise decision for a thief? Not one who wanted to go far in that chosen career,
sure. But it was a wise decision for a person. For a girl who could barely remember life away from it, away from the streets and away from her loathsome travelling companions, Terry of Yarn and Reben.

  It was also a wise decision for a girl who quite liked having two hands. For all the three kings’ decrees on interracial equality, they had never updated their stance on capital punishment, and the reward for a thief who was caught was the loss of a hand.

  Miana didn’t want this life anymore. She didn’t want to travel from town to town like a huckster, scamming people from their hard-earned gold. Or silver or bronze, actually, since Terry of Yarn’s conscience wasn’t affected at all by stealing from the poor.

  Choosing and developing her thief class had given her skills, and she was sure that there was a better use for them. A good use, a righteous one, something that didn’t make her skin crawl when she thought about it.

  For now, though, that would have to wait. Because Terry was coming back from the bar, and with him was Mesete, the harpy master.

  All harpies had stern expressions set into their faces, but Mesete’s was the sternest of any Miana had ever seen. With his long, sharp face and his feathered hair and his vulture-like wings that hanged on his back, he reminded Miana of a demon. When he held a glass of beer in his hands she saw his claws; yellow and knobby, and sharp enough to tear through flesh.

  Mesete glanced at Miana’s face and then his stare went south, and he lingered on her breasts. He didn’t do what most men did and try to hide it; no, he took a long, greedy stare.

  That was why Terry had wanted Miana here, of course. The old sorcerer wanted her there as a distraction, or maybe as a prize, to try and win Mesete’s agreement to his plan.

  “Why you bring me here?” said Mesete, his voice a low growl.

  “I’ve always respected the harpy people, as you know,” said Terry. He tried to put a little cheer into his voice, but it didn’t work. It never did; his heart was too miserable to that.

  “Where is the other one?” said Mesete.

  “The other one?”

  “Fat one.”

  Miana smirked. She might have disliked Mesete himself, but something about his bluntness was appealing, at least.

  “Reben?” said Terry. “He’s upstairs with a whore.”

  “Fat man disrespects me. He should be here.”

  “Come on, Mesete. We can discuss things without Reben souring the mood. Let’s have a toast.”

  He lifted his glass toward Mesete and waited for him to clink his own glass against it, but the harpy master refused, and instead kept his claw around it.

  “Why does girl not get a drink?”

  “Her? Well, she’s our thief, and she hasn’t stolen anything for four days. Until she does, she doesn’t eat or drink.”

  Miana’s stomach growled at the mention of food. Her conscience had been growing lately, and she’d decided to mention this to Terry. She’d told him that she felt they could think of a better use for her skills; she was better than just being a purse snatcher.

  Reben had laughed, and Terry had fixed her with his old, stern stare and told her, “No. You’ll steal, or you’ll starve.”

  Course, Miana didn’t need Terry to buy her food. She could have stolen some any time she wanted. But it had become a battle of wills now, and she’d finally had enough of his stubbornness and his arrogance, and she’d decided to defy him.

  This couldn’t go on forever, though. Eventually, she’d have to either give in and steal for Terry, or she’d have to leave.

  The question was, why hadn’t she done that already? Why did she feel fear in the pit of her stomach whenever she thought about leaving Terry and Reben, two men she was thankful for saving her all those years ago, but was growing to hate?

  “A toast,” said Terry, raising his voice, evidently having decided to ignore Mete’s refusal to chink glasses. “A toast to new friendships.”

  “We aren’t friends, old fool. Never will be. Harpies will never be friends with crooked old magicians.”

  “It’s like that, is it?”

  “Tell me what you want and show me your gold.”

  Terry cleared his throat. “Your flock is staying outside of Ardglass, correct?”

  “Flock?” said Mesete, his long face set in an angry expression.

  “Beg your pardon. Brood.”

  “We are leaving in few days’ time.”

  “Good, that’s as I thought. And in that case, you won’t be worried about upsetting the town guard, correct?”

  “Town guards are scared to enter our camp. Worthless, like you.”

  Miana grinned. She could see the battle that Terry was fighting inside; he hated to be shown disrespect of any kind, but he needed Mesete’s help.

  “Quite. In that case, I have a proposition.”

  “Gold.”

  Terry took a money pouch from his robes and he slammed it on the table. A few of the tavern patrons stared, but one glare from Mesete made them turn back to their drinks and conversations.

  “Is that enough?”

  “For what?”

  “We need you to cause a disturbance.”

  “In town? You wish to distract town guards?”

  “No, not in town. Decidedly out of town, actually, where the guards won’t go.”

  “Speak clearer, little wizard. My brood needs me. Only gold keeps me at table.”

  Terry nodded, and his face twisted with his inner battle with his emotions. Miana knew that Terry would have loved nothing more than to use one of his spells to shut the harpy master up for good, but he couldn’t. Not only would an incident in a tavern bring attention, but harpies were renowned across Fortuna for their ability to bear a grudge.

  “A heroes’ guild has opened outside of Ardglass, and the boys there are sickeningly righteous. A disturbance outside of town will draw their attention, and I need to get them out of their guild for a day or so.”

  Mesete nodded. “Can do that. Hurt them?”

  “If you like.”

  “Just boys there? What about heroes?”

  “They don’t have heroes yet.”

  “Why not kill them yourself?”

  “Because of the dragon they keep in their stable,” said Terry.

  At this, Mesete grumbled under his breath. He looked tense, and Miana knew why. Harpies hated dragons. In fact, they hated almost every other race that had wings. It was as if they felt that they should be the only creatures to have them.

  “Yes,” was all he said.

  “You’ll do it?”

  “Deaf, old man? Said yes.”

  “I’ll give you half the gold now, and half when the boys are away from their guild.”

  Terry began to take coins out of the purse, but Mesete pushed them away with his claw.

  “Give all, when is done. None now.”

  ~

  Jandafar set up camp atop a hill eight miles east of Ardglass. His shelter was a small tent that he’d stolen from a family who were camping in the woods a few miles behind him.

  It was a father, his wife, and two children. The father had brandished a woodcutter’s axe and he’d faced Jandafar, but one spell had been enough to make his teeth chatter with fear, and Jandafar had walked away with the tent.

  From here, he could finally see it, his old guildhouse sitting atop heroes’ hill, with its grand archway entrance and its ramshackle roofs. He’d spent so many years there. Happy times at first, back when his motives were still pure.

  Thinking about those times brought a feeling Jandafar was beginning to experience more and more; nostalgia. Maybe it was because he was becoming old, even by a gnoll’s standards.

  He remembered when he’d first earned his guildmaster class, and how excited he was to crawl into the tunnel in his bedroom and face the five doors that only guildmasters could open.

  Each door held mysteries, and each one required him to earn another level in the guildmaster class. He’d been happy to open the first one, because it was
a sign that he’d made it; he was a guildmaster, the leader of heroes, the head of a force for good in Fortuna.

  But it seemed that over the years, as he opened each guildmaster door, his heart was darker each time, and by the time he reached the 5th door the rooms inside had changed him forever.

  He wasn’t good anymore. The guildhouse had drained all the goodness from him.

  He’d sworn never to go back, but he’d always known that he would have to. Because deep in the heart of the guildhouse, buried under a mound of magical stone in the cellar, something waited.

  Only he and his brother, Terry, knew about it, but he’d heard that Terry was dead.

  So now, the prize was waiting, and it was safe enough for him to claim it. Nobody chased him anymore. The bounty was still on his head, but it had been so long that they’d forgotten it.

  Nobody was looking for Jandafar of Yarn any longer.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  It felt like it went on for days. Joshua stood by the cellar wall while Casker paced around Benjen’s body, muttering in a language that Joshua couldn’t understand. He felt helpless as he watched, and stirrings of anxiety grew and grew in him until he could barely take it anymore.

  He was glad when Casker needed his help in the ritual, when he asked him to go upstairs and fetch a knife, so that Joshua could cut himself and let his blood drop onto Benjen’s face.

  He watched his friend’s body. Casker had told Joshua that he must be quiet, so instead he shouted inside his head, begging Benjen to move. He wanted to see his fingers curl, he wanted to hear him gasp for breath as his life returned to him.

  Patience, the boy told him.

  But patience was impossible, and Joshua was so tense that he felt exhausted, and it was all he could do to stay on his feet. After hours his calves began to ache, and he sat down on the cold cellar floor and watched as Casker paced endlessly around, keeping up the same unintelligible chant of words.

  Joshua waited for it to end. For Casker to stop circling and stop chanting, and for him to nod at Joshua and tell him that it was done, that he’d have his friend back.