by Jon Kiln
Rothar entered his home quietly. He needed to gather some supplies for his travels, and he expected Allette to be sleeping soundly. He was surprised to find that she was up, and his home was as clean as he had ever seen it. The floors were scrubbed, the plates washed, and every book had been put on the shelves in perfect order.
Allette was sitting in the parlor, cleverly repairing a chair that she had broken in a fit of withdrawal. No doubt she did not remember smashing the chair, but she had apparently assumed that anything broken in the house was attributable to her.
“Why are you not resting?” asked Rothar.
“Because, though I am weary and drained, I feel as though I have been asleep for a long, long time,” she replied.
Rothar thought about what she said for a moment. He wondered how far disconnected from their consciousness the Obscura users truly were.
“Besides,” Allette continued, “I must repay you for your kindness.”
“There is no need to repay me,” Rothar said. “The best thing you can do for me is to get healthy and go on to live your life.”
Allette looked at him oddly, in a way that made him remember his reason for coming there in the first place. He hurried about gathering supplies.
Rothar always traveled light, but in most cases, he knew where he would be going, and stocked himself accordingly. Now, not having any certainty as to where the coming days would take him, he found himself preparing for all possible scenarios. A heavy cloak went into his bag along with warm weather clothing. Extra rope, food rations, a whetstone, medicine, all went into his saddle bags. Stormbringer snorted, as though he was curious about the extra weight.
When Allette was not looking, Rothar lifted a loose board in the floor of the bedroom. Here, he had hidden the box of Obscura that he had taken from Ariswold. He placed the box in the saddlebags along with everything else. He was not sure if he packed the smoke because he may need to produce it at some point, or because he feared Allette would find it and have a relapse of dependency, and he would eventually return home to a drug addled lunatic - or a burned down house.
When he was satisfied that he had packed everything he might need, Rothar went back into the house to say farewell to Allette. When he entered the parlor, he found that she had changed into one of the dresses that had been brought for her.
“That seems to fit you adequately,” he said, in his best version of a compliment.
“Indeed,” she said. “And thank you.”
“I must be off now, and I do not know for how long I will be away,” Rothar told Allette. The young woman looked at him with disappointment and worry.
“You have nothing to worry about,” he continued. “I have arranged for someone to look in on you. All you need to do is stay away from the Obscura.”
“The ladder,” she interjected.
Rothar looked at her quizzically.
“I have heard the smoke called many things,” she said. “But before you, I never heard of anyone calling it ‘Obscura.’ People will find you odd if you call it that.”
Allette did not know that a distributor of the drug had called it Obscura, but he took her advice to heart all the same. There was no way of knowing how many informal names the substance had, and he needed to take care to learn them, and to use the appropriate terms in the appropriate circles.
“All of my friends call it the Ladder,” Allette said.
“Because it is supposed to be a ladder to heaven,” suggested Rothar.
“Yes… and it is… until it is not.” Allette stared down at the floor for a moment before approaching Rothar and putting her hand on the side of his neck.
“Who are you, Rothar, that you would save the life of such a wretch? And now you set off to save others?”
Rothar looked the young woman in the face. For the first time he noticed how pleasant she was.
“I am only a man,” he said.
At that moment, the front door swung open and Taria walked in, followed by Peregrin. The four all stood silent for a second, regarding one another in surprise.
“Taria!” Rothar said, slipping out of Allette’s grasp. “What are you doing here?”
Taria looked perplexed. She glanced from Rothar to Allette and back again.
“I… I do not know… I mean, I had to come… Peregrin…” Taria trailed off and looked away.
Peregrin cleared his throat. “There is great danger in the Banewood, Rothar. I felt it best to bring Taria straight away.”
“If there is danger so great that it troubles even you, then I am very grateful that you have brought her, old friend,” Rothar told Peregrin.
“Are you?” he heard Taria say softly.
She was looking at Allette again, who stood awkwardly and embarrassed in the corner.
Rothar suddenly realized what was causing Taria’s angst, and he rushed to explain the situation to his love and to his best friend. He told them about the sudden rise of lunacy and the discovery of the Obscura, or the “Ladder.” He related to them how he found Allette outside the castle, and how she had no one to help her. As he spoke, Taria began to warm to him and he wrapped his arms around her. Behind him, Allette’s eyes turned to the floor and she turned crimson in the cheeks. Taria noticed.
Once he had appeased Taria, Rothar turned to Peregrin.
“Now tell me of what is happening in the Banewood,” he said.
Peregrin told Rothar of the murdered man, and of the others gone missing.
“I cannot help but wonder if this has something to do with the men who are bringing in this infernal smoke,” Rothar pondered.
“The Ladder?” Taria asked, casting a coy glance at Allette.
“Yes,” said Rothar, “I know it is coming from outside of the City, most likely through the Banewood, but I do not know where from.”
“Well, you are welcome to come with me,” said Peregrin. “I am off to join the huntsmen who are searching for the rest of the scouts.”
Rothar thought for a moment and then agreed that the best course of action was to go with Peregrin.
“I have to make a stop by the old spot first, to check a snare,” he told Peregrin.
Taria leaned into Rothar. “And what am I to do?” she asked.
“You stay here for now. You can look after Allette,” he replied. “It works out quite nicely, neither of you will have to be alone.”
Taria scowled, but Rothar did not take notice. He gathered up his cloak and dagger, kissed Taria on the cheek, and walked out the door with Peregrin on his heels. As they mounted their horses, Peregrin said to his friend, “You are probably the smartest man I know, Rothar, but you know absolutely nothing about women.”
Chapter 20
“Quite a thing, is it not, the drug peddler using our old haunt to stash his wares?” Peregrin spoke as he and Rothar rode through the darkness.
“I suppose it is as good a place as any,” answered Rothar. “I am glad for it. It made it easy for me to rig the snare.”
Pergrin laughed. “I suppose that was nostalgic! How many animals do you suppose we snared in the hollow of that old tree?”
“I could not venture to guess, but hopefully there will be one more to count by the time we get there.”
The night was cool and there was only a sliver of a moon which cast no light through the thick canopy of the Banewood. The horses moved slowly, picking their way along a narrow trail that led to the spot where the old tree stood.
After riding in silence for a time, Peregrin spoke again. “What kind of evil do you suppose we are up against, Rothar? There have been bad herbs in the Kingdom before, but this is unprecedented. How do you think it may be connected to our missing kinsmen?”
Rothar did not answer at first. He had been turning these very questions over in his head since they had left his house, in part because it was his duty to do so, and also because it was less confusing than trying to navigate the landscape of Taria’s emotions.
“The Obscura, or the Ladder or what-h
ave-you, is very powerful in that it takes away a person’s willpower when they are using it, but it seems to magnify their willpower when it is withdrawn.”
Peregrin grunted. “It is the yearning of addiction. I once knew a huntsman who made Fire Lily tea every day, to help with a pain in his head. The tea worked, and he drank more and more of it. Eventually, he was chewing straight Fire Lily all day long, and he was worthless to us, so we asked him to cease. He tried to stop, and he went nearly mad. It was as though he had forgotten how to function without the lily.”
Rothar grunted in agreement.
Peregrin spoke again. “What truly does not make sense to me is what you said about the peddler giving the Obscura to Ariswold, free of charge. What does anyone stand to gain from that?”
“That is perhaps the most unsettling part of this whole situation, Peregrin,” said Rothar. “The drug is a means to an end for whoever is providing it, and apparently that end is not money.”
“But what then, if not money?”
Rothar let out a breath. “I have a theory about that. I believe what I have witnessed in the King’s City over the last several days was a test.”
In the darkness, Rothar could tell Peregrin was looking at him. He continued.
“The City was flooded with Obscura, countless men and women were using it, and then it was gone, all at once. The people went mad, fought soldiers, stormed the castle, they burned half of their district down. Then, just like that, the drug was back, and the people were appeased.”
“I suppose, in a way, it is good that it is available again,” Peregrin said.
“In a way it is, because it gives me some time, but I know that the peace will not last. The drug will be withheld again, and the violence will be worse than before.”
“So, you think someone is using the Obscura to push the people into revolt?” asked Peregrin.
“Even more,” Rothar answered. “I believe someone is planning to use the King’s own subjects to dismantle his capitol city and drive out the King and Queen. Once that is done, the one’s who set this plan into motion will come forth and take the King’s City, and from there, the Kingdom.”
The pair rode in silence for a long time before Peregrin spoke again. “Time may be very short indeed.”
***
Shortly, they came to the place where the ancient tree stood, haunting in the near complete darkness. Before they had even a light to see by, it was evident that Rothar’s snare had been effective. Strained breathing could be heard coming from within the hollow.
Peregrin lit a torch and they entered the tree. A figure hanging above them started to struggle. The man wore a long, black cloak that, in his upturned state, hung over his head and shoulders and made him look like a giant bat.
Wordlessly, Rothar reached up and felt inside the folds of black fabric. Finding the man’s hair, he grasped it and nodded to Peregrin, who notched an arrow in his bow and severed the rope that suspended the man. Rothar held on to the man’s hair and prevented the figure from landing directly on his head and being knocked needlessly unconscious. He wanted the man awake for what was to come next.
The cloaked figure landed and immediately started flailing about, trying to pull his garment down so he could see who had captured him. Rothar pinned the man’s arms down with his knees and nodded to Peregrin, who snubbed out the torch in the dirt. Complete blackness dominated the cavernous trunk of the old tree.
“Who are you?” Rothar growled, leaning close to the man’s face in the darkness, letting him feel his breath and know how close he was.
“Who asks?” hissed the man. He spoke clearly, but with a strange accent, and there was a clear malevolence in his tone. He did not sound afraid, only incensed. This was not a man accustomed to being on the losing end.
Peregrin spoke next. “He asked you a question and I recommend you answer it.” He was walking in a circle around the inside of the trunk as he spoke, and the way his voice echoed created a sense of vertigo. “My friend is very impatient and does not suffer fools.”
“Suffer you will!” the man shouted. “You will become slaves!”
Rothar allowed himself a dark laugh. “You must be lost.”
Shifting his weight suddenly to his right knee, Rothar felt the man’s left shoulder pop out of it’s socket. The man growled fiercely in the blackness.
“You do not know who you trifle with,” Rothar whispered.
The man spat, but Rothar was leaning back, and the projectile missed it’s mark.
Now Peregrin had stilled and was kneeling close by. “I implore you, stranger, for your own sake, tell us who you are.”
The man’s heavy breathing slowed a little as he seemed to try to calm himself.
“Mortez is my name, and you have no reason to detain me. I have no money. I am only a traveler in the wood.”
“What are you doing in my tree?” asked Rothar menacingly.
“Your tree?!” Mortez cried, then checked himself. “I… was stopping to rest when I was taken up in your trap. I will have you know that I have been hanging in here for more than a day.”
“Well then,” Rothar said. “You must be very hungry.”
Rothar could feel the man nodding his head in the darkness. “I am!”
“Let us look around and see if we can find you anything to eat.”
Rothar took a short length of rope from his belt and tied the man’s wrists together, as Peregrin relit his torch. For the first time, they could see the man’s face. Mortez was much as Ariswold had described him. He was dark complected, but in a way unlike the Southlanders. He was darker and his eyes were nearly black. Mortez’s hair was raven and short cropped, his neck and shoulders were broad and he wore a neat black goatee. Rothar immediately searched the man for weapons, finding two short bladed daggers.
“Odd weapons for a pilgrim,” he said. “Now, let us have a look around.”
Rothar stood and began to pace about the hollowed tree.
“Here’s something,” Peregrin said. “Perhaps he can eat this?” he picked up a small wooden box from the dirty ground, on top of the box was a picture of a black star with an eye within.
Mortez’s eyes narrowed when he saw the box, but he said nothing.
“Ah! Let me see that!” said Rothar enthusiastically. He took the box and opened it. “Yes, this will do. We have found your supper, Mortez.”
Mortez shook his head, but Peregrin grasped him from behind and squeezed his face, forcing his mouth open. Rothar opened his water flask and crammed a handful of the Obscura into the man’s mouth, leaning his head back and pouring water down his throat before Peregrin forced his mouth closed again, holding it tight and plugging his nose.
Mortez struggled and snorted, but eventually had no choice but to swallow the clot of herb. Rothar and Peregrin immediately repeated the process, again and again.
When the box was empty, Peregrin let loose of Mortez, who fell over gasping and gagging on the ground.
Peregrin walked over to stand beside Rothar and they watched the man as he glared back at them.
“You have told me what happens to people when they smoke it,” Peregrin said quietly to Rothar. “But what happens when someone eats it?”
“I have no idea,” Rothar replied.
They stood for a long while, watching the man as his movements changed and his expressions evolved. For a time, Mortez seemed to be in advancing stages of physical pain. He doubled over and groaned, clawing at the dirt with his bound hands. Shortly, the agony seemed to subside and he became quiet, staring up at the dancing shadows on the hollow walls, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead and upper lip.
“Shall we question him now?” whispered Peregrin.
“Wait,” replied Rothar.
A small smile began to creep across Mortez’s lips, and his eyes started to gleam ecstatically, though he still looked at nothing but the space above him. His muscles relaxed and his breathing slowed to the point where the rising and falling of his ch
est was barely perceivable. Mortez began to emit a low hum from somewhere deep within his chest. The sound seemed to be in correlation with his shallow breathing. Suddenly, he opened his mouth and emitted a gasp as his eyes grew wide. The gasp was followed by a tittering laugh that echoed around the inside of the chamber in a ghastly way.
“Now,” Rothar whispered to Peregrin. “But like this.”
Rothar quietly walked over and stood directly over Mortez, so that he was directly in the man’s line of sight. Mortez continued to stare up with rapt attention, but it was unclear if he was looking at Rothar or through him.
“Mortez!” Rothar boomed. “Do you know who I am?”
Mortez jolted and sat upright, keeping his eyes now on Rothar, his demented smile gleaming in the torchlight.
“Yes… yes, I do!”
Rothar looked over his shoulder at Peregrin, who was standing with his mouth agape in the shadows. Turning back to Mortez, Rothar continued in a lower voice, but still authoritative.
“How does a mere mortal reach a place where they can speak to me and see my face?”
Mortez stammered in reply. “The staircase! There is a staircase my Lord! It reached down to me and I climbed it!”
“Madness,” muttered Peregrin.
Rothar shot him a look.
“A staircase you say?” Rothar went on. “I created no such staircase? Who built it?”
Mortez was silent. He tore his eyes away from Rothar and seemed to be doubting the apparition, hesitating. The skin of his face was beginning to turn an unnatural shade of purple.
“Who built it?!” Rothar thundered.
Snapping his gaze once again up at Rothar, Mortez was supplicant. “The Reapers, my Lord!”
“Why did they create an affront to my solitude?” Rothar asked.
Mortez paused again, looking fearful. Rothar knelt down close to the trembling man. He spoke softly. “Tell me, and I will let you enter my kingdom.”
Before he spoke again, Mortez reached out with a shaking hand and gently touched the side of Rothar’s face. When his fingers brushed Rothar’s stubbled cheek, Mortez’s eyes welled up with tears. Veins bulged out at the man’s temples and his breath started to come in short bursts.
