by Jon Kiln
“They betray you, oh Lord. They seek to gain wealth and power on earth, so they send your subjects climbing to your heavens, only to let them come crashing back down to earth, weak and broken. Please do not let me fall, Lord. The Reapers will kill me for failing. Take me into your kingdom, it is the only place where I will be safe from their wrath.”
Peregrin whispered from the shadows, “Ask him where they are.”
Mortez jerked his head to look in Peregrin’s direction. “Who is there?” he shouted, his voice cracking. “What devil is lurking in the darkness?!”
Rothar tried to hush him and asked, “Where are the Reapers? Where are the enemies of God?”
Mortez did not look back at Rothar, but continued to fixate on the shadows where Peregrin stood as he answered, “In hell.”
With that, the dark clad figure of Mortez sank to the ground, his eyes rolled back in his head, a final gasp of breath leaving him.
After a long silence, Peregrin spoke.
“If only we could follow him, we might find these Reapers.”
Chapter 21
Taria was tired. It had been a long day of hunting, and she had followed it up by traveling half the night. The woman, Allette, had avoided her as she moved about Rothar’s house, putting away her meager belongings that had been delivered by the huntsmen.
That was alright with Taria. She felt she had nothing good to say to the pathetic creature, who tiptoed about with her head down and her hands clasped in front of her. Rothar had been noble enough in helping her, but Taria noticed the way the woman looked when she saw Rothar embrace her, and she felt it was her duty to make it clear the way things stood.
She found Allette sitting on the bed - Rothar’s bed.
“I am going to sleep now,” Taria said.
Allette spoke without looking up. “Very well, goodnight.”
When Allette did not move from the bed, Taria cleared her throat loudly. Allette looked up, realization came over her and she stood. “Of course, I am sorry,” she mumbled apologetically.
Taria said nothing in reply, only removed a few of Allette’s personal items from the bed and handed them to the woman. With that she laid down on the bed, covered up and doused the lantern. She could feel the woman standing in the dark next to her for a long moment, and suddenly questioned the wisdom of her actions. The house was full of weapons, and Allette had spend much more time here than she had. Was she going to be stabbed in her sleep?
Taria realized that she would not be sleeping a wink that night, but she had committed to this display, and her Southland blood would not permit her to show fear.
Allette moved away from the bed and began putting out the other meager lights in the house. Taria watched through hooded eyes as the woman made up a crude bed on the floor in the adjoining parlor, spreading out a thin blanket to lie down on and rolling up a tattered old dress for use as a pillow.
Taria felt a twinge of guilt deep in her stomach, but this woman had come too close to the man that she had waited her entire life for, and nearly lost her head for.
In the darkness of the house, all was quiet except for the soft sobs of Allette in the parlor.
***
Sleep did eventually find Taria that night, and in the morning she awoke pleased to find that she had not been murdered. She looked to the parlor to see that Allette was not there, and there was no sign of her makeshift bed. She wondered if the woman had taken a hint and moved on in the night. The thought instantly made Taria feel bad. Rothar had thought enough of this woman to look after her. Taria would certainly not be making a good beginning to their life together if she drove her out into the streets. She leapt out of bed and hurried to the parlor.
Taria was relieved to see the Allette’s belongings were still in the house, folded and stacked neatly on a wooden chair in the corner of the parlor, but the woman was nowhere to be found. Nearly heading out into the King’s City to search for the waif, Taria realized that she had no idea as to the lay of the land and would certainly be lost in no time. She sat down to worry about the frail young woman.
She did not have to worry long, however, as the door of the house swung open and Allette walked in, carrying two freshly butchered chickens and a basket of eggs.
“Oh, you are awake!” she said. “I was hoping to have breakfast cooked already, I am very sorry. I hope you do not mind waiting.”
Taria was taken off guard.
“Yes, I am up… but you do not need to prepare anything for me,” she said.
Allette looked at her with repentant eyes. “I really must,” she said. “Rothar has showed me so much kindness, there is no way that I can ever repay him, and he will not accept repayment, anyhow. But I can see he loves you, so I will serve you.”
Allette sat down on a stool and began plucking the chickens.
Taria felt ashamed. She had spent most of her life as a servant girl, and the mere thought that this woman would serve her nearly broke her heart. She walked over to Allette and held out her hand.
“Give me one of those chickens,” she said.
***
After the two women had cooked and eaten breakfast, they sat in the parlor and began to compare stories of their childhoods. They were both were so very different, yet there were strands of commonality between them. Allette was born and raised in the King’s City and had a crippling fear of horses, yet, like Taria, she had never known her father and never understood her mother. The two women were staunchly independent, yet, hopelessly romantic. Taria was shocked to find that, as the day wore on, an affinity for Allette began to form.
Later in the afternoon, Taria and Allette were startled by a sudden and incessant tapping at the window. A large bird perched outside and was staring in at them.
“That’s Peregrin’s falcon,” Taria exclaimed.
Opening the front door, Taria let the bird hop in. She knelt down and untied the small note from around his leg. Reading it, she said to Allette, “Rothar needs us to check in on Ariswold, the apothecary. He is quitting the drug, like you, and Rothar thinks you may be able to encourage him. Do you know where we can find him?”
“I do, his place is not far from here,” Allette said.
Taria wrote a new note and attached it to the falcon. “Off to Peregin and Rothar,” she said, and the bird took off.
The women gathered up some food and set off to see Ariswold. When they arrived, the home of the apothecary was dark, but the door was unlocked.
Stepping inside, Taria called out, “Hello? We are friends of Rothar. He asked us to come visit you.”
It was dark and morose within the house, and the women began pulling back the curtains to let the light in. Allette turned from the window and let out a scream. Taria spun and followed Allette’s gaze. An old man dangled by his neck from a rope that was tied to a rafter. His hair was long and white, his eyebrows were wild and bushy, and he was long dead.
Chapter 22
“What are we to do?” Allette asked. She still held her hands clasped in front of her mouth, eyes wide with shock and fright.
It seemed that the old apothecary had either been driven mad by the Obscura, or had lost himself in the act of trying to quit.
Ariswold’s feet dangled before the two women at eye level. There was no way that they could remove him from the noose without aid. Taria knew almost no one in the city, and Allette’s acquaintances were mostly drug addled peasants and merchants who could no longer be trusted, especially within the house of the man who held all the medicinal mysteries of the kingdom.
“Harwin!” Taria said suddenly. “Do you know where the blacksmith Harwin lives?” she asked Allette.
“I think I do,” she replied.
“Good. Go and fetch him, you can take Bedlam. Hurry, go now!”
Allette rushed out of the house and climbed atop the gray mare. The horse, trained expertly by Taria, made no protest, and trotted off with the stranger aboard as though she carried Taria herself.
Back inside,
Taria took a moment to calm her thoughts. What would Rothar do? She asked herself. He would not make any assumptions, and he would try to see what others could not.
Taria forced herself to look up at the face of the apothecary. His mouth was agape, his tongue distended from the open maw. His eyes were wide open and frozen in fear. Ariswold stared eternally ahead, looking not as though he were seeing heaven, but observing hell itself.
Shuddering, Taria moved her gaze to the rope. The noose looked expertly tied, and the knot at the rafter was practically a work of art. Taria looked at the old man’s hands, his knuckles bulged with arthritis. There was no way that a feeble old man with arthritic hands could have tied those knots. The realization made Taria gasp. Ariswold did not end his own life, he was murdered.
Carefully, Taria began to search the home. She found evidence of a struggle, albeit a small one. Some books and containers were scattered on the floor in one corner of the study. Some of the spilled substances had mixed and blackened the wooden floor, and an acrid odor still hung in the air. Again, trying to think like Rothar, Taria hunted for evidence of Obscura use. There was no pipe, no ash, no stash anywhere that she could see. For all intents and purposes, it seemed that the man had been living fairly clean.
The front door swung open and Allette came back in, trailed by a hulking man with big hands and kind eyes. He introduced himself as Harwin.
“I have heard so very much about you,” said Taria.
“And I, you,” replied Harwin. “I only regret that we have to make our first acquaintance under such morbid circumstances.”
The big blacksmith looked up at Ariswold and frowned.
“What a thing,” he said, “to live so long and die so poorly.”
Taria showed Harwin and Allette the elaborate knots. They agreed that they could not be the work of Ariswold. With Harwin’s help, they were able to cut the old man’s body down. He was stiff, and Harwin guessed that he had been hanging there for more than a day.
“So, what do we do now?” asked Taria.
“I will have the undertaker come for him,” Harwin said. “And we need to get word to Rothar as soon as possible. This certainly could be connected to all that had been going on lately.”
Taria told him that she expected the men would be sending Peregrin’s falcon regularly, and she would send word of Ariswold’s demise as soon as she could. Harwin left to collect the undertaker and Taria draped a cloth over Ariwold’s body, taking care to gently close the old man’s eyes before laying the sheet over his face.
Allette had been quiet for some time, and now Taria watched her as she perused the contents of the apothecary’s shelves, touching glass vials and lifting jars to inspect their strange contents. Taria worried for a moment that the young woman may be thinking about taking something. She had been doing so well over the course of the last day, but Taria knew that it could not be easy for her.
“It is more than a loss of a life, you know,” Allette spoke without turning from the shelf.
“It always is,” replied Taria.
“What I mean is, all of the knowledge he held is lost,” said Allette. She was holding a tall, narrow jar, filled with a blueish fluid. In the fluid floated several small onion-like roots.
“Do you know what this is? What it treats?” Allette asked Taria.
“I do not.”
“Nor do I, nor does anyone. He was the only one in the kingdom who knew all that he knew, and he helped so many people. Who will do that now?”
Taria shook her head. “I suppose someone will have to learn… perhaps it will be you.”
Allette looked at Taria, surprised. “Me?” she laughed. “I am hardly qualified! I am only a simple weaver!”
“No person is a simple thing at all,” Taria said. “Come now, let us go back to the house.”
Chapter 23
Deep in the Banewood, an arrow whistled through the hazy light of mid morning. At the end of its trip, the arrow cut short the life of a rabbit that had thought it was well hidden.
“Not a bad shot for a city dweller,” Peregrin joked.
“I was taught by the best,” replied Rothar.
The pair walked to retrieve their late breakfast. The horses were resting near a stream to the north, where they had already prepared a small cooking fire. They had rode through the rest of the night after watching Mortez die in the old tree. Now they had agreed to stop to rest and eat.
While Mortez had supplied them with plenty of intrigue, their experience with him had yielded little as far as answers. Not knowing where to find the Reapers, they decided to head across the Banewood to convene with the huntsmen search party. Rothar had no doubt that there was a solid connection between the murdered and missing huntsmen and the Reapers. Years of experience had given Rothar a sense for detecting a singular evil, and now he could feel the dark pulse of something hateful moving through the kingdom.
Peregrin expertly skinned out the rabbit and skewered the carcass, setting it to cook over the flickering orange flames. Rothar closed his eyes. He had not slept in too long, and right now was one of the rare times that he felt safe resting. He knew no man more capable than Peregrin.
“Go ahead and get some sleep,” Peregrin said. “I will wake you when it is time to eat.”
Saying nothing, Rothar nodded to his friend and allowed himself to drift off.
It seemed like only minutes passed before Peregrin patted him on the shoulder to rouse him. The smell of meat was in the air and Rothar saw that Peregrin had gathered some root vegetables from the forest as well. He also saw that Peregrin’s falcon had returned.
“Any word from Taria?” he asked.
Peregrin did not look up from the food he was preparing, and he waited a moment before answering.
“Yes, she said they would go to check on the apothecary, and that Allette is feeling well.”
“Very good, very good,” said Rothar.
“I will send the bird back to stay with them in case they need to contact us.”
“That is very kind of you, Peregrin, thank you.”
Peregrin glanced up at him. “You do not need to thank me, Rothar. Do not forget, I have known Taria for a great many years, same as you, and I wish for her to be safe.”
Rothar raised his eyebrows, a little surprised by his friend’s words. “Of course, Peregrin.”
The two friends ate in silence, listening to the myriad of sounds in the forest around them. It was said that a huntsman can close his eyes in the Banewood and identify any animal, simply by the sound it makes when it moves through the wood. Rothar possessed this skill as well, but no one in the kingdom had better ears than Peregrin.
A faint humming sound reached them, carried on the wind and Peregrin stopped eating, cocking his head slightly to listen. Rothar sat silent, eyes scanning the wood. The sound was growing steadily louder, and Peregrin snatched up his bow.
“What is it?” Rothar whispered.
“I am not sure,” Peregrin hissed back. “It is unlike anything I have ever heard before.”
The birds had gone silent in the Banewood, and the only sound was the humming, mixed with the rattling of branches in the soft wind. As the sound grew, it became evident that it came from high above, and was moving towards them. Rothar kicked dirt onto the small cooking fire. He knew it would cause smoke, but hopefully smoke would dissipate and go unnoticed, while a flickering flame is visible to even the unobservant.
The two crouched in the shadows of the dense canopy and watched overhead. Through the sunlit lacework of treetops, the sun was being blotted out, starting in the west and spreading east. A giant shadow moved across the sky, humming incessantly. For Rothar, it was like being at the bottom of the ocean and watching one of the behemoth fish of the Blackwater swim between himself and the surface.
Peregrin notched an arrow but Rothar stopped him with a hand on his shoulder, shaking his head slightly, never taking his eyes off of the hulking shape in the sky. In moments, it was out of sight,
the steady humming growing more and more faint, until it was gone.
“What in heaven or hell do you suppose that was?” Peregrin exclaimed.
“I do not know, but it is traveling the same direction as we are, so perhaps we shall cross paths again,” answered Rothar.
Peregrin shook his head. “I would be perfectly happy if we did not.”
The men repacked their meager equipment and saddled their horses. Before they set off again to the east, Peregrin sent his falcon back to the King’s City. As Peregrin was preparing the bird, Rothar noticed a small scrap of paper on the ground. It was the note that the falcon had returned with while he was sleeping. He guessed that Peregrin must have dropped it. Picking it up, he read:
Rothar,
We are well. We will of course go to the home of Ariswold to look in on him.
I miss you dreadfully and can not wait for your return. Be safe, my love.
Taria
Rothar folded the note and put it into his pocket before Peregrin turned back to him.
Back on the trail, the men surmised about what it was that they had seen in the sky. It did not seem like an animal, but it certainly was like no cloud either of them had ever seen. Peregrin was still determined to shoot it if he chanced to see it again.
By late in the afternoon, Peregrin guessed that they must be near the area to which the search party had been sent, and he commenced to make particular calls as they rode onward. At long last, one of the calls was answered by a voice in the distance, and Peregrin and Rothar headed toward the sound. They found the search party, a group of ten huntsmen, waiting in a shallow valley amidst a scruffy growth of pines. The men looked weary but determined. They had not yet found any of the missing scouts, nor had they seen any new enemy, but they had picked up a trail and were following it.
Rothar dropped to the ground to study the trail. The hoof prints of more than a dozen horses pockmarked the forest floor. The animals appeared to be riding single file, and here and there, tiny droplets of dried blood could be found on dried leaves or brown moss. Someone or something was injured, though that came as no surprise, considering the impaled state of the huntsman who’s body had been recovered.
