As the Earthen Stag Walks (The Simulacrum Book 1)

by David Chesney

  “Something troubling you?” Seelios asked. “Is it the crops? I saw them earlier, they’ve become worse.”

  Garrick flicked his eyes to Seelios, then down to his mug. He gave a heavy sigh with an expression that transitioned to concern.

  “If you were anyone else I’d be hesitant to share,” Garrick said, still looking down. “But I know I can trust you.”

  Seelios nodded with a serious expression. “What is it?”

  Garrick lifted his head after a moment and pursed his lips. “Strange nightmares have been haunting me as of late.”

  Seelios gave a small frown. “That’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

  Garrick shook his head. “You don’t understand.” Garrick squinted in concentration, as if he were working to recall the memory. “It’s cold and dark. I know nothing of where I am. I don’t know if I’m anywhere. But there’s . . . a voice. It hisses from the darkness, saying terrible things. Whatever it is, whomever it belongs to, it’s sinister.”

  Garrick took a sip from his ale and set the mug back down on the bar. He turned to face Seelios and leaned on the bar with one arm. “When it speaks, it tells me to do unspeakable things. Hateful things,” Garrick said in a hushed voice. “It told me to kill your father.”

  Seelios saw the skin on his friend’s arm prick up and turn to gooseflesh. He saw the nervous look in Garrick’s eye, one of concern and fear. Garrick took a sip of his mug and they sat in silence while the banter of the tavern continued in the background.

  “What do you think it means? What of your parents?” Seelios asked.

  Garrick gave a sigh and rolled his eyes away. “I know where your head is leading, Seelios. I’m a grown man. I need no lecturing from a kid.” The drunken slur was becoming apparent.

  Garrick rarely brought up their age difference, but the few times he did it always put a hurtful distance between them. The last time it happened they didn’t speak for the span of a week.

  “You rarely talk of it. It’s helpful to get things off your chest,” Seelios said.

  “I said piss off!” Garrick yelled, sending bits of spit that landed on Seelios.

  Nearby folks hushed their conversation and turned toward Garrick.

  “Sorry. Was only trying to help,” Seelios said in a hurt tone. He slid off the bar stool. “I needed your help at the forge, but I’ll manage.”

  Seelios started walking away, but Garrick reached out and grabbed his arm. His hand felt massive around Seelios’s tiny limb.

  “Wait. I’m the one who should be sorry,” Garrick said. “I can’t explain what’s happening to me. I’m scared.” Garrick dropped his grip. “What if these nightmares do have meaning? What if . . . what if it’s a different side of me?”

  Seelios felt confused. He wasn’t sure what Garrick was talking about.

  “Is there something else you want to tell me?” Seelios asked as he slid back onto the stool.

  Garrick grew silent and lowered his gaze again. “In my nightmare I feel anger and hate. And more times than I’d like to admit, those feelings have come while I’m awake.”

  Seelios took in a sharp breath. “Have you done something?”

  Garrick barely shook his head from side to side with a distant look that seemed as if his mind were miles away. “It’s just, strange things are happening. The blight, I think it’s coming from . . . .” He drifted off into silence. He turned back to Seelios with a look of hesitance, like he wanted to ask something, but wasn’t sure how.

  “Have you noticed anything strange about the Daylight Star?” Garrick asked.

  Seelios was taken aback by the question. The Daylight Star was a light in the sky so bright that it sparkled like a diamond among the clouds. The light, however, was barely visible during the night when most stars could be seen in full radiance. Some people thought it wasn’t a star at all, but one of the gods high in the heavens, watching over them with its protecting gaze. Some of those same people said that’s where the God of Light disappeared to, even though the Daylight Star twinkled in the sky long before he went missing.

  “Nothing strange I can think of,” Seelios said. He scratched his blond hair. “What of it?”

  “Never mind,” Garrick said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

  Garrick lifted his eyes and stared at Emeline over the bar. He watched as she moved between eager men waving their hands to get her attention, her long red hair flipping back and forth.

  Seelios noticed a faint smile spread across Garrick’s lips as he stared.

  “She’s the reason why I’m here,” Garrick said. “She drives those feelings away.”

  Garrick finished the rest of his ale. “I’m going to tell her how I feel. I’m ready.”

  Alarm flashed across Seelios’s face. “What? No, Garrick, not like this. You’re drunk.”

  Garrick’s expression turned to annoyance, and he faced Seelios. Thinking Garrick was about to have another angry outburst, Seelios grabbed the bar to push himself away.

  Garrick’s eyes widened as it locked onto the ring on Seelios’s hand. “That’s it. You’re the key! You can tell me if I’m good enough for her.”

  Seelios raised his eyebrow in curiosity, then lit up with horrible realization. “No. We talked about this.” Seelios’s hand went to his left index finger where the simple stone band was.

  Garrick pointed at the ring. “It has the power. It can tell me.” He threw a gaze up into the air in an exaggerated motion, throwing his other hand out in a wide arc. “Truly, to not think of this before is embarrassing,” Garrick said.

  “We can’t. I can’t. My father forbids it. We shouldn’t even be speaking of it,” Seelios said.

  Garrick grabbed two fistfuls of Seelios’s dirty tunic. The stench of alcohol was heavy on Garrick’s breath.

  “Please, Seelios. These nightmares tear me apart. I need this.” Garrick sat back down on the stool and hung his head. “I just need proof of who I am.”

  Seelios could tell his friend was struggling, his suffering palpable. There were few times that Seelios felt like he could actually help Garrick with anything. Another opportunity might not come along for quite some time.

  Seelios slid the ring off his finger with reluctance. “Fine. But no one can see,” he whispered as he glanced to his side out of the corner of his eye. Garrick’s face brightened and he edged forward.

  Seelios knew the ring held power the moment his father gave it to him and, much to his father’s surprise, learned to use the power at quite the young age. It took much convincing to allow Seelios to wear it in public, with the adamant condition that he not use it in front of anyone.

  Seelios stared down at the circle of stone in his palm, face to face with the promise that he was about to break. He looked up at Garrick, who stood from his stool.

  Seelios gave a heavy sigh and closed his eyes to concentrate, focusing on the weight of the small piece of jewelry in his hand. He tried to block out all the distractions in the bar. The shouting. The banging of drink ware. The scraping of wood as people shuffled in and out of seats. In the blank of his mind, the circle sat suspended on his palm. It began to give off heat, a tender warmth that felt soothing and familiar. Slowly, glowing yellow runes of indecipherable meaning began to appear on the outside of the band. One was an eye with angled lines in symmetrical frame. Others bore shapes of dots and swirls crafted into mysterious glyphs. They looked tribal and ancient, containing tales of power and the creation of all things.

  The first time Seelios saw those runes appear he nearly burst from excitement. The ring came to life and communicated with Seelios in a way that connected directly with his mind. It didn’t speak words, at least those that he could understand, but drew emotions and vague understandings of knowledge. The first time he activated the runes he suspected that it might be a fabled runic artifact, a legendary object forged by one of the gods.

  Ever since Seelios first learned of runic artifacts as a child, he dreamed of seeing one with his own eyes. In fact,
it was practically the dream of every mortal to hold an object that could unleash godly powers. Seelios would play with sticks, stones, smithing tools, and whatever else he could find, pretending to be a great hero dashing around and saving damsels from demons. Most runic artifacts were said to look like ordinary objects unless they were activated, making it easy for a child’s imagination to run wild.

  Seelios watched with his mind as the glowing runes hung suspended, beckoning his call. His body may have been standing in a tavern, but his mind was elsewhere with the ring.

  Garrick’s voice came like a distant shout, as if he was across the Ernus ocean. His cries became increasingly louder, causing Seelios’s attention to break away from the ring.

  “Seelios!” Garrick yelled as he shook Seelios’s shoulder.

  Seelios opened his eyes and Garrick was huddled beside him, his other hand covering the ring in Seelios’s open palm. Blinking, Seelios looked at Garrick. “What’s wrong? I was almost finished—”

  Someone stood behind Garrick. The figure in the brown traveler’s cloak had moved away from the corner. One exposed eye was open wide with curiosity, yet his face seemed plain and expressionless.

  Garrick turned toward the man, taking a step. “You best be walking along if you know what’s good for you.”

  The man’s eye darted up to Garrick, to Seelios, then down to Seelios’s outstretched hand. Seelios realized he still held the ring in his open palm. The runes had nearly faded from view, but small bits of glowing light were still left. He shoved the ring into a pocket.

  The man’s eye remained wide as he looked from the pocket up to Seelios’s face. Garrick took another step toward him, bringing them so close they could almost kiss.

  The man looked up at Garrick for a moment, then rushed away in a hurried shuffle that made him look like he struggled to bend his knees. He moved his arms in small jerks as he did an awkward rocking motion that carried him toward the tavern’s front door. Halfway across the floor he turned his head to look back toward Seelios and Garrick, unaware of the butcher who was waving his mug around in jovial animation.

  The mug knocked into the shoulder of the wide-eyed man. He jumped back and flailed about like a frightened kitten, raising his arm in defense, but it did little to block the shower of ale that soaked his entire arm and much of his cloak.

  “Aye, there lad. A thousand apologies!” the butcher said as he leapt out of his chair. His plump cheeks were flushed red from the alcohol. “Let me buy you a—”

  The ale soaked man clamored the rest of the way out the door. The motion was so chaotic that he nearly ran into the door frame, having to brace himself with his hand to keep himself from crashing into it.

  The butcher stood, dumbfounded at the man’s behavior, as he watched him retreat out the swinging door. He gave a shrug and settled his large belly back into his seat. The men with him had a jolly laugh, pointing and mocking at the butcher’s expense.

  “He smelled strange,” Garrick said as he looked toward the door.

  “What do you mean?” Seelios asked.

  Garrick wrinkled his forehead. “He smelled like dirt. Not like a farmer after working the field, but like the field itself.”

  “What was that whole mess about?” Emeline stood next to them on the other side of the bar, staring with sparkling blue eyes. Her ruby-red hair framed her perfect face.

  Garrick stared at her, blinking for a moment. “H—hi, Emeline.” He shifted nervously on his feet.

  She looked at him with confusion, then smiled again. “Hi, Garrick. Hope that fellow didn’t bother you boys too much, never seen him before.” She looked at the entrance with a small frown before turning back and picking up Garrick’s nearly empty mug. “How about another?”

  Garrick gawked at her. His lips moved, but nothing came out.

  Emeline looked to Seelios. “Is Garrick ill?”

  Seelios watched his friend struggle with the task he was so defiant about but moments ago. Seelios nudged Garrick. “Well?”

  A long silence passed between the three of them while Emeline waited for Garrick to spit something out. He turned to Seelios, wide-eyed, then back to Emeline.

  “Emeline,” he said. He cleared his throat and took a deep breath. “There’s something I’ve wanted—”

  The door to the kitchen burst open behind Emeline and the owner of the Withertree, Cassius, came out holding an empty travel sack. It was with a certain sense of irony that the prettiest in town worked for the ugliest. Cassius was a balding elderly man with liver spots all over his head and face. Long, stringy white hair dangled from the sides of his head to his shoulders. His beady eyes held no warmth, and when he smiled a crooked set of brown teeth sent shivers through anyone unlucky enough to witness it. He was wearing a pale yellow tunic that looked as if it was put on with haste, still crinkled about his bony shoulders and chest.

  “Damnit, woman, if I catch you idly standing about again you’ll be cleaning my stables!” Cassius spat.

  Emeline threw Cassius a seething gaze and moved back toward the men waiting on the other side of the bar. Cassius followed her with his glare. His ugly appearance added to the expression of his unpleasant personality. He pulled out a key that hung around his neck and unlocked an iron chest beneath the bar. Coins chimed and rustled as Cassius reached in and grabbed coppers and silvers by the fistful.

  Emeline slid a full mug of ale across the bar, trailing a river of foam from the head. “Five coppers.”

  Cassius stood with a scowl. “One silver.”

  Emeline turned to him and furrowed her brow. The man holding the ale froze with his hand in his purse, a mixed look of confusion and offense.

  “Since when?” the man said. “Been paying five coppers an ale for years. And before that it was one!”

  Cassius walked over and snatched the mug from the man’s hand, splashing ale onto the bar and unfortunate bystanders. “Pay the coin or be gone.” He sneered at the man for a moment before turning away and thrusting the mug into Emeline’s hands, sloshing ale onto her arms and dress.

  Cassius hefted his sack full of coins from the lock box and threw it over his shoulder. The seams strained from the weight. The taproom had gone silent as everyone stopped to watch the spectacle. The only sound came from the jingle of coins and his burdened footsteps as he walked back toward the kitchen door.

  Seeming to be suddenly aware of the eyes that were on him, Cassius turned and leered at everyone in the bar. “Fishing trip,” he said before turning to walk back into the kitchen.

  “Quite the purse for a fishing trip,” Emeline said.

  Cassius glanced at her, then spat on the bar right in front of Seelios and Garrick before exiting.

  “That bastard,” Garrick said as he balled his hands into fists.

  Seelios stood and put a hand on Garrick’s shoulder. “Don’t let him trouble you, he’s not worth it.”

  Garrick’s eye twitched with anger as he stared at the swinging kitchen door. He slowly sat on his stool and gave Seelios a small nod.

  Seelios tapped his chin thoughtfully. “I’m surprised he could lift that. Our boats aren’t designed for that sort of weight, be pretty difficult for him to steer.”

  “And then maybe we’ll be rid of him for good,” Emeline said as she wiped the thick spit off the bar with a rag. “Here you go, darling. On the house.” She dropped the mostly full mug onto the bar in front of Garrick and shook the ale off her arms. She patted her dress with a clean rag and gave a frustrated shake of her head.

  The crowd on the other side of the bar became more restless. “Why do those two get all the attention around here? How about you serve some real men, beer wench!”

  Emeline whipped her head around and glared at a man in the crowd. “Call me that one more time and I’ll chop off your tongue.” She jerked a thumb up to the criss-crossing swords on the wall.

  Seelios turned to his friend. “Garrick, I really need your help. Please, time is short.”

  Garrick
ignored Seelios’s words. He seemed fixated on the crowd that was harassing Emeline. He stood up from his stool, anger building on his face.

  “Garrick, please.” Seelios reached up and placed another hand on his shoulder. “You’re the only one I know who would help me.”

  “Leave her be,” Garrick said to the crowd.

  Seelios’s hand slid off. It was too late. It was best just to get out of his way.

  Two faces turned and gave Garrick an angry stare, but most ignored him. A hand reached out and grabbed Emeline’s arm from the other side of the bar. “Why don’t you come join us on this side, pretty lass?” Roars of laughter came from the drunken crowd as Emeline struggled to wrestle her arm away.

  “I said leave her be!” Garrick stumbled away from his stool and walked over to the crowd.

  The laughter stopped, and the men who were slumped onto the bar pushed off their stools and stood. Other patrons at tables went silent and turned to watch. It was shaping up to be quite the entertaining day at the Withertree.

  The man who had been the most aggressive with Emeline brought his face up to Garrick’s. “Or what, you fool?”

  Even from the far end of the bar, Seelios saw Garrick’s jaw clench tight with rage. A moment of silence passed between the two men while they glared at each other.

  “Just as I thought,” the man said as he began to back away. “Just as much a coward as you are worthless.”

  He spat on Garrick’s face and turned back to the bar. “Where’s my ale, wench?”

  Garrick let out a yell and rushed at the man like a charging bull. They crashed into the row of stools and shattered one of the wooden legs with a crunch. The other men joined the fight, throwing punches and kicks into Garrick’s backside while he wrestled on the floor.

  Seelios couldn’t take the sight of his friend being pummeled. He was tiny compared to even the smallest of the men, but he couldn’t stand aside and do nothing. He ran up behind the nearest brawler and threw a punch that landed on the back of his head, sending pain radiating through Seelios’s knuckles. The man turned around with a look of annoyance and shoved Seelios to the floor.