by Cale Madison
Rubia fell to the floor, breathing deeply as she processed everything. I approached her and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder to lend her some slight form of reassurance. She had experienced true pain, enough to last a lifetime. Her breaths started shallow and rapid, eventually calming as I held her arm.
“Will you be alright?” I asked.
“Far from,” she said, “my family, my friends..they all think I’m either dead or have abandoned them. I’ve watched them from that dark world - a brief funeral, auctioning away my belongings and everything I hold dearest to my heart. How can I look them in the eyes now?”
“One day at a time. They’ll understand.”
Rubia turned to me, tears streaming down her cheeks as she finally allowed herself to let go and feel vulnerable again. She grabbed my arm and smiled.
“Thank you. For everything you’ve done,” she said to me, tears swelling in her eyes, “if it hadn’t been for you, I would’ve never had this chance. My doors are always open for you and your wife, my friend.”
I nodded and she embraced me tightly. She owed everything to Aketa. If my love had not fallen so deathly ill, I would’ve never found myself teleporting through painting realms, chasing spirits and evading monsters. Strangely, it felt as if the Quinn Manor was newly rediscovered, as if the house had just taken its first breath after years of silence. A warm glow flooded the empty corridors, bringing to life the empty rooms and webbed crawl spaces in a spectacular way. I had saved a life and, necessarily, punished the wicked in the same night.
The Djinn teleported us outside of the main gates, where Nadi was overjoyed to lay eyes upon her master again. This gave me enough time to turn towards the valley below and watch as the sun began to rise, overpowering the darkness, casting aside the bleakness of the night to bring forth another beautiful day. I felt the warmth running down my face as the hot rays reached my skin, feeling magnificent after my not so brief venture into Quinn Manor.
“Well done, Caine, well done,” the Djinn applauded, “successfully completed the first challenge. Punished the deceitful to free the innocent. You should be proud of what you’ve accomplished thus far.”
“I hardly doubt this is something worth celebrating. That man robbed his wife of many years for money. Quite depressing, if you ask me,” I replied, staring into the valley, “what has she gained from any of this?”
“Another chance at life. See the village down below? The sea? If it had not been for you, she’d never have seen them again. Not the brushing of seawater as she strolls along the beaches or the heat from the rising sun. Nothing, if not for you. You saved her life, Caine. Rejoice in that.”
I understood his meaning, but I doubted it was worth being proud over. The Djinn walked to my side, soaking in the natural beauty of the sights presented before us. “Marvelous, is it not?” he asked me.
“None of what happened seems fair.”
“Life isn’t fair,” he replied, “humans revel in the fantasy of a perfect world and never think to perfect their own. Bartok is punished and Rubia has been set free. End of a tragic love story.”
“What is my second task?” I asked, prepared for a new challenge and ready to return home to my beloved wife. I could imagine Aketa waiting on the steps of our home, lightly running her fingers across the pendant I gave to her on the night we married. I knew that she’d be watching for any sign of movement, staring across the sea for a ship or in the sky in a frantic search for a carrier pigeon. Time was an essential commodity to me and I aimed to finish the job.
“Always jumping to work, never living in the moment. Inevitably shall be your downfall, Caine, understand-”
“Get to the damn point.”
“Fine, fine. Have it your way,” he began, “Your second task: I require a certain flower, a singular Scarlet Aven, from the snow of North Mountain. One which blooms without death and whose color never fades. Bring it to me.”
“A flower on North Mountain?” I asked, questioning if I had heard the Djinn correctly or not. Flowers can not survive, nor grow in such harsh environments as this mountain, which hosts multiple snowstorms weekly. Rumors spread that a curse had been placed upon it years ago, spawning treacherous blizzards and avalanches frequently.
“You have already proven how you fare against the impossible, Caine. Best of luck.” said the Djinn, bidding farewell before he turned to leave.
“Wait,” I interjected, “couldn’t you send me there yourself? These challenges are few and far between in location. Send me to the mountain first.”
He paused for a moment then replied, “What kind of challenge would it be if I were to walk you hand-in-hand the entire journey? You found Bartok’s home and Rubia so I’m certain you will find a way.”
“We’re only wasting time?”
“Then I’d suppose you should start running.” he replied, coldly and then vanished in a dense cloud of smoke. What is he, a fucking magician? Standing there, I thought about what the word “free” actually meant in Rubia’s mind; betrayed by her lover and sentenced to exile in a tormenting world with no chance of escape. She could return to the damned world that we are accustomed to but sadly, no, Rubia von Quinn was far from free. My journey was far from over.
CHAPTER FOUR
CONSEQUENCES OF A SAMARITAN
Aketa was always the planner, the thinker, whereas I relied on chance and the occasional coincidence. This balance of power helped to stabilize the worst parts of our relationship when we needed help the most and also served as a hidden poison in stressful situations. But she could not help me find this flower, I needed someone else.
Taryn’s workshop was located a few miles up the road from Bartok’s manor, overlooking the sea. One of my oldest friends from early childhood, he has been at my side through everything. If anyone in this drunken town could help me, it was him. His armor and skilled craftsmanship were legends among the soldiers of Ataman who frequented his shop each month.
I opened the door to his workshop, hearing the banging of hammers against steel in one of the backrooms. Painted, metal plates hung on the wall, organized in various sizes and colors like prized trophies. Sharpening stones, used to reinforce blunted swords and tools, rested atop a pile of hilts and silver on a corner table.
“It’s early! Come back at noon!” a familiar voice shouted from the back.
“I would but, you see, I’m a very poor and very impatient bastard and don’t like to be kept waiting!” I yelled back, admiring the blades he had fashioned.
“Is that Caine?” Taryn asked.
“In the flesh.”
“One piece, perhaps,” he laughed, emerging through a separate door that led to his private workspace, “very impatient man, waking me up at this hour.”
“We both know you weren’t sleeping. You love work too much.”
“That I do,” he replied, looking me over, “honestly, you look like shit. Like you fell down a mountain and a pack of wolves had their way with your unconscious body. Then, perhaps crawled into a civilization of ogres that beat you senseless before rolling you down another mountain - that type of revolting shit.”
“I appreciate that visual, Taryn, I really do, but this meeting is of an urgent matter,” I replied, watching as my old friend’s light-heartedness expression began to harden, “do you remember what you told me? About the Djinn that lived in the woods?”
“I remember. What have you gotten yourself into?” he asked with a grimace.
“I found him in a cave. He saved Aketa.”
“Well, that worked out well, I suppose! What did he ask in return?” Taryn asked, his black eyebrows raising as he braced himself for my response.
“Three tasks. The first was to bring him the wife of a man named Bortak. Bortak von-”
“Quinn? The castle on the mountainside?”
“The very same,” I said, “you might not believe what happened if I told you, my friend. It was a very strange series of events.”
“Try me. I’ve seen
some bizarre shit in my time.” Taryn replied, chuckling.
“Nothing like this. Circumstances unfolded and I was sent into this whole other world inside a painting that his wife was imprisoned within. I found her and brought her back.”
“Did the Djinn take her anyway?” he asked, inquisitively.
“No. Her husband took her place.”
“Romantic story...and the second task?” Taryn inquired.
“He wants a bloomed flower from the highest peak of Ataman’s Mountain.” I answered. Taryn shot me a surprised look and scratched the back of his thick, black hair.
“The North Mountain? Wait a second,” he began to pace, thinking to himself, “but nothing grows there? How are you supposed to find him a flower?”
“That’s why I’ve come to you,” I said, looking down at my hands, “you’ve always been the wiser one.”
Taryn cracked with laughter, “This is true. Admirable, your humbleness, Caine, but I see through your act. You need a weapon, is that it? Or some more fitting clothes, able to withstand blistering cold weather? And you think, after telling me such stories of hardship that I shall pity you and assist you on your quest to undeniable peril?”
I looked at him and replied, “Well, of course?”
“You’re a smart man.”
We approached his workbench in the rear of his shop and I watched from afar as he rifled through old tunics and fabrics before returning to me with black chain-mail. My old friend always seemed overjoyed when others admired his handiwork.
“Reinforced plates and rings,” Taryn announced, proudly, “tight-fitting for mobilization and acquired from the hauberk of an Ataman garrison. Stripped down to avoid detection from their royal guard, of course. Can’t have anyone showing up on my doorstep, asking questions.”
I held the armored tunic in my hands, thanking my friend as I tried it on. A perfect fit.
“If only your Djinn asked you to model clothing.”
“How much will this cost me?”
Taryn simply shook his head in disagreement before he disappeared to retrieve more gifts. Few seconds later, he returned with boots.
“This journey will take you to hell and back, old friend, so you shall require the proper footwear,” he said as he presented them to me, “leather-clad, able to withstand months without wear and tear...depending on your occupation, of course.”
“No need for fashion on this road.”
The boots felt a bit snug, but I would forgive Taryn of that. For now, at least.
“Your trousers appear slightly worn, but there is nothing I have in stock that would fit you. For that, I must apologize. Just take your free gifts and get out of here before you run me out of business,” Taryn said, laughing before we parted ways, “and good luck.”
* * * * * *
Taryn directed me to the opportune ship sailing for the city of Ataman across the sea. He handed me enough coin to fund myself a safe passage aboard and then bid me farewell. He was always looking out for my best interest, after all - he also agreed to look after Nadi while I was away.
The ship was a flurry of motion, men working quickly to leave the harbor. Sailors carried cargo from the buildings along the Port and delivered casks of fish, foreign fruits and vegetables to Mercian traders. A uniformed man, dressed in a captain’s tunic with a long, red beard greeted me as I approached.
“Good day to you, sir. Are you by chance heading to the Isles, or some city beyond?” he asked me, his whiskered cheeks ruffling with each word spoken, “We make stops at the Tuskan ports and Kvalshaug as well.”
“Ataman?”
“Ah, Ataman, the Silver City. We plan to dock there by tomorrow’s eve. You may accompany us if you have the proper coin for passage.” said the captain.
I handed him the pouch given to me by Taryn and the sailor laughed with a full heart, saying, “Pleased to make your acquaintance, my friend. Crew calls me Captain, but to you, the name’s Otto. Now, come aboard, we leave within the hour.”
I shook the captain’s hand and followed him across a sturdy plank to the brig of the ship. We were surrounded by filthy merchants, sailors, dreamers and wealthy passengers alike, all with one common goal in mind: to leave this cesspool of a village for a greater place across the horizon.
“Why do they call it the Silver City? Do you know?” I asked the captain as we walked. At his side rested a profound cutlass, fit for a king with jewels lining the hilt and the bottom.
“Their king has an unhealthy obsession with silver and it’s their chief export. What do they call you back home? I forgot to ask you.” Otto replied.
“Caine Mercer.”
“Well, Caine, Ataman was founded in a time when silver could be sold at a hefty price. The miners struck the motherload in North Mountain and has since acquired their name and its famed reputation,” the captain explained to me, watching the horizon by the starboard railing, “we make stops there quite often.”
“Interesting place, it seems.”
“The brothels there are to die for,” he laughed, “but other than the constant whirring of industry, there is very little that Ataman has to offer us besides diseases and a wondrous view of King Ramses’ castle.”
As he continued to describe the city like a guide to an eager tourist, I was imagining Aketa walking through the forest, picking berries and digging for edible roots. She was never fearful of what hid in the muck of the swamps; that was one of my favorite qualities in her. Otto’s men withdrew the plank connecting to the port’s docks and readied themselves for further instructions. Their captain turned to them and shouted, “Hoist the sails. I need four of you whoresons to man the brig!”
The sailors released the magnificent sail above, catching a strong gust of wind that carried us out of the harbor. Otto noticed something peculiar, saying to me, “Haven’t seen wind like this in a long time. Someone must be watching over us in good fortune.”
I agreed. I could not see him, but I knew the Djinn was there, pulling strings and assisting behind the curtains. He was my puppeteer but I cared not, only wishing to return to my better half who seemed harder to reach the further we drifted. Ottoman left me alone on the brig, making his way into the captain’s quarters below the deck, out of sight.
The crystal-clear water became dark as we left the shallows. A constant, rolling wind pressed us on into the world ahead; sailors pulled on ropes and scrubbed the deck while we traversed through the sea. Our ship cut through the water like a hot knife slicing butter; the laborers aboard were working their fingers to the bone against a roaring and relentless wind. Port Mercia became smaller and smaller, until it was no more than an imagined spot on the horizon.
Over the course of that day, I contemplated my situation, reminiscent of past memories with Aketa and how we had come to this moment in time. Captain Otto explained to me that his ship never berthed for longer than a week at individual ports along the coast; they preferred to move quickly to finish each job before its due. I rejoined the captain at the helm.
“The life of a sailor’s a lonely one, Caine,” he told me while his hands gripped the ship’s wheel, “never to see your families but once, maybe twice a year. Surrounded by the fattest swine a few coins can hire. I’ll tell you this, though, there’s only one part of this job that makes it worthwhile.”
“Curious to know.” I replied.
“All the goddamned wine and whiskey your belly can handle!” he cackled, raising a toast to his misfortune aboard the cruising vessel. We shared a laugh and drank. Out of the many friends and acquaintances I’d made over the past few days, this man had to be my favorite. Unsure as of why he favored me to this extent, I realized I had only known him for a handful of hours.
Yet eventually, as I had anticipated, the captain eventually got around to asking me of my intentions on this voyage. I trusted the man’s knowledge of the unfamiliar city I was venturing towards, so I asked, “What do you know of the North Mountain?”
“North Mountain?”
>
“Yes. Ataman’s Mountain.”
“A mountain of the north, it may be, but it is in no way THEIR mountain. Ramses claims everything in view of his palace is his property, the whoreson. His prickish attitude probably has to do with his fool-of-a-brother, Ulrik disappearing over a decade ago. But North Mountain has a...eh...peculiar sense of wonder about it.” he answered vaguely. I held the railing of the ship as we crossed into rougher waters, spawning larger waves that strongly rocked the vessel.
“What’s peculiar about it?”
“Only the legends and folktales about it. Tell me, Caine, do you believe in spirits, like ghosts and such?” he asked me.
“Not until recently.”
“Well, word reached my ears that a curse lies upon that mountain. Those who climb too high find themselves digging their own grave in a day’s time, or wind up on the Missing-Person’s board in the city. I’ve seen the evils of man and the destruction they bring upon the world, but I have never seen what people claim lives up there.”
“And what exactly lives up there?” I asked, curiously.
“Folks say they hear howling, like that of a wolf’s, coming from the summit. Regularly, such superstitions deem unworthy of my acknowledging, but it adds truth to the matter. They say a wolf-man lives on North Mountain. He eats travelers, backpackers and hikers alike, preying on those who stray too far from the path.” Otto explained, turning the wheel as we traversed.
“A wolf-man? He’s the one who brought about this curse?” I continued asking.
“Nay. He is the curse. What’s your sudden interest in a haunted mountain, anyway? You don’t look like the superstitious type.”
I turned away, replying, “It’s a complicated matter.”
Otto smirked, asking, “Involves a woman?”
“My wife.”
“Women are a complicated species,” he replied, turning the wheel, “you can spend years studying their every thought and will die with nothing but a migraine and an empty pocket. Smarter than us, they are indeed.”
