Everflame: The Complete Series

by Dylan Lee Peters

  “It won’t be long before Blue will be able to accompany us on hunting trips,” Murray had told Edgar. “Then he’ll be a dog able to earn his keep.”

  Edgar was thrilled with the prospect of hunting with Blue. At night, Edgar would tell Blue stories he had made in his head of how their hunting adventures would unfold. He would weave wild stories of giant deer with ten sets of antlers that could breathe fire and fly. The dog would sit calmly and listen to everything. He was the best friend Edgar could have ever hoped for.

  Edgar wasn’t the only Shein that had found a greater happiness since Murray’s arrival. Rachael was finding that her life had become easier, and she now had time to enjoy the little things again. She was able to spend more time teaching Edgar reading and writing. Their clothes were now properly mended in a timely manner, instead of days in tatters. Her dinners, as she now had more preparatory time, were all the more sumptuous and the house was something she was once again becoming proud of. In fact, there were times in the evening when she sat on the porch in the rocking chair and knit, as relaxed as could be, while Murray, Edgar and Blue roughhoused in the field. She marveled at the seemingly endless reserve of energy that Murray possessed. The man was truly a blessing from the Holy.

  There were many times when Edgar would go into town, early in the morning, to help Murray in the shop. Murray would teach the boy his trade as he would complete his work. After only two weeks of helping at the shop, Edgar had presented his mother with a crudely made, but nonetheless functional, fork.

  “I made it for you, mum,” he beamed.

  Everything seemed to be going perfectly for Rachael and Edgar. Though, at night, Rachael would toss and turn in bed, unable to fall asleep. She couldn’t help but worry over what Joe would think of this situation when he returned from his mission. Would he understand that she had desperately needed the help, or would he be angry with her that she was unable to fulfill her duties as his wife? Would he be upset that another man was spending such a large amount of time with his son? Would he be jealous? Would he have faith that this arrangement was innocent, or would he think that he had been cuckolded in his absence? Rachael worried about all these things, although, her worries would often manifest themselves into frustration and then hostility toward Joe. How dare he be upset, she would think. It was he who was gone so often, causing her and Edgar to have so much on their plates. What sort of father was he to Edgar? What sort of husband was he for her? She thought back to when she had first met Joe. She had been so young; so impressionable. She had thought he was such an important man. After all, he worked for the Holy.

  Through her youth, men who worked for the Holy had always been able to provide greatly for their families. They were always the most respected families in the village. Rachael didn’t feel respected by her community, she felt pitied. The men in her youth were not missionaries, they were preachers, and they never had to leave the village. They could provide for their families and still be there for them. Joe was only able to do the first of those two things, and lately, he was having a hard time with that.

  In the beginning of their relationship, Joe would come back from his missions with ample compensation, more than enough for the family. That was not the case anymore and Rachael was finding it harder and harder to make ends meet. There were many times she had implored him to take a stationary position. She was even willing to uproot her life to another village, if that were necessary. Joe always rejected the requests, for one reason or another. He liked where they were living. He was only suited for missionary work. Whatever excuse he could find. She had tried everything to make it work, so why should she feel guilty?

  However, whenever she arrived at this question, she knew why she felt such guilt. She didn’t want to go back to the way things had been before Murray. She didn’t think that she could go back. It had been so much work…and it had been so lonely. She couldn’t deny it. Murray was taking away her loneliness. She would lay in bed and think of the way that Murray would smile at her, the way he was always trying to please her and look out for her. Just like he was…

  She cursed herself for her thoughts. She was married to Joe. She had taken a sacred vow. Yet, she could not deny her feelings for Murray and those feelings were growing stronger and stronger every day. She would watch him in the garden sometimes or watch him when he was in the field, playing with Edgar, and find herself imagining that this was her family and that Joe wasn’t part of the equation. Imagining that Murray was her real husband and imagining that Edgar was her real son.

  She could remember that night so vividly. Joe had returned from one of his missions with a tiny child. An orphan, he had said. He had saved the child after savages had murdered its parents. The boy was no infant, yet too young to understand anything. She had sworn to Joe that she would raise the boy as if it were her own and love it just the same. And she had…she did. Edgar was Rachael’s whole life, she couldn’t imagine living without him. She would never do anything to jeopardize his happiness, and regardless if she was using this to justify her own feelings or not, she would not send Murray away. She knew that he was making her boy’s life better. She knew Murray cared and that was enough justification for her.

  Perhaps this is part of the reason Rachael’s feelings grew for Murray. Perhaps it was also part of the reason why she did not push her feelings for Murray away. She tried to hide them, of course. But as feelings do, no matter how deeply hidden, if given time, they find their way out.

  One particular summer night, as the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, when Edgar had gone up to his room with Blue to retire for the night, Murray stood at the doorway, preparing to leave for his shop. Murray and Rachael’s goodbyes had been increasing in their awkwardness with each passing night. Lingering moments. Uncomfortable pauses. It was as if both of them were waiting for some inevitability to happen that simply never did.

  “Well, thank you for dinner, Rachael. As always, it was delicious.” Murray bowed his big head as he said this, trying to hide any red that might be apparent on his face and forgetting that the gesture was futile, given that he towered over the diminutive woman.

  “You know, you don’t have to say that every night,” Rachael said with the same guarded smile that she had been forcing herself to use around Murray.

  “I know…I guess I… I don’t know what else to say,” Murray chuckled bashfully.

  Then Rachael’s better judgment faltered. Her words were almost a reaction.

  “You could stay here tonight, I mean, in the guest room. The wind has picked up and it looks like it’s going to rain. You could go back early in the morning. No sense in getting wet from the rain. I mean–”

  “No…I really shouldn’t…the rain should hold off.”

  Just as Murray’s words escaped his mouth, rain began to pour from the sky. Rachael and Murray looked at each other and laughed.

  “Come on, I’ll show you to the guest room.” Rachael grabbed Murray’s hand and made to lead him away, but Murray wouldn’t budge. Rachael turned back to Murray. “What’s wrong?”

  “Rachael, I can’t stay the night here.”

  “It’s pouring down out there. Don’t be silly.”

  “Rachael, there’s something I’m ashamed to admit to you, but I think that it’s about time that I come out with it. You’re a married woman and…I would like to think of myself as a respectable man. You see… I have…feelings for you, Rachael, and I know it’s not right. I don’t know why I’m telling you this. I’m sorry.”

  Rachael’s body moved without a thought as she threw her arms around Murray. They looked into each other’s eyes and kissed.

  Murray never did go home that night.

  • • •

  Thunder rolled across the land and shook everything underneath the sky. The rain continued throughout the night in torrential sheets, thrown across the land by violent gusts of wind. The weather pounded Shein farm, drowning out all other sound and leaving the air inside the house damp. The s
torm was all that existed to Rachael and Murray, apart from each other as they lay in bed. Wrapping the two lovers in their own cocoon of noise, separating their consciousness from the outside world, nothing existed but their new love for each other.

  They were oblivious to the skittering of a small mouse across the floor, as it darted from a leaky wall into the dry safety of another. They couldn’t hear the snores that came from both Edgar and Blue as they slept through the storm in the room upstairs. They couldn’t even hear the rocking chair as the wind knocked it back and forth, rapping against the wooden porch. They heard none of it.

  So as the gate to Shein farm swung open and closed, they never heard its creaky warning. They were oblivious to the impending doom of each footstep of large boots as they walked up the porch. Deaf, even, to the front door as it opened and then closed, like the sealing of a casket. However, in the dark of the bedroom, where Rachael and Murray held each other in the throes of passion, a sound, cunning and sharp, suddenly cut its way into the minds of the two lovers. Gasping with shock and spinning to greet their shining intruder, Rachael and Murray found themselves at the mercy of a man scorned. Joe had returned, with a rapier at Murray’s throat and wild vengeance in his eyes.

  “Seems I’ve been gone far too long.”

  Murray was speechless, he couldn’t move. He knew that his death was standing in front of him. Rachael jumped out of the bed, scrabbling for her clothes and pleading with Joe.

  “No, Joe! Please!”

  Sweat poured from both Murray and Joe’s brows. One man hot with panic, the other with rage. Rachael continued to plead. Joe didn’t say a word. He was motionless, poised to strike at any moment. Only his face revealing the gravity of what he was about to do, contorting as he battled with himself. Murray finally gathered the air to speak, rasping, begging for his life.

  “Don’t kill me, Joe. Please. Don’t kill me. I’m sorry. Joe. Please. Forgive me.”

  Hearing Murray’s voice had ended the battle in Joe’s head. His face became resolute and he straightened his shoulders.

  “You’re forgiven,” Joe said and plunged the tip of his rapier deep into Murray’s throat.

  “Nooooo!!!” came a yell at the bedroom door. Rachael and Joe spun to find Edgar, eyes wide at the horrific scene. Tears began to stream down his red face and he gasped for air.

  “Edgar?” Joe’s hardened face grew soft as he realized what the boy had seen. “Come here, Edgar. I’m sorry you saw that. Edgar? Please.” Slowly, Joe began to walk toward the boy but the damage had already been done. Joe had become a monster to Edgar and he ran, screaming, from the house, Blue right on his heels. “Edgar!” Joe shouted after him. “Come back, boy! I’m sorry! I had to!”

  The rain pelted Edgar’s face, mixing with his own tears, but he didn’t stop running. Nothing could stop him from running. Joe had killed Murray. Edgar had loved Murray, more than he had ever loved Joe. Joe didn’t care about him, didn’t care about his mother. He only cared about the Holy and his stupid missions. Edgar could barely see where he was going and tripped on a tree root. Blue was right on top of him, making sure that he hadn’t been hurt. Edgar reached up for the dog, still crying as the rain came down.

  “You’re all I got now, Blue.” The dog licked Edgar’s face and the boy held him, sobbing in the rain. Edgar sat there for sometime before he regained himself. Soon after, the rain stopped and a cool wind followed it, chilling Edgar to the bone. He shivered. “We need shelter,” said Edgar. Blue wagged his tail in agreement.

  The boy stood up and began making his way through the forest again, this time heading toward the village. It wasn’t long before Edgar and Blue had reached the outskirts of Hammlin. They stayed quiet as they slipped into the village, careful not to make any sound, trying to stick to the shadows. They reached Murray’s shop and stealthily made their way inside. Once inside, Edgar lit the hearth and he and Blue settled down with each other, beside the fire, and promptly fell asleep.

  • • •

  “What have you done!” cried Rachael.

  Joe turned on her with venom. “What have I done?! What have I done?! How dare you say that to me, you whore?!”

  Rachael fell to her knees as the tears fell from her cheeks. “I’m s-sorry,” she wailed and covered her face with her hands. “Where is my son? We have to find Edgar.”

  It’s moments like these that define the true nature of a person. The world seemingly spinning out of control, your mind darting from one issue to another. Instinctual priority takes over. Situations such as these will reveal a man’s soul.

  Joe stared at his wife as the night flew through his mind. She’s raving, he thought. She’s betrayed me. His adopted son had run away into the night, after he had killed a man that he had found sleeping with his wife. Rachael was reaching for him now. Pleading with him. Crying. She needed to find the boy. The boy isn’t our blood. The woman has betrayed me. The body is bleeding. The body. The man that Joe had killed was bleeding in his bed. He had to get rid of the body. Joe pushed his wife away from him.

  “We can find the boy later. We need to get rid of the body.”

  Joe’s eyes blazed maniacally. Rachael backed further away, disgusted. She no longer loved this man and she wasn’t sure how long it had been since she had. She spit at Joe’s feet and ran for the door. Joe didn’t pursue her. He had business to take care of.

  Chapter 11: Darkness and Rage

  Edgar woke with a start, as if out of a bad dream. He looked around, expecting to see the comfort of his bedroom, only to find himself dirty and cold on the floor of Murray’s shop. The events of the previous night came rushing back into his mind, a cruel reminder that the nightmare was real. The sun still hadn’t crept up over the horizon yet. Edgar rubbed his eyes and looked down at Blue, who was still asleep. The hearth was still lit and Edgar edged closer to it, rubbing his arms to get his blood flowing. The sky was becoming lighter and Edgar’s senses were beginning to sharpen as he stretched his body. Suddenly, Edgar realized that Tiffa, Blue’s mother, should be somewhere. Murray had sold the other puppies, as they were too much for him to take care of, but he had kept Tiffa. Edgar walked around the shop and back into Murray’s living space, but the wolfhound was nowhere to be found.

  As Edgar began to wonder if he should look outside for Tiffa, he heard the front door to the shop slam shut. He spun around, only to find an evil, yellow grin staring him in the face.

  “Well, well, look who’s back without his blacksmith for protection.” Pritchard Barton stood in the dim light with his arms folded, snickering. “And if you’re looking for that old wolfhound, well…she ain’t around to help you neither.”

  “What did you do with Tiffa?” growled Edgar.

  “Sold her to a traveling merchant. Didn’t think that idiot blacksmith would mind. Seemed like he had his concerns elsewhere.” Pritchard looked down at Blue, who had just woken up. “Maybe I’ll sell your dog too.”

  Blood boiled in Edgar’s head and he clenched his jaw.

  “You’re not gonna touch my dog…or I’ll…I’ll–”

  “You’ll what, Shein? Just what do you think a puny, little scab like you is gonna do, huh?”

  Edgar’s hand went down to his belt and found the dagger Murray had given him. He pulled it from his belt and pointed it directly at Barton’s head.

  “Don’t touch my dog.”

  Barton laughed, unfazed by Edgar’s attempt at bravery. He looked down at the dagger Edgar held in his hand and then looked around the room. Pritchard’s eyes went to the hearth and he saw a log, only half taken by the fire. He slowly edged his way around Edgar, closer and closer to the fire. Edgar watched him with tunnel vision, waiting for Pritchard to strike. As Pritchard reached the fire, he slowly bent down and retrieved the log, brandishing it like a torch. Edgar hadn’t expected that and stepped a few paces back from Barton. The bully, realizing that he, once again, had the upper hand, began to taunt Edgar.

  “C’mon, Shein, let’s fight for th
e dog. That dog probably doesn’t want a worm like you for a master anyway. You weakling. I bet he doesn’t even like you. Why don’t you just go run back to your mommy before the sun is up? Go run to her bed and cry that you had a bad dream.”

  Edgar’s mind flashed back to the rapier as it pierced Murray’s throat, the blood pouring down his chest, his mother crying and his father’s eyes like fire.

  “NOOO!!” Edgar screamed. He couldn’t hold himself back and he lunged at Barton with the dagger clutched so tightly, his knuckles had gone white. Edgar was blind with rage and his movements were wild. Pritchard Barton easily sidestepped Edgar’s thrust and countered by plunging the smoldering log into Edgar’s face. Edgar screamed and fell to the ground, dropping the dagger.

  The pain was intense. He brought his hands up to his face but couldn’t touch it. His face seared in agony. Edgar moaned, rolling on the ground, writhing in pain. He tried to open his eyes. He couldn’t see anything. The world was black. All that existed was pain. Edgar tried to scream but nothing escaped his mouth. Slowly, sound trickled in to his consciousness. Yelling, and what sounded like growling. It was so faint that Edgar wasn’t sure if he was really hearing things or if the pain was beginning to drive him mad. He strained against the wall of pain and suddenly, his hearing came back in a rush.

  “Get off me, you mutt!” yelled Barton.

  As soon as Pritchard Barton had hit Edgar with the log, Blue had attacked him, latching onto his arm. Blue knocked the bully to the ground, thrashing his jaws, trying to tear Pritchard to shreds. Edgar could hear everything perfectly now, though he could still see only blackness. The dog was growling and Edgar could sense that he was out for blood. Edgar tried to scrabble to his knees, fighting against the pain. Then he heard scraping metal across the stone floor and he knew that Pritchard Barton had found the dagger he had dropped. Edgar was paralyzed in fear.