Chapter Four: Completion
After three days of hard travel, Hmoyt Deepcrusher was relieved to finally reach his destination. With the heavy, early winter snows that had fallen and mid-winter arriving late, he doubted he was even going to make the trip. He had hesitated, knowing traveling would be treacherous. But he had made the journey many times, so he knew the road well. And he had more work for Niall- just as he promised. Besides that, a feeling of urgency that irritated him. He needed to go.
So, when mid-winter had finally arrived; and the Dwarves began cleaning the road between Destaf- home of the Eastern Hill Dwarves; to the Crossroads- the western edge of Rotir Shalecutter's domain, Hmoyt prepared for the journey. Fixing long flat runners on his small dog-cart and packing all the items he needed for the deep cold, he set out with a winter merchant caravan. It was one of the few that left the protection of the caverns at this time of year and wouldn't return until spring. It was transporting minerals and other materials destined for Chelust- a large human city to the north west. It was safer to travel in a group through the winding passes and steep hills. Mid-winter wouldn't last long and the pass would only remain open for a short time. Hmoyt would be lucky to make it home before the snow returned.
They reached the Crossroads within the first day and spent the night at the outpost. The morning of the second day, Hmoyt took the East road, while the caravan continued north towards Chelust. Ever since leaving the Crossroads, Hmoyt didn't see any other sign of travelers. Only the occasional animal track crossed the deep flat blanket of white that stretched before him. Even though the snow came to his old horse's knees, he did well blazing a trail in the fine powder. Hmoyt pulled his cloak tighter around him trying to ward off the radiating cold of the bright, late morning sun.
Hmoyt had spent the last night at Feldman's inn, hearing stories that disturbed him. Feldman had told him of a family that went missing at the beginning of winter and of a strange creature that had been seen in the forest. Just rumours and hear say, but it made Hmoyt apprehensive and that urge became stronger. He had left the inn before the sun rose- risking the cold, and quickened his pace.
Hmoyt stopped his horse and listened- he couldn't hear anything, only a cold, dead silence that rang in his ears. Removing his dark coloured glasses, he peered into the tall spruce trees that demarked the road. He couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching him- following, just beyong the treeline. He thought he had seen movement once but he had shrugged it off as a squirrel- even though he hadn't heard their usual warning cries in some time. The stillness of winter gripped everything and the cold held it there. No creature, not even a dwarf, could survive long in this season of death. Cautiously, he guided his horse off the main road onto the trail that led to the Emayn property.
The trees hung low, frozen with snow, making it difficult to see far. The sun became hidden and a shadow was cast below the canopy that darkened everything. As the familar blacksmith shop came into view, Hmoyt saw that the large bay doors were closed and no smoke came from the chimney. He pulled his horse to a stop at the front of the building and, reaching behind him, grabbed his snowshoes. After quickly strapping them on, he retrieved his double bladed axe from under the seat and jumped down off the cart. The shoes instantly supported the stout Dwarf on the snow.
Hmoyt stood poised, holding his axe at the ready. Listening- he couldn't hear any sound, there wasn't even the disturbance of a breeze. The cold hung like a block of ice in the air and everything was covered in a seamless blanket of white. Making his way around the corner of the shop, to his surprise, the back door was wide open. As he first viewed the house, he didn't see any smoke rise from the chimney and the kitchen and large, living room windows were covered with frost so he was able to see much.
Hmoyt turned his attention to the shop. Apprehensively, he stood on the threshold and looked in. He could only see what the bright, white light penitrated. In the rafters above him, he began to notice coal dust covering everything, clinging to beams it curled its way out the door leaving traces of its passing behind. The heat must have been incredible. Following the soot with his eyes, he saw a layer of black detritus on the workbench. Scanning the far reaches of illumination he came to the water trough- a curious, dark substance stained the side of the metal. Continueing his systematic search along the floor, he discovered another dark stain of red. Entering the shop, Hmoyt crouched down out of the light to investigate closer. He realized what it was instantly. A frozen pool of clean, smooth blood- and a lot of it. Clear, red, boot prints led away from the remnants out the door.
Hmoyt quickly got up and run out of the shop and down the path. His snowshoes kicked snow all around as he ackwardly raced toward the house. Only the calm sensiblilites of a dwarf prevented him from heading straight into the house. Stopping on the porch, he squatted down and began to fumble with the straps to the snowshoes. Peering through the large, frost covered, living room window- Hmoyt couldn't discern any sound or movement. Finally, managing to remove his shoes, he stood up and calmly opened the front door. It swung open wide with a slight creak, snow rushed in finding a new path as the white flakes revolved around Hmoyt.
Hmoyt took the first step across the threshold hesitantly and closed the door behind him. The house was bright with the winter sun streaming through the windows, but it was filled with a deep cold. The grey granite stones of the mantel radiated a chill and there was burnt charcoal in the fireplace. He could tell there hadn't been a fire for awile. Looking to his left into the kitchen, everything was as it should be. The table was neat and tidy, with a few dishes on the counter that had been cleaned and left to dry. Everything was quiet.
Looking down too the floor, Hmoyt was suddenly filled with dread. Another frozen blood stain, a few feet in front of him was imbedded in the carpet. He could still see the impression of a body in the fibers. Removing his left glove, he bent down to feel the hard ice with the tips of his fingers- it bit with the contact and he quickly removed his hand.
Before he stood up, he began calling in a trembling voice. "Niall. Fiona. Kids." Silence was the only reply, not even an echo.
Panic quickly set in as he scrambled through the kitchen and stopped at the hallway. Slowly peeking around the corner, Hmoyt expected to see Niall at the end of it. It was empty, only darkness imbued the corners and all three bedroom doors were open. The rooms contained only shadows. It reminded Hmoyt of visiting a tomb and he could hear the silence of death.
He leaned his axe against the wall, took two steps and entered Laoch and Keavah's bedroom. The window had the blinds closed blocking the sun, cold dark permeated the corners and only shades could be seen. Going to the window, he kicked a toy at the foot of Laoch's bed and quickly pulled open the coverings. Dust flew everywhere, sparkling in the light that elucidated the room.
Both beds had the coverings pulled up, concealing something beneath. Hmoyt noticed he had kicked a small wooden truck- one of Laoch's favourite toys. And then he saw another crimson stain spreading across the floor. He had narrowly missed stepping in it. Blood was spattered along the wall in an arch.
Taking a closer look at the bed closest to him, Hmoyt saw dark patch that soaked through the blanket and turned to ice. He reached down slowly and began to remove the covers. He paused for a moment irresolutely. He couldn't do it, the consequences were too horrific but he had to know. Delaying the inevitable, Hmoyt gradually pulled down the blanket, revealing his worse terror.
Laoch's head rested on the pillow at a weird angle. His eyes were closed and his hair was brushed back. His skin was the colour and hardness of ice. The blanket was fozen to the body so Hmoyt could only pull it down enough to reveal the gaping wound from some sharp impement that almost cut the boy in half. Hmoyt quickly covered the boy back up- he couldn't endure to see any more.
A deep abiding sorrow set into Hmoyt and he fell to his knees and wept. The tears flowed ceaselessly. After a moment, through his grief, he looked over at Keava's bed. The mound under the covers
was small, he could hardly notice anything. With reluctance, Hmoyt walked over to the bed in the opposite corner of the room. It seemed so small, just big enough for her. Niall had made it for Keava just this past summer.
Falling to his knees, Hmoyt pleaded, "Oh, please no."
He clutched the top of the small quilt with his right hand and gently pulled it down. Slowly, he exposed the little girl to her waist- blood stained Keava's clothes in dark red patterns. Her head was tucked, comfortable into the pillow holding it in place. It was clearly detached from her body. The laceration across her fragile neck was done in one clean motion from a very sharp blade and the wound was encrusted with ice. Keava's eyes were closed and her skin a pale blue. Hmoyt held his head in his arms and cried easily.
Taking a deep breath, Hmoyt wiped his nose and lifted the blanket back over Keava. Rising, he stared at the wall. Nighean's room was just on the other side. He dreaded what his might find there. Reluctantly, he left the kid's room and walked down the hall to the next bedroom. Just as dark, Hmoyt walked directly to the window and allowed the fading light to enter. The brightness reflected off a large mirror situated on the wall above Nighean's desk, directly across from the window. Dried flowers hung in upside down bundles around the frame. Around the floor, various things were scattered haphazardly and clothes were in the closet heaped in a pile. She never could keep her room clean, Hmoyt thought to himself as he took another breath to steady himself.
Tuning towards the bed, its glossy, wooden log frame shined in the light, it too concealed something under the covers. He didn't want to look, Nighean might still be alive it he didn't- but he had to know for sure. Sitting on the edge of the soft bed he touched her legs. They were stiff and he could feel the coldness through the coverings. Again the tears flowed down his cheeks, they couldn't be stopped. Reaching up with both hands, Hmoyt softly pulled down the comforter. Nighean lay there on her back, her eyes were closed and hair neatly brushed. Her skin was as hard as ice.
Uncontrollably, the sturdy dwarf began a fit of sorrow. His worse nightmare had come true. It was even a greater loss than his wife some years before. Looking at Nighean through his lamentation, Hmoyt saw the wound that ended her life. A cut on the bottom of her chin- he recognized it for what it was, a sword was thrust into her brain. He couldn't bare to see any more, so he quickly pulled the quilt back over her head.
How could this be? Hmoyt began to think while he sat on the edge of Nighean's bed. They were dead. These magnificent children were destined for so much. Laoch would have been a craftsman like his father. Keava- sweet little Keava, her curiosity for life was gone now. Nighean was growing into such a beautiful and intelligent woman, much like her mother. But they were all grotesquely murdered. And Hmoyt knew what the murder weapon was, he had seen enough sword wounds in his time to know. But they had not died in their beds, they had died else where. The blood stains were evidence to that, he started to reason. Someone had lovingly placed their bodies. Hmoyt looked down on Nighean one last time before he left. Walking into the next bedroom- Niall and Fiona's room, he hoped to find some sort of solace there.
He didn't want to enter, he didn't want to face what he knew waited. Standing at the doorway he couldn't see much. The curtains blocked any real light, he could only discern shapes. Straining to see the large double bed three steps in front of him, he made out only one area of prominence. He had expected to see two concealed beneath the covers.
Hmoyt, once again, went to window and opened the curtains to allow the fading light of the day to enter. It revealed something different. Fiona lay on her back, her death clouded eyes were open, staring beyond the ceiling. The comforter was neatly tucked around her shoulders. And her slached throat was laid bare, as if to leave someone's guilt exposed. She was on her half of the bed, the other side was empty. Niall was nowhere to be seen.
Slumping into a chair against the wall, tears streamed down Hmoyt's face. Holding his head in his hands, he forced himself to think. Why?- he screamed inside his mind. How could this have happened? They were all dead he suspected. Niall was probably lost under the snow somewhere. But still, who had lovingly placed them in bed, Hmoyt wondered. And where was the sword he knew was the murder weapon? Niall had finished forging it, Hmoyt was sure of it. And after Niall forged the sword, that wizard- what was his name? Hmoyt couldn't remember- he had taken it and slaughtered the family. That must have been it. What was that wizard's name. But then, why would he have placed his victims in their beds? It just didn't make sence.
Suddenly, an overhang of snow fell from the roof, startling Hmoyt. He jumped up and looked out the window. Someone, something, was scrabbling back from the wall of the house trying to retreat. It had been watching, spying on Hmoyt. Tripping and falling in the deep snow, it reminded Hmoyt of a troll.
Without thinking, Hmoyt hurried out of the bedroom; rushed down the hall, grabbed his axe and flew out the back door. Coming around the house, he was waist deep in snow. He attempted to plow his way through but soon couldn't move. Incapacitated, he noticed the creature stop and turn around. It was the most pitiful thing Hmoyt had ever seen. Hunched over at the waist, it was bent in an awkward position. The muscular arms and chest were bare and cover in thick, course hair. Its unkempt beard was long and dishevelled. And a bulbous nose stuck out from under a thick brow. The hair on the side of its head stuck out wildly but the top was completely bald. Its brown eyes looked directly at Hmoyt.
"Niall?" He asked, recognizing the creature.
In disbelief, Hmoyt watched as it turned forlornly and groped its way to the trees and disappeared. He didn't know what to do or what to think. He remained there for a second, waist deep in snow, trying to make sence of it. The sun beat down on him and he had to shield his eyes against the sharpness. It was just above the trees and the day was quickly coming to an end but he didn't know what to do.
Slowly retracing his steps back into the house, he quickly closed the door behind him. The realization of him being in a tomb return. A shiver went up his spine and he didn't know if it was because of the cold or someone walked over his grave. Not wanting to remain in the hallway, Hmoyt made his way to the living room and put down his axe. He needed heat before he too joined this family in death. Gathering kindling that was neatly piled beside the fireplace, he proceeded in starting a fire. Before long the flames were hungrily eating the cut, dry, wood. Moving to the couch, the uncontrollable tears started again.
After a while, Hmoyt began to gather his sences. He wiped his nose on his sleeve and smoothed his beard from the salty tears that clunge to it. Images began to appear as he stared into the fire. First, he saw people running through the flames; then, someone chasing them holding a sword. The second image cut down the first. Murder. A pitch pocket in one of the logs suddenly bust, sending sparks forceable outwards. Hmoyt shook his head and began to ascertain what had happened, startling thoughts began to take shape in his mind.
Hmoyt began to wonder what happened to the sword. Niall would have completed it, he was sure of that. And it had magic, he felt the alternating current himself. He never did trust magic. He couldn't believe what he was thinking. Maybe Niall had become possessed by the magic. Maybe Niall killed under the influence of that magic. But he knew Niall would never hurt his family in any way, he would have died himself first. Niall wouldn't hurt anything- he protected the spiders in his shop. Unless he was subjugated by the magic- and it had twisted Niall into the creature he saw outside. His friend would have carefully placed those he loved into bed. It seemed impossible to Hmoyt, but it was to only explination.
"What was that wizard's name?" he said to himself.
Abruptly, it came to him. "Nakal. Nakal Mish'Pachah. That's it." He would never forget the name again.
Hmoyt made an oath to himself at that moment. He would find this wizard, this Nakal Mish'Pachah. He would find him and make him pay for what he's done. Even if it took him the rest of his life- and a dwarf's life was long, he would make him pay.
&nbs
p; Coming out of his thoughts, Hmoyt began to observe the darkness that was creeping into the house. Looking out the window, behind him, he saw the gathering blue shadows outside. He didn't know what to do. He couldn't stay the night. But he didn't what to leave the family he loved. He was looking forward to this visit. He always cherished his time with Niall and Fiona and the kids. They were all he had. As soon as he stepped through the door they would be there to make him feel like he was home. Niall would make a joke and Fiona would give him a hug and kiss. The kids always had a thousand and one questions and hung on his every word. They were gone now, their lives ended and Niall twisted by magic.
In the growing light of the fire, he looked down at the wet, crimson stain in the carpet, it was beginning to thaw. Orange light dance off the smooth reflective surface. A galvanizing thought came to him. Images of flame appeared upon the wall in the increasing illumination of the fire. On the far wall, apparitions of disembodied spirit move across the large framed portrait of Niall and Fiona on their wedding day. It was Hmoyts gift to them. Hanging beside it was a smaller portrait of the three kids. The thought began to take root in his mind. But how could he. It would be a heinous act. Reluctantly, without any other recourse, he came to a decision. Once again the tears welled up. He would burn the house down, he didn't see any other way.
Rising from the couch, Hmoyt immediately removed the two pictures from the wall and set them by the door. Then he loaded the fireplace to capacity- the dry wood instantly caught fire. Next, he took a piece of kindling and ignited one end. Taking the brand. Hmoyt rushed through the kitchen, down the hall and into the far bedroom. Hmoyt held the torch above Fiona at the foot of the bed. The orange flame cast colours upon her face which made her seem like she was still alive. He wished that it was so. But she still stared into nothingness. In the flickering light, it was as if her countenance had changed, as though she gave approval to the deed he was about to undertake. He smiled, knowing it was only his imagination.
"Good-bye, Fiona. I'll never forget you."
Stretching out the torch, he began by catching the drapes on fire- the flames ate hungrily at the material. Quickly, he set to flame everything around the bed. Standing in the hallway, he watched the wood begin to crackle as the flames grew larger. In rapid secession he went through Nighean's room and then Laoch and Keava's room. Making sure the flames took before moving on, he ignited certain things in the kitchen. Finally, he spread all the hot coals and burning wood from the fireplace throughout the living room. Standing at the door, Hmoyt watched the flames begin to consume the house.
"What have I done?"
Quickly, he confiscated the portraits and retrieved his axe as he opened the door. A gust of air rush past him feeding the flames. Closing the door behind him, he fastened on his snoeshows and ran down the path towards the backsmith shop. Stopping at the corner of the building, he turned and saw the large living room window shatter. The fractured glass fell without a sound as the flames curled their way out. At that moment Hmoyt noticed as figure standing on the far end of the cleared property, hunched over and witnessing the event.
"Niall." He shouted.
The creature only turned and shambled into the trees, not wanting to been seen. Hmoyt wanted to run after his friend but he couldn't- he would soon die in this deep cold. And he knew it was no longer his friend. He could only leave. The corner of the porch collapsed as he turned away. His horse started to nicker and cause a commotion as he approached. Placing the portraits of his family in the back of the cart, Hmoyt hurried to tend to him and then climbed into his dog-cart. Removing the snowshoes, he placed them in to the back, being extremely careful of the pictures and rested the axe on his lap. The glow of the conflagration began to reenact scenes of murder.
Hmoyt whipped the reigns to move his horse as he began his long journey. The cold and darkness rushed in around him bringing premonitions with it.
"Nakal Mish'Pachah." Hmoyt repeated the name. He would never forget it.
****
Other 'Dark Tales of Fantasy' by Wayne C. Hannis
Nightmares Encased in Stone
To Rule by Right
Still to come
The City that Fell (early 2015)
The Man I can not See
The Banshee
The Twisted Cauldron
Visit wchannis.wordpress.com for more writing.
The Sword Cuts Deep: A Dark Tale of Fantasy Page 7
