“I know what you're trying to ask because you’re not the first. Not by a long-shot.” He gave me a flicker of a smile before taking a seat and gesturing outside. “You've walked for a while and you've climbed up a lot of stairs.”
“That’s true,” I admitted.
“You’ve come all the way up here and you're maybe wondering why it looks like you haven't climbed at all. You’re maybe wondering why everything around us is so flat. You’re maybe wondering why you can’t see this concentration camp of yours.” He folded his arms and frowned. “Three guesses why.”
“Is it invisible from the outside?” I asked timidly.
He shrugged. “It is, but not in the way that you're thinking.” The old man seemed to be enjoying himself. “Two more guesses.”
“It’s got a distraction charm on it?”
The old man shook his head, sending tufts of his fur in all directions. “That would be the same to it being invisible from the outside. Last guess.”
My blood ran cold as a shocking possibility ran through my head. It was like I just climbed out from a tub of water only to have a frosty gust of wind sweep me over. There was no way it could be possible. There had to be another alternative but it was all I could think of. Without thinking about it any more, the words burst from my mouth. “The camp is underground.” I looked at the hermit with a pair wide eyes, waiting for him to laugh at me and to tell me I was wrong. I waited for him to tell me that there was another way that the camp could could have been hidden for all those years.
The man simply nodded.
“That’s impossible,” I exclaimed flatly.
The man snorted and spat into an empty flowerpot, which landed with a muddy splat. “How's it impossible boy?”
“You can see the sky, the moon, and the sun!” I protested loudly. “It even rains and snows there! I can’t have been underground!”
The old man considered this as he licked his dry skin caked lips. “I've seen a bit of anti-magic in my day and I’ve noticed that this Caterwaul fella’s pretty good at what he does. A powerful Aqua charm and poof! He’s created another atmosphere that looks like it sees the light of day. The man averted his eyes as if he quickly getting tired of me. “The same thing holds true for all the rain and snow. Your Caterwaul could sneeze and end up accidentally covering the place he wasn’t careful.” The old man suddenly leaned in close and began to whisper. “What if I were to tell you that all of your weather is planned, right from the beginning? If the Grimlars want it to rain buckets, they barely have to click their fingers for it to happen. 'Same goes for the frozen stuff.”
I stayed silent and felt my chest pounding from the shock of it all. I stumbled out the front door and took a deep breath. The air was the same but perhaps a little fresher? The sun maybe felt warmer. The sheer size of it all, however was the biggest difference. The mountains in the distance scraped the sky with their snowy peaks. Beneath that and tucked neatly between the valley, was a breathtaking body of water which was the largest I had come across. The way the snow suddenly ended at the waterfront was so sudden and abrupt, it looked almost like a different climate altogether.
“Is that... Is that Ocean?” I asked with wide eyes.
“Aye?” The man asked, stumbling outside. “Nah thats not an ocean. It’s just a lake. The ocean’s tens of hundreds of times bigger. I rubbed my forehead, trying to understand what he was saying.
“Is it possible for it to be any bigger?” I asked in wonder. “How does it stay in one place like that?”
The scraggly man shrugged before withdrawing a bottle from his coat pocket and sipping noisily.
The light snow on the ground was crisp and crunchy looking, with freshly made footprints leading to and from the shack. Following the footprints with my gaze, I suddenly realized we were in a small town. As I continued to look, more and more houses met my eye, most of them scattered in groups around the edge of the water. Behind all of this and to the east, was a small dirt and gravel plaza which housed a wooden general store, a small supply shop, a locksmith, a butchery and a huge hamper of street vendors selling mostly fruits and trinkets.
“Where are we exactly?” I asked, looking for some sort of sign or other landmark.
The old man hobbled back out onto the porch and took refuge on an old rocking chair just under the roof of the building. “A fishing village named Opendure,” he said, taking another long drink.
“Why did the Grimlars decide to build their camp here of all places?” I wondered, squinting off into the distance.
“Well, a long time ago when the Grimlars started to come into power, they decided they needed a way to recruit more members without the public intervening.” He shrugged slightly. “People might get angry if they found out their protectors killed hundreds of orphans every year. Or maybe not. Plenty of people already know, they just don’t do anything.”
“Why?” I wondered angrily.
“Why?” he repeated loudly. “Cause they’re scared! That’s why!” The ratty old man pointed back to the opening in the floor where I’d come from. “Nine hundred years ago, there was a mineshaft there. It had a fair bit of iron and coal but not much else. The Grimlars took it by force and got rid of all evidence that it was ever there in the first place. Over the years, they expanded the cavern, built this pub on top of it and bound me to it.”
“Bound you to it?” I asked uncertainly.
The old man grimaced. “If I leave this building for more than twenty four hours, my blood will literally start to boil.” The man slammed his hands on the porch railing and peered at me with a pair of exhausted eyes. “One day thought, I just had enough. A couple decades back, I set out for the south and I didn’t plan on coming back. When the sun was rising on the second day, it happened.” He bore his teeth and snarled at me. “Let me tell you what it felt like,” he insisted.
No please, I think I understand now,” I stammered, not at all anxious to hear this story any longer.
“Well my blood began to boil and I was a couple miles from the shed to keep myself from coming back.” He raised his arms angrily and continued to rant. “So I just sat there on the spot, doing nothing but waiting to die as my skin twisted and what not.” He pulled a second bottle from his pocket and began to drink out of that one as well. “Well, after the first couple of hours of me sitting under this one tree-” I gasped, suddenly interrupting his story.
“The first couple of hours?” I exclaimed in awe. “That must have taken a great deal of willpower.”
“If anything it took a great lack of willpower to stay there, but let me finish.” The man inspected his first bottle with disgust once he had realized it was completely empty and threw it on the footpath where it shattered loudly. “Yeah, so after the first couple of hours, I began to realize I wasn’t dying anytime soon. Slowly and steadily, I crawled back to my shop on all fours where only at the front porch did the boiling stop.
“Why didn't you die?”
“Good question. I'll get to that,” he said, rocking back in his chair. “After my trouble with the boiling blood, I realized I should have had chosen something much quicker. For the following months I tried everything I could. I hung myself for five hours straight and came off with only rope burns on my neck. I Filled my lungs with water only to have coughing fits for the next couple of days. I jumped off my tavern, landed on my head and walked off with a migraine and sore neck.” He pulled out a steak knife. and set it down gently on his lap. “I was sure my last try would work. I’d even planted a suicide note to the Grimlars.”
He picked up the knife and held it aloft. Before I could do or say anything, he stuck it square in his heart. I leapt back and stifled a scream however with a small moan of pain, the ratty old man simply withdrew the knife and sat up. The wound made was dry and scab like and the little blood there was didn't even escape the piercing.
Watching in apprehension, I saw the muscle around the area churn, covering fresh skin over the gaping hole in the man’s
chest. I now noticed that there were a great number of holes in his shirt, which suggested he tried the same thing many times.
“Tah dah!” the man exclaimed, giving himself a round of applause. “Oh it's wonderful isn't it? The slob of a man who can't die. The man that’s required to serve all of eternity in a leather shop somewhere just because some warlock freaks told him to.” He gave a rancid burp and suddenly began to sob in his seat.
I didn't know where to look or what to say. I thought about giving him a pat on the back, but decided against it at the last moment. Fortunately I didn't need to look anywhere else, because Gregor had finally finished his ascent along with the chaplain. Gregor looked slightly puzzled at the sight of flat land all around him but didn't so much as flinch when he discovered that the camp was underground. He calmly took a single breath and walked outside into the open world, leaving no impression that he was ever going to turn back.
“Let him have a moment to himself,” the Chaplin said as if I would somehow care about Gregor’s well being. Stepping backwards, he nearly tripped over the sobbing shop owner before making a stiff movement towards me. It was a strange bow where he held both of his wrinkled palms outward. His fingers clicked five times and without another word, the chaplin left. I didn't complain or even laugh at the ridiculous blessing. If anything I was glad to have this gesture momentarily distract me from the daunting task ahead.
While the shop owner continued to sob heavily, I decided to rummage through the supplies we’d been given. Opening up my pack, I felt my fingers run over a new leather tent and a stuff sack containing three days worth of cured meats, fruits and bread. As much as I couldn’t believe it, it really seemed like the Grimlars spared no expense in keeping us alive. My hands met a large wallet filled to the brim with gold coin, which I gleefully tossed from hand to hand. I examined a set of empty glass bottles before setting them to one side as I caught a glimpse of a strange looking box, covered in extravagant fabrics. Inside this, were many small paper satchels of what felt like sugar and flour mixed together. Stuck to these were bright yellow labels, with a couple being:
“Martha's All Purpose Cold Repellant”
Take one pinch of powder, and spread it exactly where
you plan to pitch tent. Warning: does not cure colds,
If you feel a burning sensation as you sleep or if you
ingested the powder, drink one gallon of water,
and resist the urge to set fire to anything. Not intended for indoor use.
“D.I.Y. Shield repair kit”
Apply a small handful of powder to the injured area and with a handful
of damp stringy grass, place a large amount of pressure on the damaged section.
As soon as you feel the grass bind to the shield, drop it immediately,
and wait twelve hours before use. If it doesn't take, throw it to the
ground in an angry sort of way, and begin yelling it it.
We've found it may even work better if you adopt this method.
Warning: Progressive shouting at the same shield over an extended period of
time can reverse the effect, and make the shield more brittle than ever,
due to hurt feelings. Caution is advised if the user decides to shout at their
shield.
Tossing these two aside, I held up a particularly small, and expensive looking package that hardly looked like it could hold a teaspoon of salt. Carefully wrapped and embroidered in expert calligraphy; it read in golden letters:
“Professor Pocket's untested, unrefined Miracle powder.”
No instructions were visible on the packet. The only other words printed onto the strange satchel, were the ones that formed the command,
“Use sparingly.”
I carefully placed the packet back into the bag, resisting the sudden urge to rip open the parcel and possibly even take a small taste. “What kind of enchantment doesn't even come with instructions?” I thought to myself irritably
A loud cough from the other side of the room signaled that the shopkeeper had finished his sobbing.
“Have you got a compass I could take?” I asked, suddenly remembering that the professor had not included one in his handbag.
“Fine by me. It's not going to do any filthy good here.” The old man motioned for me to advance as he began rummaging through a series of cubby holes built into the stairs. He was murmuring to himself the way most men do when they’re irritated and they want to show it. “Here we are,” he said, withdrawing a large bronze compass. Its a couple hundred years old, but I doubt that makes much of a difference.”
I took it, and stuffed it with the rest of the supplies. “What's your name?” I asked the man.
“Theodore. That’s who the shop’s named after anyway. I've lived for so long I could be Theodore the seventh by now.” He forced a chuckle, but I could see he was still grimacing.
“So that’s what this place is called? Theodore’s Leathers?”
“Yep.”
There was a rather uncomfortable silence after this, where neither one of us knew what to say next. I tried my best to reassemble my remaining supplies before staring up into his scratchy face. “I Guess I'll be off then.”
Theodore scowled. “I guess you will.”
Strapping my own pack to my back and cradling Gregor's in my arms, I walked outside into the cold morning air, where it was just beginning to snow. Just as I took a step onto the open earth, I heard Theodore’s creaky old voice call for me.
“Yeah?” I asked, turning around.
“Good luck,” he said while raising a bottle in my direction. “Just remember, death isn't as bad as most people make it out to be. If you find yourself dead, well you can thank the gods that you don't have to do anything else for a very long time.”
I nodded my head with my eyes closed as if in deep thought, however in truth, I was just fighting off a sneeze. I turned around and without looking back, set off to find Gregor.
Chapter twenty
Red Faced
Lo, Running through the distant mountains cold
Swimming through a lake of molten gold
Underneath is blood and broken bones
Where harmony is undefined
The young, have a time to hate their elder kind
Sitting on the thrones of steel and thorns
Bread and butter
Blood and water
Singing songs that do not matter
Ocean rising
Purifying
causing children to stop crying
Stormy weather fades away
Boat in water sails away
Panicked feelings go away
365 days of quest remaining
I looked into the distance and saw Gregor silhouetted against the lakefront. As he stood clutching his tense stony shoulders, I could see that he was breathing quite heavily, making it seem as though a large weight was pressed against his chest. I advanced slowly, unsure what he would do if I were to suddenly start talking to him. I was perhaps a few arms lengths away when he turned around. I flinched and staggered back a couple of steps, however he didn't look at all surprised to see me. Instead, he snorted through his throat and looked at me as if immensely disappointed with what he saw. I threw my sack to the ground and gently propped his against a large lakeside rock. Just as I did before, he carefully took this time to examine everything in his pack while I quietly shivered on the spot. It was another five minutes or so before he spoke.
“Right. We have a year to find and kill possibly the strongest dragon in existence. Where do we start?” Gregor seemed to be asking himself more than me. He probably thought that I didn't have any good ideas.
This would have been correct had the professor not given me his own handbag and letters. I wondered how I could make the contents of his notes known without giving any more details than necessary.
“Well,” I began trying to avoid all eye contact. Gregor looked up at the sound of my voice, startled that I had
begun to answer his question. “I once read a book--” Gregor cut me off with a loud sniff.
“I didn't know that you could read.” My cheeks went red, however aside from that I managed to keep my composure intact.
“I once read a book about prophecies,” I stammered, louder than I intended. “I figured that we could get a prophecy ourselves to see where we could find Orthonus. Then, we’d be able to sneak up on him and kill him.”
Gregor thought about this for a moment, while his finger stroked the stubble on his chin. “No,” he said, sharply turning away from me.
“What do you mean no!? It’s a good idea!” I exclaimed angrily.
“No.”
“Gimme a reason why It wouldn't work!” I asked stubbornly.
Gregor crossed his arms and stared me square in the eyes with a bored expression. I'd forgotten how much taller he was than me.
Gift of Gold (The Year of Churning Bloods) Page 36
