by SL Figuhr
The leader, who seemed to be growing shorter by the minute, beckoned to the guards and pointed out six more victims, who were delivered, struggling, one by one, to the altar. The group chanted again, anointing each one. The guards held the failing sacrifices up as the hooded figure slit throats, letting the blood splatter over the victim on the altar. Mica felt nausea well up and rested his head against the ground, closing his eyes.
Don’t pass out; not now, not now. You’ve seen much, much worse. Come on, Mica, don’t pass out. You’ve got to see this through to the end and find out who each robed person is. They must not be allowed to go free any more than Nicky.
Mica got himself under control as the screaming reached a new crescendo. An unidentifiable, wisp-like substance was pouring out of the leprous body standing next to the altar with its victim. The leader appeared suddenly and markedly shorter; did he kneel down? He chanted again, marking the altar victim with what appeared to be thick paste from bowls presented by the other coven members. The captive on the altar began to scream in agony, writhing out of the guards’ grasp before going still. The high priest spoke a few more phrases. The ritual appeared over when the participants stopped chanting, bowed deeply, and placed their candles on the ground around the altar before walking away.
Mica slithered a little closer to the front of the concealing mass of vegetation. His gut cramped, and he swallowed hard. I swear every single one of these men will pay for what they’ve done this night. He could see only a few people left in the pens. The high priest still knelt by the altar. All but two of the followers had filed out of the clearing, back the way they had come. Mica absentmindedly wiped sweat from his brow. The priest beckoned to the guards. An eerie silence filled the clearing. He lifted his head in time to see the high priest was no longer kneeling behind the altar, but was standing again.
“No! By all that’s holy! You won’t get away!” Mica didn’t realize he’d shouted out loud. Branches gave way as he charged across the clearing. His sword sang free of its scabbard as he let loose a war cry.
The remaining hooded member supervising the cleanup had started to turn at the commotion. The guards moved to intercept Mica. His blade met flesh and sunk in. He was fighting the men until a voice rang out,
“Stop!” The command froze all in the clearing, including Mica, to his surprise and shock. Some trick of the light made the former captive’s eyes glow red.
The man spoke an in an unfamiliar language, and Mica had the sensation of his body catching fire. He fell screaming to his knees, sword slipping from his nerveless fingers as the man bent over to keep his hand on Mica’s chest.
“Nnnnnoooooooo!” Mica screamed. His head felt like acid was being poured over it. Black spots danced in front of his eyes, on the verge of passing out, the pain intolerable. As his vision faded, he thought he heard the guttural voice laugh in wild amusement.
Chapter Three
A fter returning the mare at the stables, Colin went to the tavern, gloomy within, torches unlit. Passing by the bar, he noticed a band of carving under the edge, obscured by the patrons last night. He took a chance to kneel, knowing his pants would be soiled from contact with the filthy floor, inspecting it further. A coat of arms, vines twining around animals. Thorns piercing the animal and human figures. The same design the sheriff had on his clasp.
He was going to ask about both but Tom and some of the men stood, regarding him suspiciously. At this early evening hour, the place wasn’t crowded as it had been the night before, thus enabling him to pick a table closer to the bar. He saw Mary Elana coming out of the kitchen.
She scurried off without a word. Colin wondered if something was wrong. When she came back to deposit it and collect coin, he tried to make small talk.
Mary Elana stared at him with huge eyes as she placed his change on the table. Mother of God! Please don’t let him make a pass! “I’m fine. I do what my father tells me,” she replied curtly.
Colin scrambled to think of something else, remembering what he and his friends had seen from their journey. “May I ask another question or two of you?”
She was going to ignore him, but he continued, “Beyond the forest, up in the mountains, we noticed what looks like castle spires. Whose is it?”
Mary Elana blurted out, “You’re stupid to go too deeply in that forest—those mountains—and no one has seen what you describe. You must be mistaken.”
She sighed, wishing for once her father would yell for her to get back to work so she wouldn’t have to speak to this stranger. “Local tales say there used to be a castle there in times of yore, along with a city. It was said to have been destroyed by the ancestors of our current townspeople, but a monster roams what’s left.”
Colin chuckled. “I don’t believe in ghosts or monsters.” “You should. People have gone into the forest and disappeared.” “Perhaps they ran off.”
He raised an eyebrow but said no more as she scurried off. Her father gave her a suspicious eye as she headed into the kitchen to help her mother. Colin noticed he followed after the girl. He sipped cautiously. The stuff wasn’t as bitter or chewy as last night’s, both conditions he abhorred in ale. He hoped he would be able to say the same for dinner. And that he hadn’t gotten the girl into trouble by talking with her.
He wondered if he dared bring out his journal to note his observations from his trip about the countryside and sketch out the carving around the room. Colin didn’t want anything to happen to his journal, but he just had to record what he had seen. He reached into his pack sitting against the front of his legs, drawing out the book along with pen and ink. He saw the bartender reenter the room, noticing him. The man must have made a joke at his expense as the men leaning against the bar half-turned to him. They observed, laughing and cracking jokes. He wrote concisely about the countryside and the people he had met in his small, neat handwriting. He liked to include sketches of people or things that had stood out. He was lucky the farm woman had let him stay awhile, as he only had to record everything he’d observed after lunch. Colin began drawing the carvings around the bar. He noticed his light growing almost non-existent. The man looked up in alarm, but it was only the last of the sun going down. The bar was also filling up fast, the noise level rising. He sighed, carefully sanding the page he had been working on before putting everything away. He reached absentmindedly for his tankard, noticing it was empty. He looked for Mary Elana. Instead, he got the attention of another woman.
“Stew and bread. Ya want any?”
“Yes, please. Thanks.”
“Sure, hon.” She smiled at him, revealing blackened and missing teeth while scooping his tankard up and flouncing off to get it refilled. She was back fast enough to have him wondering if Tom spit in his drink, though he’d watched the barkeep the entire time.
She set his mug down, leaning over so her top gaped open to give him a view of her watermelon-sized breasts with dish-sized areoles and cork-sized nipples. “Food ain’t ready yet, hon. I’ll bring it out when it is.”
Colin thanked her. He paused in taking a sip, seeing Eron coming down the stairs with his full pack on his back, trying to avoid meeting anyone’s eyes. Forced to go around a patron, he spotted Colin. Colin motioned him over, but his friend shook his head, moving on. He called out Eron’s name while motioning more insistently, standing up to intercept. His friend finally came, scowling, clearly wishing he had left earlier. Colin sucked in a quick breath when he saw his friend’s face: eyes ringed with fading rings of green and purple spreading down to his cheeks and jaw, scratches overlaying it all.
“With whom did you fight? Are you abandoning us?” “Drop it.”
“Why?”
“Colin, just leave it. I’ve had a long, painful day.”
Eron refused to answer, looking toward the door. A wild-looking group pushed their way to the long table in front of the fireplace; they wore furs and leather, intricately braided long hair and beards, with only the lack of facial hair distinguishing women from
men. He should’ve just grabbed his stuff and left out the back. Eron tried not to breathe deeply, his torso still aching from kicks, punches, and sword stabs. He noticed a heavily cloaked, hooded figure flitting from one pool of light to another before sitting at a recently vacated table in shadow. Eron could’ve sworn a brief flash or gleam came from under the hood. It reminded him of the eye shine of night animals’ eyes, and he was unnerved enough to speak.
Colin snorted, taking another sip of brew as he looked at the newcomer. “I see someone trying to remain anonymous. Will you please just sit for one drink and wait for Mica before you leave? Or barring that, just tell me why now? I’m sorry you got the crap kicked out of you, but it’s not like it hasn’t happened to us before.”
“What? I’m fucking tired of being a piñata for your brother. I know his time to find the little boy’s running out, but I can’t listen to him justify his mad quest anymore.”
Eron scowled. “I’ve booked passage on a ship leaving with the tide. I can’t wait and tell him in person.” It came out defensive, as his eyes strayed to the shadows where the stranger sat.
“This could be serious. It’s about fifty feet around and looked pretty deep, judging from the pile of dirt around it. Plus, it’s about half-full of corpses.”
“That’s not what I said,” Colin replied forcefully. “I said it’s a pit. A mass burial. Not tidy little plots with wooden crosses or carved headstones. Even with a town this size, there still isn’t enough to fill a hole that size. Most people seem to be in transit, being brought in to be sold and shipped out again.”
“Why can’t there be? Hell, the town and probably the farms use slaves. Who treats property gently? Work the slaves to death and dump them. I’m leaving, Colin. Tonight. Whether or not Mica gets his ass in here.”
Eron gritted his teeth. “Mica isn’t missing. Just really late. I’m sure he’ll turn up. He probably heard another rumor about Nicky and went all delusional thinking it’s fact and chasing after phantoms. Again.”
The man shoved the kitchen door open, bellowing for the girl. She scurried out, wiping her hands on an apron as the tavern keeper grabbed her roughly by her upper arm, berating her.
“Damn you! I told you to keep an eye out for the customers. You lazy cow! What the Little Lord sees in a disobedient slut like you, I’d like to know.”
He gave her a shove in the direction of Eron and Colin, kicking her for good measure. Mary Elana staggered forward but managed to remain upright. She had angry tears in her eyes, and her face was red.
“We’re sorry, lass, we didn’t mean for you to get in trouble. Why do you put up with abuse? Why do you not leave and go somewhere else?” Colin inquired.
“Because women need their menfolks’ permission, in this realm,” she replied bitterly. “What do you care? If I am caught defying them, I will be punished. I have nowhere to go and no money. What do you want before you get me in more trouble?”
Colin sighed. “Food, since supper is ready.”
She scurried back into the kitchen.
“What if Nicky noticed him? Captured him?" Colin replied. “At least tell me which ship you’ll be on so I can get word to you before it sails.”
Eron gave a silent laugh. “Try my house. Oh, that’s right, I don’t have one. Why? Because I’ve spent the last ten years being dragged from one disease-infested hole to another. All courtesy of your asshole brother.”
Mary Elana returned, thumped bowls down, and Colin fished out coin for the meal and more drinks and gently captured her wrist. She gasped, trying to pull back.
“Nay, listen a moment. I’m truly sorry you got in trouble. Take this; use it to help you get out of here and start a new life somewhere.” He noticed his friend hefting his pack higher on his back while stepping away. "Eron, wait, come on.”
“Let me go! I’ll not take your coin and be in debt to you!” She gave a wrenching sob at her father’s bellow.
“Please let me go!” she whispered fiercely, still tugging at his hand trapping her wrist. “I already told you, even if I had the money I have no way of escaping! They won’t let me!”
Colin released her while tucking the coins away. Mary Elana turned, knocking into Eron in her haste to flee. Ignoring her father’s shout, the girl avoided him and slipped into the kitchen. Eron angrily said, “Let it go, Colin. Can’t you see you’re making things worse?”
“You fancy, overdone excuse of a man had better listen up and listen good. No one interferes in me business, including me own git. So whatever vile plan you tries to trick her with won’t do you no good. I’ll see to it and so will the advisor and the sheriff.”
The men had no opportunity to reply. Tom stomped behind the bar, pausing to have a few words with some men around it. They turned, glaring, clearly drafted into watching as the tavernkeep exited out a side door.
Colin glanced into the bowls before him. “You never used to be uncaring, Eron,” he chastised his friend, getting an ugly laugh in return. Stringy vegetables and fatty chunks of meat in a watery broth comprised the stew. Colin tore a chunk off the burnt bread, slurping up some food.
The men on watch set their tankards down. Colin saw Mary Elana back in the main room, conversing at length with the still-cloaked figure in the corner. It piqued his curiosity as she seemed to go out of her way to avoid talking overlong with the bar patrons. Eron was making his way to the door, but the group at the bar blocked his path. The entrance door slammed open, Jake stomping in, followed by a bunch of his men, the barkeep bringing up the rear.
“Oh?” Eron feigned surprise. “Sorry, I must have missed it amid all the other bullshit you’ve been spouting.” Though antagonizing the man was foolish—he needed to leave, and Mica’s quest depended on his cooperation—the recklessness bubbling in his veins all day wanted to break free.
The sheriff flipped stew into Colin’s face, figuring the pansy would break first with intimidation. “There’s a horse been stolen today. Mighty fine, mighty valuable animal. I’ve got his owner sayin’ he saw a man soundin’ like yer third friend ridin’ off on his property. An’ here we have only two of ya, and the bartender done telling me youse tryin’ to steal his daughter away. Now what youse make of that?”
“What I think, Sheriff,” Colin replied, calmly picking vegetables and meat off his sodden clothes, “is that you’re trying to frame my brother and looking for any trumped-up charge to hassle us since we got here.”
“You’re trying to set us up by kidnapping one and trying to extort money, or maybe kill and run the others out. I want to know what you think of that.”
The sheriff halted to prevent himself from being impaled. He signaled to his men, and they joined in. Eron tried fighting his way out of the mess, but he was quickly overpowered. With shouts and cheering, Jake’s men dragged their victims into the night.
“Come on, men! We’ll hang the fancy fops!” Coils of ropes looped the prisoners, letting the mob half-drag, half-kick their victims through the muck of the streets.
Under the cover of shouting and raucous laughter, Colin spat rancorously, “At least now you’ll be free to leave once you climb out of the burial pit.”
“Thanks for such a comforting thought. Here I was, thinking the unpleasantness of being hanged would be the worst. Now I also get to nap with corpses,” Eron dryly shot back.
Colin grunted as a boot landed in his ribs. With a few more kicks, the friends lay panting on the ground as the sheriff held up a hand to bring the crowd to a halt. Booted feet obscured their view. The sheriff was giving a speech, bringing lots of laughs and calls for blood. Eron and Colin barely listened, frantically working to undo their bonds. But they were soon hauled up and more rope looped around their necks.
Chapter Four
I sat on my horse, surveying the town from beneath my hooded cloak, frowning. Ragged wooden huts interspersed with some of stone dominated one side of the riverbank, elaborate mansions on the other side. I realized some of the stone was really chunks of s
tacked concrete. Window sizes varied, reclaimed glass from an earlier world and time. The streets stank of offal, fish, horse droppings, and dead things offending my nose. The mud was riddled with refuse, homeless, corpses, and puddles. I didn’t recognize one single building. It was as if everything I had ever known had been razed.
I turned the horse toward a tavern, according to the sign hanging from the side of the building. Judging from the outside, I would not like what would be found inside. I know, I know; appearances can be deceiving but believe me, after years of living, I knew. Okay, so being able to "hear" what went on inside also told me. The city had shrunk to a town not worth spit. It was a thief’s paradise. River pirates, slave traders, murders for hire—and worse—called it their home. I considered it Elysium, but decent people, if any still existed, thought of it as hell.
At a nudge, my horse splashed into the two-story tavern’s courtyard past a large group of men leaving. They dragged some women along. A young man uncoiled from a dirty patch of straw in front of the stable door, so begrimed and beaten that his actual age was indiscernible. He wore a metal collar; scanning his thoughts, my displeasure grew. Society had regressed; he was a slave. Windstorm threw his head up at the boy’s approach, flicking his ears back. The stallion was temperamental, but before I could warn the boy, he was crooning to the horse, caressing the steed’s velvety nose in admiration as I alighted.
