by Colin Taber
A listener jeered, “So you took her there, on her own down bed!”
The storyteller shook his head. “If but I could’ve! When she saw me, she started and unfolded those great wings and jumped straight back into the sky!”
“Yes, Dirk, and where’d you say you saw this?”
“In a clearing deep in the forest, near the Wildlings’ lands.”
“That far away?”
“Too far,” another said.
“It’s a true tale, I tell you! And I still have the arrow to prove it.”
Sef and Anton had both been caught by the tale, even though they’d missed its beginning and not been invited to join the group. Sef couldn’t help but ask, “Please, if you may, could you repeat the beginning of your story, for my friend and I’ve missed it?”
Dirk looked up and smiled at Sef, but that welcome faded when he turned to Anton. The man was clearly not fond of Heletians. He asked, “Which part, where’d you hear from?”
“You’re talking of an arrow, something I didn’t hear you mention before. I heard from when you startled her, this winged woman?”
“I was deep in the woods, on a hilltop where its side sloped down and away. Not too distant I could see the peaks of the Varm Carga, them under heavy skies, but between the mountains and me was quite another sight; a terrible fire had been through the valley. What was left of the woodland was blackened with the wind stirring up great clouds of ash, leaving the land wasted and dead.
“As I said, it was quite a sight. So, after taking it in, I turned to go – but something caught my eye. There were figures in the air. They were little more than specks and racing away from the mountains. After a moment I realised it was three chasing one. At first I thought they were hunting birds, though I’d never seen any work in packs. Then I realised I could see limbs aside from wings: They were gargoyles!”
Anton asked, “I thought you said that this lady of the sky was beautiful, for I’ve only ever heard the gargoyles called hideous?”
Dirk looked to Anton, glad to see he’d been paying attention, even if he’d interrupted. “Keep listening, outleaguer, and you won’t be disappointed.” A round of laughter sounded from his audience before he continued on. “I took shelter amidst the undergrowth under the trees. I was lucky they didn’t see me, but I suppose they were too intent on their prey.
“Soon enough they passed close by and I could see that they were indeed gargoyles and armed with bows. But what they chased was something else: It was a winged woman!
“The chase swung about as they passed low overhead, crossing from the ash wasteland to the forest’s edge. It was then that she took an arrow and fell from the sky. I lost sight of her, but heard her hit the pine trees behind where I’d been hiding.
“The gargoyles swooped to check on her, even sending more arrows after her descent. They then fled as the clouds parted which let bright sunlight in. That sent them hurrying back to the mountains.
“I watched them, to make sure that they’d gone for good. When I was certain,I went back into the forest looking for the fallen lady.”
Sef prompted, “And you found her?”
He nodded, a wistful smile coming to his face. “I did. As I moved in I found some freshly broken branches that must have been knocked down by her fall to soften her landing. I followed a trail from there, which led to a nearby clearing. Along the way I found an arrow of ugly crafting, still slick with feathers and blood.”
Anton asked, “And you saw her?”
“Yes, and in a moment she both captured my heart and broke it. She spread her wings, each longer than she was tall, and then brought them down to stir a great wind as she leapt back into the sky.”
One of the locals called out to the barman, “Another pot for poor Old Dirk, something to soothe his aching heart!”
The barman replied, “He’s not on about his flying nymph again?”
“Of course he is!”
“I’ll have to see his coin before he gets another!”
And laughter sounded amidst Dirk’s protests.
Others bought drink as the conversation turned onto topics more mundane. Anton and Sef also rearmed themselves with ale, and, as they were doing so, found Dirk beside them tapping his empty pot. Sef chuckled as he asked for an extra serve and then turned back to see what else they might glean.
“So, what would you hear of, for I’m a man long of these parts?”
Anton said, “Well, for starters, tell us more of this winged woman. What was she, what did she look like, and did you ever see her again?”
“No, I haven’t seen her again, but she was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen; not marked by pox or age, or even dirt, and all despite being shot by an arrow. She seemed to stand tall and had the smoothest skin, her eyes were gold just like her hair, and that colour extended to be mixed in with the white of her wings.”
“Did she say anything, did you hear her speak?”
“No, just a gasp of surprise when she saw me. It’s probably a mercy, for I imagine such a soul’s voice would only have bewitched me even more.”
“And you’ve never seen the likes of her again?”
“No, but I haven’t had time to: This was only earlier this season.”
Sef stiffened. “Where?”
“To the north, where the forest meets the foothills. I haven’t seen the gargoyles since either, though they’ve been at work in these parts for years, usually after dark. In the end, I think that’s why they fled after shooting her down.”
“What do you mean?”
“The overcast skies cleared; the clouds parting to let the sunlight in. It set them to flee back to their mountain caves. They don’t like daylight.”
“So, why were they risking the light in the first place?”
“Chasing her. Hunting her. Trying to kill her, I’d say.”
“And you’d also say that they’re often at work around here?”
“Well, further to the north, but yes. With their raids and the like.”
Sef and Anton exchanged glances.
“Around here they’ve raided half a dozen villages over the last score years. Last year it was Ormstem, the year before another place further in the woods to the north. Nothing happened before that for perhaps three or four years, but then there was a raid that wasted another village.”
Sef was getting restless as Dirk counted the years back towards Kaumhurst’s demise. Finally, he asked, “And I hear others have also met mysterious fates, razed to only be discovered as ruins.”
“Yes, others, all throughout the deeper woods. It also happens further along the frontier on both sides of us, so maybe there are a couple of villages razed every year along the whole length of the mountains. It’s hard to know. Perhaps if Fletland was under one lord we’d be better prepared for such raids, but with so many independent towns and lordships it’s hard to know for certain what’s happening, let alone to do anything about it.”
With care, Anton asked, “And none survive the attacks, they’re always complete?”
Dirk took a swig of ale and then shook his head. “No one survives. Though, about ten years ago, I saw a horseman mad with grief come tearing along one of the forest trails. He was covered in blood and ash, and by the look of it was destined to ride his horse into the ground.”
Sef’s jaw dropped open.
“It was later that day, as I made my way deeper into the woods, that I came upon a ruin – the first I’d ever seen. It was a razed village, Kaumhurst, with not a soul left. I think that horseman, half crazed, was probably the only man to survive the raid. Later, I passed on the news of the gargoyle strike.”
Sef put down his tankard and whispered, “Thank you.”
Anton spoke up, “Yes, thank you. I think it’s time for us to take our leave.”
-
Putting Haagestrich behind them also meant leaving the lakelands and moving into the woods beyond. They went on foot as light showers washed over them, the grey skies p
romising rain by evening, something heavy and constant.
At first small fields and common pastures sided most of the road, all of it surrounded by woods old and deep. Soon though, the forest became the norm, trees coming right up to the edge of the road, with cleared land appearing only in hard fought for pockets.
Such openings of farmland held hamlets at their hearts, topped by spikes and surrounded by stockades. These were settlements built with defence in mind, them rising from a soil rich with fear as they faced the ominous forest.
As hamlets and fields became increasingly rare, so too did fellow travellers. Eventually, the narrowing road meandered as little more than a trail between ash and elm naked of leaf. The stout trunks of the ancient trees stood so crowded that even though the light filtered down from above through bare branches, line of sight was limited.
It was well before sunset that it became apparent that they’d be forced to camp. They’d both expected it, knowing as they looked for a suitable spot that this would probably be their first night of many out in the open. Yet, not all of the forest was made up of wintering trees; some sections held pockets of fir or pine. Such groves were shrouded in deep shadows, but held the promise of keeping them dry despite what the weather threatened.
After a long day, they eventually settled down between three giant pines that lined a bend in a gully not far off the road. They nestled their bedrolls into a mattress of fallen needles that gave way to comfort them, seeing them both kept warm and sheltered.
Taking a turn each on watch, sleep came easy.
-
The next morning they set off feeling sore and stiff. At the same time they moved with a kind of relief, knowing that their journey was at last well under way.
Sef had been quiet, and Anton thought he knew why; they’d soon be passing near Kaumhurst.
It was later that day, after they’d left the pines behind and returned to the lighter but leafless woods of elms, ash and beech, that Sef broke his silence. “We’ve got to go there, it’s not far off the road.”
Anton had been expecting such a request. “Of course we can.”
“We won’t stay long, I’ll be quick.”
“Sef, take as long as you want.”
By mid-afternoon, Sef had found the overgrown side trail. They took it, having to beat back branches and herb-brush, but nonetheless they followed it down its long and winding throat.
The road to Kaumhurst.
An even deeper silence settled as Sef lost himself to his memories, his grief palpable as they took that winding path late into the afternoon. They only stopped the once, to camp for the evening.
That night, just off the trail and under the bare branches of ash and elm, they set up camp in waist-high undergrowth. Later, a steady drizzle accompanied their separate watches, so that at dawn they were greeted by little more than the chill and damp.
Sef seemed taken by the mood, giving himself fully to his black grief. Anton didn’t intrude into his mourning, finding it hard to comprehend the loss his dear friend had suffered, and all by way of such a wicked and selfish divine conspiracy.
After a simple breakfast of bread and cheese, they were again off to follow the track that wound its way amidst undergrowth gone wild. At times the trail seemed lost, but Sef always found it, as though an angel of sorrow guided him.
Or the ghost of Sef’s wife, Anja.
There were spirits there, of that Anton was sure. He could feel them watching him, as they led them on. Not quite entities complete enough to step forth, or something he could witness in the void of the celestial, but there nonetheless.
Memories of what had been, mournful shadows, somehow preserved.
What it told Anton was that they were close to their goal, to the hallowed ground of a village vanquished as part of a dark lie. Like the torched warehouse back in Ossard that had hosted the ritual to ignite the beacon, thereby attracting the Horned God, something similar had happened here. But this ritual wasn’t one of illumination and attention, instead it was of dampening and forgetting.
Kaumhurst erased.
Anton shook his head at such a thing, at the death and sorrow that scarred this land. Tears began to burn his eyes, them coming free to run down his face.
He’d never been here, yet stood with guilt in his heart for the ruin that lay ahead. He’d worked along with so many others to uphold and build it, to construct its very ruination. For too long he’d supported a deceitful order – but to be fair, he’d never known the full truth.
Yet, ignorance was no shield.
Had his own work, through his orders and former faith, ever come to work hand in hand with the beliefs that’d done their bloody work here? Had his labours contributed in some way towards the slaughter enacted in Kaumhurst? Was he at all responsible?
Maybe, but maybe not...
If so, how many other places had he also had a hand in destroying?
Seeing his friend’s grief made him feel sick.
He’d been a tool of the gods, but to do nothing great; not to father children or craft or teach, just to be another one of a million bloody blades!
Anton stopped on the trail, standing there in the drizzle. He looked to the woodland about him, amidst the wet, cold and the grey.
He’d been a hider of truths, a bloody hand and an executioner.
Ahead lay the ruin of a village built of innocent labour and dreams – until a hidden truth had come to wipe it away.
Anton stood watching as Sef continued on ahead.
He wasn’t worthy, not of such a friend.
Anton’s tears came faster now, seeing him weaken with them as he thought back to so many things he’d done in the name of his former faith. He fell to his knees, into the mud of the trail.
Poor Sef, someone who’d lost his family and home to such a terrible thing – and then had the strength to renounce what he knew of it, despite the danger it had put him in. And to do it all while ensorcelled and unable to speak of it!
He had a pure soul. No wonder Kave had wanted him.
Sef’s voice cut through Anton’s thoughts, “What’s wrong?”
Anton shook his head, while he righted a leg as he prepared to get up off his knees. “I’m sorry, I was just thinking of this terrible place...”
Sef reached out and helped his friend rise. “It isn’t the place that’s terrible, or even all of the memories, just a few of the deeds.”
Anton looked into the face of his friend and said, “I’m sorry, but I’m wondering what guilt I have in all of this, in having worked to support the Church and its broader alliances.”
“Anton, you’ve no guilt in it, not any more – if you ever did.”
Rain fell over them, suddenly hard, but under a lightening sky.
Sef said, “Come, we’re nearly there.”
As Anton moved to follow, he could feel the rain wash his guilt away.
The rain tapered off to a drizzle, as they stepped into an overgrown clearing full of brush and saplings rising tall but thin. Anton didn’t have to ask; he knew that they’d found the first of the village’s fallow fields. Ahead would lay Kaumhurst’s ruin.
There was almost nothing of the fields left; here, a post sticking out of the herbal brush; there, the remains of an overgrown path or a tumbled stonewall. They crossed that wide expanse of young trees and brush as they headed to a fern-covered rise at the centre. Above it the sky glowered, as if the heavens wept.
Sef slowed occasionally as they made their way, coming to stare at things hidden in the lay of the land. Sometimes it would be an old post, a section of downed wall, or some ruts in the trail that caught his eye. Sometimes, despite Anton’s roving gaze, there seemed to be nothing there but memories.
Still, Sef continued on.
Step by step he came closer, beginning to climb the side of the broad fern-cloaked rise, heading back to his former home.
Just like coming in after spending the day toiling in the fields...
They came across the
stockade’s ruin and stopped, standing at the edge of the wide ring of charred and weathered wood. The defences were smashed, burnt and scattered, mainly showing as blackened stumps or tired timber. Nothing remained of any height or structure with most of it lost to the invading fernery.
They entered the village, the whole area now overrun by ferns that grew lushest about mounds that had once been homes. Flowering herbs dotted the greenery, along with tufts of grasses.
Sef sighed, a loud and mournful thing. He looked for a familiar path, found it, and then again started forward.
There was more to look at now; blackened wood sticking up from the ground and piles of worked stone that would have once been walls now slumped and spilled. More and more, rising from the green growth, loomed the jagged remains of rock hearths and their fallen chimneys. Aside from such remains, nothing seemed to be higher than the crowding shrubs, ferns and grasses. Here, in the heart of doomed Kaumhurst, the green way had moved to cleanse the bloodied soil.
Anton watched Sef, every step slow but determined.
Soon, after passing beside the ruins of a dozen different homes, Sef stopped by one for a moment, his gaze searching the overgrown mound. He frowned and shook his head before turning and marching towards the centre of the rise.
They were coming now to the heart of the village, a place where the ground had been baked hard by an intense fire, and where a stone cairn rose. The green of new life persisted, but couldn’t carpet everything.
Some things could never be hidden.
Sef stopped before it and took a deep breath. After a moment, the drizzle cleared, but the land remained lost in gloom.
Anton stepped up to be beside his friend, not needing to ask what lay under the stones or offer any words.
Sef took another deep breath and then began to sob, his composure finally breaking. In a moment, he dropped to his knees in the baked soil, his shoulders heaving as he cried out his grief.
Anton put a hand to his friend’s shoulder, but remained otherwise quiet and still. This was a time for Sef and nothing else. He knew that if his friend needed anything, he’d ask.
Time drew on.
