Testing

by S A Maus

  Together they walked out of the now too gloomy home, leaving behind the calm but grim scene. The sun seemed darker now, though it had barely dipped towards the western trees that bordered the Falln land. The wind had died and was replaced with a gentle whisper that carried the tune of distant insects and field creatures roaming.

  Their first stop was the stable to ensure the animals within were fed, as they had been without care for some days now. The horses took little heed of them as they entered, for their gates were open and they had been eating without a barrier, but the few sheep that were inside and had not fled through the ajar door lifted their voices enthusiastically at the sight of fresh feed.

  As they were finishing and preparing to return to the house, Omer stopped and looked carefully at the stalls. “Tahr,” he said, drawing the huge Hunters attention. He pointed to an empty stall beside the two horses. “Does it look like this stall was in use recently?”

  Tahr shuffled over, a feed bag still in hand, and peered inside. “It does,” he said with a nod. “And a horse at that. That post had a bridle,” he waved a hand towards a high railing at the side of the stall. “Did the Falln keep three steeds?”

  “They had three, but one belonged to Gaul, Brimmel was its name,” Omer said. “Morel told me he was going to sell it when I was last here. The memories were too burdensome. This looks like it was in use just yesterday, though, or at least within the last few. Maybe they kept him in the end, but the other animals have open doors and this gate is closed. I don’t imagine they would have left a horse out in the fields while the others were indoors.”

  “So Gaul’s horse is missing, then,” Tahr said grimly. “Another strange fact.”

  “We cannot be sure it was his, but I do not think they would have bought another,” Omer said. “Perhaps a visitor stayed recently? The guest room seemed untouched and I saw no signs of others within the home. The likelier answer is Brimmel and he is now gone. His absence does not seem natural though.”

  “Stolen?” Tahr wondered.

  “There are few signs of struggle. I suppose a trained hand could lead Brimmel away without leaving a sign, but thieves are rarely so gifted.” Omer stepped out then and looked about. “Let’s look about the house. Brimmel is not here and I doubt our killer is waiting in the hay. Perhaps the land will give us a clue.”

  ***

  They left the stable and turned north towards the fields. The back of the Falln home sloped down in an earthen ceiling of grass and weeds on the east end, but leveled out quickly into a cut clearing that flattened the west. There the wood slats of the house stuck out from the hill, marking both the common room and the bedroom, half of which hid beneath the sod while the other half was dominated by the bedroom window. Beneath the window and lining the entirety of the western side was a thin dirt gap where the grass had been trimmed back by years of booted feet and shovel work, with only a single blackberry bush on the kitchen wall to mark it.

  Omer and Tahr made their way around the north end of the house with eyes trained on the earth, searching for any sign of trespassers. Seeing none, they went to the bedroom window, studying carefully for the strange signs that drew the eyes of the corpses within.

  Omer knelt down in the mud. He furrowed his brow. “Look at this,” he said. At his feet lie an imprint, massive and long, and certainly not made by Men. “This looks like a wolf print.”

  “Nonsense, that wolf would be as big as I am,” Tahr laughed. He knelt down and his laughter fell to quiet contemplation. “Certainly looks canine.” He reached a hand out and scraped the edges of the print. They were deep, much deeper than even a large wolf should have managed.

  “Earth is hard,” Omer said. “Hasn’t rained recently. Whatever made this was heavy. Byrgryph?”

  “No,” Tahr said, “Byrgryph have three pads and I am counting four. Rare to see them west of the mountains anyway.”

  Tahr stood and turned around, looking back at the grassy earth just beyond the muddy gap. “Well, Zekhain praised your tracking. See signs in the field? I cannot make any.”

  Omer stood as well and followed his gaze back into the grass. It was empty and pathless, rolling gently in the breeze, unbroken. “I see nothing. Whatever it was, it carried itself well as it walked.” He turned back to the window and the deep print below it. “It must have been resting beneath the window for some time to make this impression.”

  Tahr hummed and nodded. “There is another track here,” he said. He scraped his boot over a spot just to the right of the settled imprint, where the earth was more readily in the path of the morning sun and hardened quicker. This track was shallow and dusty.

  “This cannot be the same creature,” Omer said with a shake of his head. He stretched his arm out and held it over both prints. The first print sat beneath his forearm and the second below his shoulder. “Wolves do not get this big.”

  “Another here, but only the toes,” Tahr said. He knelt down at the spot where the earthy mud and grass met. The vaguest imprint of a padded toe could be seen and beside it some crushed grass that had not quite recovered from its trauma.

  “Three legs, but safe to assume four,” Omer said. He looked up and eastward then. “Certainly not something that’s going to ride a horse out of here.”

  “This wolf would be at least six feet long,” Tahr said incredulously. “Even stretched out while it stood, it would be the biggest wolf I’ve ever seen.”

  “It may be more,” Omer said. “The grass is pressed about this back print. It is hard to say, but it may have been… resting.”

  “Ho, we are making up animals now,” Tahr laughed. “Anything that big would be more than a farmer’s fear, it would be a legend.”

  Omer folded his arms and leaned against the house, keeping his eye trained on the dirt beneath the window. “These fore prints are deeper,” he said. “Ground must have been wet. Early morning or late evening, but likely dark.” His eyes narrowed. He looked at the window. “The nights have been cloudy this week and the moon is at half. There are no candles near the window. How could they see it?”

  Tahr shook his head. “Dusk?”

  “Not dusk, the Falln were in bed and clearly sleeping,” Omer continued. “It was dark. There must have been a light.” His gaze fell eastward again, towards the stable that lie beyond the low hill. “This creature was not the only visitor.”

  “Brimmel is gone. A Hunter’s poison lies on the bed,” Tahr said. “You… do not suppose that Gaul is more than a ghost?”

  “I would sooner believe a thief stole from Shalim and trudged this way on the back of a giant wolf,” Omer said. “We are beset with strange occurrence, but I have seen nothing to speak to Gaul himself. Something else is at work here.”

  “Perhaps, but I think Gaul is bound up in this some way,” Tahr said.

  “That I will not deny,” Omer said. “It is no coincidence that all these signs have followed our same trail, even as we seek out Gaul’s ghost, but I do not know what they mean.”

  Tahr huffed. “Well, if you do not know, then I certainly don’t. I will go back inside and see if we missed anything. You keep mucking out here. Shout if you find a wolf bigger than me.” With that he disappeared around the edge of the house, his feet fading until Omer heard the clack of the front door opening and closing.

  When Tahr had gone, Omer knelt down once more beside the great print in the dirt, studying it closely. Animal lore had not been a place of deep interest during his time in Shalim, though he knew a great deal more than the average Man, as was required of all who were Tested; but Malphic studies were a special pride of his. He found the monsters of the world fascinating and of them his knowledge was deep and wide, read out over decades in the Library.

  But I have never seen this, he thought as he tapped the edge of the print.

  Many Malphic were similar in appearance or manner to the mundane animals of Aarde. It was not uncommon for even Hunters to confuse a Byrgryph for a common bear, or mistake the cry of a Roc for
that of an eagle. A print such as this could pass for a wolf at first glance, but as Omer studied it deeper he beheld oddities that shook the illusion.

  The first thing Omer noticed was the deep gash, easily mistaken for a divot or drag by any number of creatures in the field, but which his trained eye could see was clearly the remnant of a claw; a claw far, far longer than any wolf he had ever known. The creature was certainly canine, as it did not seem able to retract its claws. Both fore prints held the same deep marks, thickly gathered near the center of the impression. Omer thought they looked like the fingers of Men pressed together, but surely that was nonsense.

  Not a Bellisear, he decided. Bellisear were bears that had been corrupted by lingering foul magic, but often took on canine characteristics that led some to mistake them for huge wolves. A Bellisear might fit the size of the creature, but a Bellisear’s claws were usually forced out by their mutations. They also bore a heavy, dragging gait that would have left the dirt about the window a carved mess.

  Omer stood and stepped back into the grass next to the trailing print. The rear print showed no sign of the claws the front paw bore. This print was uniform and rounded, with the pads lined by thin grooves that Omer thought vaguely resembled a fingerprint, but was likely an artifact of time in the field.

  “Strange,” he whispered to the earth. “Canid, but asymmetrical.” He frowned. Very few Malphic might be considered canine in appearance, and few so huge as to leave the prints beneath. Only three came to mind: the Willa, the Shimmelot, and the Shogot.

  The Willa was a southern creature, cat-like and privy to the deserts and dry plains. Rarely would they grow so large as to cross the gap between the prints, though it was not impossible. However, Willa radiated intense heat, such that the grass would have been burned by its passing. Clearly, none of the surrounding area had seen such heat, being full and green.

  Shimmelot were shapeshifters, children of Men of the varying races who were born in places steeped by cursed magic. Shimmelot were not, of their nature, evil. Many Hunters contested their inclusion as Malphic at all, though their odd physiology often required the skill of an En’shen when they turned to foul deeds. A Shimmelot could certainly fit the mark of the prints, but the shapeshifter’s size was bound to the size of the host. Any mortal large enough to bridge the gap of the tracks would themselves be worthy of note across the world, likely being over ten feet tall.

  That left the Shogot, a Direwolf, demons of the Rift; but Shogot rarely left Golgetto. They were reliant on the Mist to live and were addicted to the small, Mist-twisted prey that dwelled near the Rift. There were rare reports of Direwolves in the west, beyond the Avenland, but never had Omer heard of one beyond Oreeon. Shogot were renowned for their skittish nature, often hiding from even the scent of Men, and never going near their dwellings.

  “This is a strange mystery,” he said to the grass. It did not answer.

  A rap on the bedroom window drew his attention. Tahr was there, waving him inside. Omer abandoned his fruitless study and hurried around the house. Tahr was waiting in the common room, standing beside the kitchen table with a book open upon it.

  “I found this fallen behind the nightstand,” Tahr said. “Not a reader, myself, but I flipped through anyways.” He tapped the paper and spun the book to face Omer. Omer could see the pages were torn and ragged, as if someone had ripped them quickly and carelessly. “About thirty or so pages ripped out. You were a Library boy. Any idea what they were?”

  Omer flipped the book up to see the cover. “A History of Men,” he read. “I know the title, but I have not read it in years. This section appears to be about Ivim. The rips begin at the Second Kingdom and end sometime after the Walk was completed.”

  “Is that important?” Tahr asked.

  “Maybe,” Omer shrugged. “We will need to find another copy to compare, and it may be nothing in the end. I am inclined to think this a clue, though. If I remember correctly…,” Omer pursed his lips and flipped the book to its front page. A crimson signature was inlaid behind the front cover. Omer held it up. “Gaul bragged about this often. This was a gift from Addere Rose, a historian in Nun. Gaul saved him from a Ghoul while he was still a novice. It was likely worth… well, as much this house.”

  “Really?” Tahr raised a brow.

  “Rose is a notorious recluse. He uses a pen name for most written work, Bladden, I think, so to have his true signature is very rare. This would fetch a ransom to a collector. Or would have,” he opened the book back to its ripped pages.

  “Where could we find another copy?” Tahr wondered.

  “Not out here, certainly,” Omer said. “This is farmland. We could knock on a hundred doors and not find another. We will need to go to Shalim or Nun. Rose lives in Nun, but I doubt he is connected to this in any meaningful way. These missing pages are the true clue.”

  Omer took the book and stuffed it into his jacket. “We will need this to match them. If I were to guess, and a guess is all it would be, the missing text has to do with Hrulian. More important, however, is who did all this,” he waved a hand to the house about him. “I am at a loss for where to begin. There are no tracks to follow, no magic in the air. I have seen no sign of Gaul and our only witnesses are dead. I am making poor work of my first contract.”

  Tahr laughed aloud at that. “You are certainly not. Have Alder tell you of his first sometime. I’ll not spoil, but there are many potatoes involved. You have not been hit by a potato yet, so I think you are far ahead.”

  “It feels like failure,” Omer said.

  “You are not a student anymore, Omer, the lectures of passing or failure are gone. Life is not so simple. Sometimes we simply… can do nothing.”

  “Do you think this is a nothing circumstance?” Omer scoffed.

  “I cannot say, it is not my contract, but I have seen nothing of you to think it failure on your part,” Tahr said. He placed a hand on Omer’s shoulder and squeezed gently. “We are only Men in the end. We do not know all things and we cannot solve all puzzles. Even Hunters can be confounded.”

  “Perhaps, but I am not ready to give up on this puzzle just yet,” Omer said.

  “Of course not! You are boring Omer and you have left your boring books to find a boring mystery. You are probably excited beyond my understanding.”

  Omer sighed but did not respond. Instead, he walked back into the bedroom, back to the forms upon the bed. The sun was now hidden away from the window and the room was cast in gloomy evening. It was calm. If Omer stared he could almost convince himself they were merely sleeping.

  “This intruder left nothing of note,” Omer said. “Simple robberies are rarely clean. Aside, the Falln are dead. A thief would have no need to be careful with the owners deceased. I would expect at least an open drawer or cast aside coat, but it is as if nothing has been touched save what was desired. Even a Hunter would be hard-pressed to leave so little evidence.”

  Tahr stepped in shortly and was about to agree, but as he opened his mouth to speak his lips instead fell into a frown. He turned to the window that looked out on the lawn, out into the bright daylight that sat on the fields.

  “What?” Omer wondered.

  Tahr did not answer. He was focusing on something distant, something beyond the field and perhaps even the forest behind it. Omer followed his gaze. The land beyond the window was calm, with barely a wind to mar the grass, but as Omer lingered on the open air, he felt a strange weight settled on his mind. There was a presence on the horizon, a prowling and dark thing with a divisive hunger that Omer felt like an empty chasm in his own stomach.

  “What is that?” Omer said.

  “I don’t know,” Tahr said. “It entwines with the Mist, whatever it is.” His eyes drifted over to the still-open door that led into the Falln’s bedroom. “Perhaps it is our mystery wolf?”

  “What kind of wolf is connected to the Mist?”

  “A strange kind,” Tahr said. Then he laughed and slapped Omer on the back. “But why
are we wondering? Are we not Hunters? We will run it down and find out.” And before Omer could even speak his answer, the huge Hunter was bounding out of the house and turning west toward the trees.

  Chapter VIII

  Unnatural

  Omer rushed out after Tahr just in time to see the huge Hunter fade into the trees across the field. The Falln farm bordered a thin forest on the western side. There were no paths between the trees, but Omer did his best to chase the fleeting form, which darted in and out of the shadows, catching the sun one moment where it fell between leaves and then gone the next, swallowed by a darkening evening.

  Ahead of Tahr, somewhere far beyond the Falln farm, waited the presence they chased. It lingered without moving for some time, either unaware or uncaring of its new predators; but when the Hunters reached the river Frim and began to run alongside it, the presence perked up and a change came over it. Whether by virtue of animal cunning or a more intelligent property, the creature seemed to understand it was in danger. It began to flee west towards the sea, and, to Omer’s surprise, it was matching their pace.

  The forest broke briefly, opening into a wide clearing that the river cut through. On the opposite side, the forest thickened, becoming the Arbelete which spanned the greater part of northwest Hyrotha, climbing even up the foot of the Roc Mountain and only breaking when the Wailing Sea finally came into view. There it would fall into rocky shores that looked out onto dotted islets, little more than large boulders jutting out of the waters.

  The fleeing mind seemed to understand the terrain as well as both Hunters, always staying out of sight and never lingering in any place long enough for them to catch up. They crossed into the Arbelete and entered a world of darkness. Here the trees were thick and rarely relinquished the earth to sunlight. The forest floor was easier, however, being mostly barren, and they made quick time over it. They were heading northwest now. Soon they would reach the forested hills.