Red Death

by Jeff Altabef

  Kalhona whispered, “What happened? Did you anger the Dark One?”

  The witch smirked. “You Painted Ones and your fears. Yes, the Dark One chooses us, but we do not have to choose him back. When the eyes turn red, more than just their color changes. It gives us the Sight. We can see the forces around us, those you cannot—good spirits and evil ones too. We can communicate with them, not always in the way one person talks with another, but they make their meanings clear to us. They teach us magic and share knowledge that has been lost for ages. It’s up to the witch to choose which spirits she follows. It is not always easy, my child. I have tried to listen to the ones blessed with light, but there were times when the darks ones misled me.”

  Kalhona swung her head around the room nervously. They appeared to be alone, but she didn’t know what spirits looked like. “Are spirits with us now?”

  “Yes, one is with us. Spirits sometimes possess the lower animals, temporarily inhabiting those creatures to communicate with us.” The Witch nodded toward the finch. “That bird is trying to persuade me to poison you. He wants me to slip the sleeping plant in your stew. He says I will be justly rewarded. My youth would come back to me. Your death will help the Dark One capture a boy he wants.”

  The bird squawked at the Witch, hopping up and down on its claws.

  “But I will not do it!”

  The bird flew off.

  “I knew your mother,” the Witch said abruptly. “She was so lost when she turned. I helped her the best I could.”

  The bulldog barked and snarled at the door.

  ***

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  Chapter 31 – Eamon

  Eamon slowed his horse to a walk.

  Where’s the witch?

  Only Crazy Reilly had admitted to seeing her, and they had good cause to call him crazy. Reilly never said why he visited the witch or what he had learned from her, but he became even more odd after he returned. He moved to the Outpost, rarely bathed, and often muttered to himself. When questioned about how to find the witch, he just repeated the old instructions that had been passed down from prior generations.

  Find the ghost;

  Look for the nose to see your host;

  The tip points to the devil’s fish;

  Follow it up stream to see the witch;

  Answer her question correctly and all is clear;

  Speak false words and you’ll have much to fear.

  Light had started to fade at an alarming rate and, even worse, Jillian’s breathing had become shallow, her chest moving ever more slightly with each breath. She had fallen asleep, and he could not wake her. The bandage around her arm had turned moist as fresh blood seeped through it.

  He feared she had little time left and wrapped his arms around her.

  The witch has to be around here someplace!

  Eamon spotted the ghost tree off the road to his left, its towering silver branches impossible to miss even in the dead of night. “This has to be the ghost we need. Now we have to find the witch’s nose. It has to be near.”

  He’d never known a world without Jillian in it and could not imagine such a dark place—did not want to image such a place. He searched the trees hoping for a sign, his heart threatening to pound straight through his chest, but all he saw were ordinary trees and branches, nothing that resembled a nose.

  Aaliss spotted it first. “Look up ahead on the right, just off the road.” She pulled her reins sharply, bringing her horse to a stop. “If you look at it sideways, it looks like a face with a sharp nose. I’ve always been told witches have long pointy noses. That could be it.”

  He stared hard at the branches until he saw it also. At least he hoped this was it. Darkness had prevailed over light as shadows faded into the blackness around them. He could not be sure of anything at this point, but he’d believe anything to save Jillian.

  Aaliss and Wilky dismounted.

  “What’s the rest of the instructions?” she asked.

  “We need to look for the devil’s fish and follow it upstream. It’s supposed to be in the shadow of the nose.” Eamon stayed mounted, feeling the faint tapping of Jillian’s heartbeats.

  “There are no shadows in the twilight.” Aaliss shot him a look.

  Wilky closed his eyes, and when he opened them he pointed to the left side of the road. “Up there.” He strode purposefully to an oak where they found a small, scarlet fish ornament.

  Hope flooded through Eamon for the first time in hours. “There’s no doubt about that!”

  “Good work, Wilky. How did you see that in the darkness? I had to practically touch the thing to find it, but where’s the stream?” Aaliss spun. “Give me a moment.” She glided away from the road and onto the path behind the tree.

  Eamon could see no stream. He whispered, “We’re almost there, Jillian. Don’t give up. The Witch will fix you up. Everything will go back to the way it was.”

  Quiet blanketed the forest, which only amplified the slight sounds of Jillian’s breaths.

  He held her tighter, convinced her breathing had gotten more shallow and sporadic. He counted the seconds in between breaths, and with each one, he reached a higher number. Panic rose up in him. Even the tired horse sensed his despair as it started to dance nervously in place.

  Aaliss returned with a smile. “There’s a path beyond the tree. It’s just wide enough for a horse. I followed it a short distance and heard a stream farther ahead. This has to be it.”

  “We need to hurry.” Eamon poised his heels at his horse’s side when Aaliss blocked his way.

  “We need to be careful. You said the Witch is dangerous. We probably shouldn’t just march up to her front door and start knocking.”

  “We don’t have time for caution. Jillian is slipping away. I feel it.”

  She nodded. “Okay, you ride ahead. I’ll move through the woods off the path just in case. Wilky will follow on foot with the other two horses. If there’s any danger, I’ll figure something out.”

  “Done.” He spurred his horse ahead at a fast trot.

  In no time, the surefooted animal splashed through the stream and stopped just outside of the red front door.

  “Witch, we need your help!” Eamon scanned the cabin, looking for signs of life.

  The Witch crept from her hiding spot, her bow drawn, her hand shaking from the effort. “State your business!”

  Eamon could not see her in the darkness. “My name is Eamon and my friend Jillian is hurt. I need a healer.”

  The horse snorted its agreement.

  ***

  The Witch could not see the two visitors. In the dim moonlight she had to rely upon her Sight, which had also become weaker by the day. All she could see were the aura of two people, one weak and one strong.

  Before she could answer, she felt the sharp tip of a sword at her back.

  A young woman growled at her. “Lower that bow, old woman, before you hurt yourself.”

  “Even the Sight fails me!” She lowered her weapon. “A month earlier no one could sneak up on me. The Sight would sing out like a beacon. Many had tried and they all failed. I promise you that!”

  “Come on, old woman, we need your help. Our friend has been wounded, and we need you to stop the bleeding. She’s already lost much blood. We don’t have much time.” The young woman sheathed her blade and marched past the Witch toward the cabin, unafraid of the bow.

  A boy joined them a moment later with two horses in tow.

  The Witch shrugged. At least she could still do good; she could still heal. She still had knowledge to share. “Bring her inside and we’ll see what can be done. The boy can tie the horses to the post in the back.”

  She shuffled after the young woman, who glanced back at her with an impatient expression on her face.

  “I’m coming! It takes me a little longer than it used to!”

  “Hand her to me.” The young woman waved her arms at Eamon in encouragement.

  Eamon gently slid
Jillian from the saddle and lowered her to the young woman, who held her steady. He hopped down from the horse, scooped up Jillian, and carried her inside the cabin.

  The Witch hobbled inside after them.

  The newcomers simply nodded at Kalhona in greeting.

  “Grab that table!” She pointed to a long table at one end of the cabin far from the fireplace.

  The young woman and Kalhona dragged it from the wall, and Eamon gently placed Jillian on top. She looked ashen and weak, her eyes closed.

  Eamon bit his lip.

  The Witch handed a lantern to Kalhona. “Light that with embers from the fireplace. Be careful, we don’t need the place to go ablaze.” She turned toward Eamon. “You, rip away the shirt. We need to see what is what. Be quick.”

  He did as he was told, and Kalhona returned with the lantern.

  The Witch cut away the bandage, revealing a deep slash in Jillian’s arm. Blood still flowed from the wound.

  She clicked her tongue. “Not good, not good.” She leaned in close, no more than two inches away from Jillian’s arm to see it clearly. “We must close the wound, but look at the vein. If we puncture it, all will be lost.”

  Eamon swayed on his feet. “Can you heal her?”

  “I have the needle and thread. It’s possible still, but I cannot do it.” She lifted her twisted and gnarled hands to prove her point. “There was a time when these fingers would do my bidding, but this is very delicate and needs a deft touch.”

  Eamon looked at the young woman. “Aaliss, do you have the skill?”

  Aaliss shrugged. “I can try, but I’ve never done anything like this. I’m worried that I’ll mess up.”

  He leaned against the table, his face white, and lifted his hands in frustration.

  The Witch saw tremors shake them.

  “I can do it,” said Kalhona. “It’s not nearly as delicate as my art.”

  The Witch handed needle and thread to Kalhona and grabbed a dried, dark, green leaf from a bin on a nearby table. “I’m going to give her the Sweet Leaf. It will help with the pain.” She crushed the dried leaf in her hand and slid it into Jillian’s mouth.

  “If you poison her—” threatened Eamon.

  “Yes, I know. You will kill me most grievously. It is always the same with men—threats and more threats. Make yourself useful and bring me that container.” She pointed to a ceramic jug that stood on a shelf by the fireplace. “We need to clean the wound.”

  When he returned with the jug, the Witch poured onto Jillian’s arm a clear liquid that bubbled up angrily.

  Jillian stirred and moaned, yet her eyes stayed closed.

  Kalhona effortlessly threaded the needle and looked toward the Witch for instructions.

  “It’s just like you’re piecing together thick fabric. Make sure you don’t go down too deep. We can’t puncture any veins.”

  Kalhona’s nimble fingers went to work.

  When she finished, the Witch said, “Nicely done! Almost as good as I used to be. That’s the best we can do.” She wrapped a white cloth around the arm and the wound. “The Sweet Leaf will dull the pain and let her sleep. She’s very weak. Bring her to the straw and lay her down, but gently, careful not to disturb the arm. Re-open the wound and we’ll never close it again in time.”

  Eamon and Aaliss lifted her off the table and gently placed her on the straw bedding on the floor.

  “Will she make it?” Eamon kept his eyes focused on Jillian as he spoke.

  The Witch saw the pain in his face: the clenched jaw, the tight muscles in his shoulders, the creases in his eyes.

  “It is in the hands of another now,” she said. “We’ve done all we can. I can’t say if she’ll live. She’s weak, but there’s life in her still.”

  The Witch turned to face the boy. She had wanted to study him from the moment she felt his presence. A spark of excitement burned in her old blood. She had never seen another person with an aura so white, and she smiled to herself.

  Finally, he arrives. I thought I might die before I saw him.

  She hobbled over to the kettle and lifted it off the metal bar. “Come on, there’s plenty of stew for everyone.”

  ***

  Aaliss watched as Eamon hovered over Jillian like a dark cloud on a stormy day.

  She squeezed his shoulder. “This is not your fault. There was nothing else you could do.”

  He shrugged her off. “I should never have let her join us. She isn’t cut out for this type of adventure.”

  “If I remember correctly, she didn’t give you much choice. Jillian made up her own mind.” She knew he wanted words of reassurance, but Jillian looked weak and she would not lie to Eamon now. She had lied to him too much already and refused to add to that list. She liked him too much to utter false words.

  “I should have stopped her,” he muttered quietly. “She looks so... weak.”

  The bulldog ambled over, flopped its tongue from its mouth, and nuzzled Eamon’s leg. He cracked the smallest trace of a smile and rubbed the fur on its head. The bulldog barked as it settled at Eamon’s feet and enjoyed the attention from his new best friend.

  The old crone shuffled toward them, her voice sounding as if the words were dragged across sandpaper. “Sit and eat some stew. There’s enough for everyone. You only make matters worse by hanging over her.”

  He glanced at her. “Really? How could I make things worse?”

  “Who’s the witch? She will sense your unease and anxiety and that will only weaken her. Go to the table and eat. You need your strength. I suspect your travels are only beginning.”

  The bulldog barked playfully, licked his own nose, and padded off to the table as if the matter had been decided.

  Aaliss tugged on his arm. She hadn’t eaten anything hot since she left Eden, and the stew did smell awfully good. Besides, the Witch was right—they needed their strength, and who knew when they would eat something hot again.

  Eamon looked at her, pain scribbled across his face.

  She wanted to lessen his hurt but she had no idea how. She pulled on his sleeve again, and this time he gave in and allowed her to tug him toward the table, where Wilky and the woman who stitched Jillian were already sitting.

  Small wooden bowls were set on the round table for everyone. The Witch carried the kettle in one arm and slopped rabbit stew in each bowl. The kettle shook in her hand from the effort. Small amounts of stew splashed over the sides of the bowls and onto the table.

  Eamon faced the stranger who stitched up Jillian. “I’m in your debt. Your fingers are deft. You must be a great Artist.”

  She smiled. “They call me Kalhona, and I came here looking for my sister. You didn’t happen to pass her along the Ancient Road, did you? She’s younger than me and has light-colored hair and skin.”

  He frowned. “We came from the north and passed no one.”

  She sighed. “She must have gone the other way.”

  “The other way?” questioned the Witch. “You think she went south along the old road?”

  “If she’s not here and they didn’t pass her, then she must have gone south. It’s just like her to make things difficult on me.”

  The Witch settled in her chair. “The south is dangerous. There’s a red witch named Santra who lives that way. If she’s grabbed your sister, she will be in real danger. She flies the banner of the red raven and keeps company with firefoxes.” The Witch turned toward Aaliss. “And you... what brings you out on the Ancient Road?”

  Aaliss touched the leather pouch in her pocket, which held the two small flowers they had retrieved earlier in the day. “We’re looking for a particular mushroom. It’s known for its healing powers.”

  “My sister is an expert on plants,” Kalhona added. “If anyone knows where to find it, she would. I just need to get her back first.”

  Eamon nodded, his blue eyes somber and dangerous. “Then it is settled. I will help you find your sister and free her from this witch Santra if need be. It is the least I can
do to repay you for your kindness toward Jillian. And then your sister might point us in the right direction to find this mushroom.”

  Aaliss grabbed his hand and squeezed hard. The contact sent a current racing through her body. “No. We will help save your sister and search for the mushroom together.”

  The dog whimpered at the door and the moonlit sky beyond.

  “The moon is still bright,” the Witch said. “The dark spirits are strongest when under its power. I suggest the quest start tomorrow in the sun’s light.”

  Everyone nodded and the bulldog nestled himself at Eamon’s feet.

  Even though the moon was no longer full, Aaliss thought it best to avoid it. She had experienced enough of the moon’s meddling in her life.

  ***

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  Chapter 32 – Piers

  Piers cursed the tardiness of the hour. He should be at the Labyrinth door by now, not in bed feigning sleep. Midnight had surely past, yet he was stuck in the sleeping chamber with the other novices. He silently recited prayer after prayer as he waited impatiently. He wanted to be sure that everyone had fallen asleep before he left. It would do him no good to sneak out only to have someone report him, and the other novices were restless. In particular, Anthony was not his usual snoring self.

  He suspected dark motives. He thought Anthony wanted to catch him sneaking off, so he could report him and suck up to the Senior Priests.

  Anthony had a track record. Neither the smartest nor the hardest working novice, he was the most ambitious. Last year he reported Zeke when he slipped up during one of the Great Silences, and he always seemed to have his tongue firmly planted on a Blood Relation’s ass.

  Piers tried to find the best in people, but with Anthony he struggled.

  After silently repeating a common prayer on the virtue of patience for the third time, Anthony finally began snoring—he struggled with sleep apnea, resulting in nighttime serenades that were infamous among the other novices. The other novices called him the Cat Killer behind his back, but never Piers. Having suffered his share of name-calling, he knew how hurtful names could be. Even though he disliked Anthony, he wouldn’t call him names.