A Bitter Brew

by Greg Curtis

  It took her a few moments to put everything together. But eventually she realised the truth. There was a battle going on! A war! But how could she suddenly be standing in a strange city in the middle of a war? How could that have happened in the blink of an eye?

  The sound of boots running across stone confirmed her thoughts and she turned toward the sound, just in time to see half a dozen soldiers wearing the King's colours of red and gold come flying around a corner, muskets in hand and worried looks on their faces. They were clearly in the midst of a battle, and by the look of the bandages liberally decorating them, they had taken some injuries. Marnie remained standing where she was, the hoe still in her hand, and wondered what she should do.

  Should she call out to them in the hope that they could tell her where she was and what was happening? Or should she let them run past her since they were obviously busy?

  The decision was taken out of her hands a few seconds later though when they spotted her standing there.

  “Churl!” One of them pointed at her and screamed at his companions. Immediately two of the other soldiers suddenly stopped running, went down on one knee, raised their muskets and fired at her.

  A heartbeat later she felt the sting as something hot and sharp scraped along her side!

  Marnie cried out in shock and pain. But the pain was a good thing. That burning pain in her side was what finally got Marnie thinking as she realised she'd been hit. It told her to throw herself to the ground instead of just standing there like a statue, and then after she'd somewhat awkwardly hit the ground, to start crawling away.

  They were shooting at her! It was yet another shock to add to her list. But the pain in her side was enough to tell her that she didn't have time to think about it. She just had to escape.

  But where? Because she suddenly realised she was trapped in the colonnade! Her only way out was to run, but there was nowhere to run to that didn't involve climbing up the steps which would expose her to the rest of the soldiers. Soldiers she could hear running towards her. Running fast!

  Marnie panicked. She'd already been shot and was in pain. And the only thing she knew for sure was that these soldiers meant to kill her. And she was trapped!

  Desperation made her crawl behind one of the columns, her heart beating furiously, though she knew she wouldn't be safe for long. The soldiers would simply surround the sunken temple and then proceed to shoot at her from all sides.

  A few moments later she heard the sound of heavy boots stop close to where she was hiding and she knew she was about to die.

  “The strumpet’s in here somewhere!” A man called out to the others. “Search it.”

  Strumpet?! First she was a churl and now a strumpet?! She was no woman of loose virtue! The name calling made Marnie angry. Angry enough that it overrode her terror. And despite it being a foolish thing to do she risked poking her head out from behind the column to see who had dared to call her that. The villagers sometimes called her names. But then she was afflicted and they feared her. This man was a complete stranger.

  “Found her!” The man standing at the top of the steps yelled out in triumph, even as he pointed his gun at her.

  In that moment Marnie knew, she had to act. It was live or die. And as the fear grew to intolerable levels in her heart she decided she wanted to live.

  Without thinking she reached out for the man with her affliction and pulled. She took all of his strength and vitality in a heartbeat, draining him completely. Then she watched as he cried out, pitching forward as his musket fired and he tumbled down the steps, before coming to lie helpless in front of her.

  “Shite! The bitch is deadly!” One of the other men called out a warning to his friends.

  It was a mistake. The instant she heard his voice she knew where he was. Marnie peaked round the column she was hiding behind so that she could see him, and then used her affliction on him too. He collapsed like a sack of vegetables even more quickly than his companion.

  Musket balls suddenly flew overhead, smashing into the stone column just above her, causing her to jump bank, yelping with fright. They were so close! But the miss also gave her a chance to drain two more of the soldiers, and leave them lying on the cobbles, unable to move a muscle.

  How many did that leave? Two? Three? Marnie didn't know. But she was sure it couldn't be many. Still, they still had weapons and it only took one musket ball to kill her.

  “Bitch!” Another man cursed her, and once more she had to leap to one side to avoid being killed.

  She wasn't fast enough though, and another ball grazed her back even as she hit the stone tiles. But she got the man in turn, and knew a feeling of deep satisfaction as he fell to the ground and smashed his head on the stone. Even so she was worried. There were still a couple more soldiers out there, both of them armed, and she was hurting. She didn't know how badly she was injured, but she didn't like it.

  Her right side was a mess, with blood pouring down to her thigh. Just looking at the injury she realised she needed to see a physician. There was no way of telling how bad the injury to her back was, though at least she wasn’t paralysed. The only thing she knew for certain was that she couldn't afford to get shot again. The blood loss alone would cripple her.

  “Where are you, bitch?” One of the men called out to her angrily.

  Once more she realised, a soldier had got behind her. But this time she realised just before she panicked and leapt to her side, she still had a stone column between her and him. She was safe. For the moment.

  “Right here whoreson!” Marnie yelled back at him, not completely sure why. Maybe it was anger finally surfacing. Not just the anger at these soldiers, but anger at all the people who had ridiculed and shamed her for her entire life. Anger against those who had called her afflicted as if she carried some sort of disease. Or worse yet a witch because her markings were concealed. All those who had shied away from her wherever they could. She had hated them for that. And she hated this man too.

  That was bad – for him. All her life her parents had told her; never use your magic. Never show the others what you can do. It would only scare them and make them hate her more. And above all she had been told to never use her magic against someone. It was a crime and if caught she would be locked away for the rest of her life or hung. Just now though she didn't care about that. There was no point in worrying about being charged by a magistrate with a crime, when she was fighting for her life. So she laughed at the soldier and told him he was already dying. That she was draining him slowly. That he'd turn into a withered old prune in a few more seconds.

  “No!” The soldier screamed in fear, and she knew that in that moment he wasn't thinking about her at all. He was looking at himself, desperately trying to see the first signs that he was withering. And while he did that she peeked out from behind the column, spotted him, and took away his vitality.

  He screamed as he fell, terrified that he was dying. She only wished that he was. Unfortunately she knew he would live.

  Suddenly another man yelled some sort of war cry and leapt at her, musket in his hands and bayonet fixed, ready to skewer her.

  Marnie yelped and dived away, but far too slowly. How he missed her she didn't know. She had had her back to him and been caught completely by surprise. But somehow she turned to face him just as he went sailing past her, and crashed down face first on the stone tiles. And then even while she was recovering her balance she drained him, though not completely. She took enough of his energy to leave him weak and unable to stand, but still able to answer questions. She had a lot of questions.

  “Who's the churl now, pig!” She discovered that she also had a lot of pent up anger, and yelling at him followed by a hard kick to his side felt surprisingly good.

  “Who are you?! Where am I?! Why are you trying to kill me?!” She rolled him over and started yelling into the man's face. His answer though wasn't what she wanted.

  “Poxy whore!” He spat in her face.

  “Answer me!”
She yelled back at him, twice as loud as before. He did his best to spit at her again. He shouldn't have. Her anger just grew.

  Marnie grabbed his musket, stood up and with a cry of pure rage upended it and ran the bayonet through his thigh.

  He screamed. And then screamed some more when she twisted it around, opening up the wound and causing a trail of blood to pour from the gaping hole in his leg. And though the pleasure she took in it was both dark and vile, by the gods did it feel good to see him suffer! She didn't know him. She knew nothing more about him than the fact that he was trying to kill her. But he was like all those others who had attacked and bullied her over the years. Seeing him hurting at her hands was sweetness itself.

  “I said answer me dolt!” She stood over him, the stock of the musket in her hands, the threat very clear. Clear enough that when he finally stopped screaming and breathing far too fast, he decided to cooperate.

  “You have to die! All of you!” The soldier gasped it out. “The King said.”

  “All who?”

  “Afflicted. Plague bearers. All of you churls!”

  “You're murdering the afflicted you bastard?!” Marnie was shocked, though she didn't completely know why. Life was hard for her and those like her. They were looked down upon, ridiculed and openly despised often enough. Just the fact that he was calling her a churl – the lowest of the low – was proof of that. Murder wasn't that much of a a step further.

  “Murder?!” He stared at her in disbelief. “It's not murder! It's self-defence! You came here! You attacked us! You tried to kill the King! And look what you've done to the city! This is Styrion Might! The heart of the realm! And you've destroyed it!”

  “Styrion Might?” Marnie was caught by surprise. She hadn't realised that that was where she was. But then she'd never seen the city. Afflicted weren't allowed in it. And it was nearly a hundred leagues from Combury. How could she have suddenly arrived here?

  And there was another question that troubled her. How had he even known that she was afflicted? Her markings were hidden under her clothes. And there was nothing else to mark her as any different to anyone else. It was why people called her a witch.

  But when she tried to get an answer to that, she got nothing. The soldier's head rolled somewhat loosely around as she shook him, and when she checked, she saw that his eyes had rolled back into his head. He wasn't going to tell her anything more.

  Which left her crouched over him, talking to someone who couldn't hear her, and with no idea what to do next. Save that she had to stop herself from slowly bleeding to death.

  Marnie used the musket to help her get back on her feet. She knew she couldn't stay here. Even though it would take days for them to recover, there would be more soldiers coming. And they too would shoot at her. She didn't know how they could possibly know she was afflicted, but it seemed they did. It also looked like they weren't interested in asking questions. If she wanted to survive she had to get away from here. She had to find people who would help her. And of course there were only a few she could turn to. Others who were like her.

  Except that there shouldn't be any other afflicted here. This was Styrion Might. They weren't allowed. But then it occurred to her, that the soldier had said he had to kill all her kind. He thought there were others here. And looking around at the destruction of the city, she realised it wasn't cannon fire and bullets. It wasn't just fire either. It was everything. Ground shaking and great winds that knocked buildings over. That was magic.

  There were other afflicted here – and they were fighting for their lives.

  Whatever this was, however it had happened, it was clear that she had to stand with her fellow afflicted. There was no choice. It was either stand together or die. She held that truth in her heart as she staggered slowly off toward the shelter of the nearer buildings, and then began her search for others like her. She had no friends here. But if another afflicted was nearby she might be able to find an ally and some answers.

  Chapter Four

  It was late and the fire was crackling away merrily. Hendrick lay on his back, trying to find some peace.

  He had camped in a faerie ring. Or at least that was what people called these little, round glades in the woods. There were no fairies in the world. None of the other little peoples either. No dwarves, no pixies, elves or fairies. No giants or dragons either. They were all just tales the bards spun for stynes. Still, these little round glades could be found dotted throughout the forests, and were thought of as being places of great beauty and eternal peace. Magical places.

  Hendrick had to admit that this one was pretty. Even though the darkness meant he could see little, the grass was long and felt soft. He could also smell the gentle perfume of the wildflowers, and the birds chirped their evening song. It truly seemed like a magical place. The trouble was that he wasn't finding any peace here.

  But he supposed that was too much to expect of any place. His soul was troubled, and no amount of beauty or magic was going to calm it.

  Hendrick was having second thoughts about what he was doing. Or rather about what he was thinking about doing – he hadn't yet decided to do it. And actually they weren't second thoughts. They probably weren't even tenth thoughts anymore. Like a magistrate torn between judging what was right and what was lawful he'd been debating with himself over the wisdom of doing this for the entire two days he'd been on the trail. Arguing really.

  About the wisdom of leaving the roads and heading out across the countryside. If he'd stuck to the road he could make Styrion Might in five days on a good horse. It was only eighty leagues along the northern road. And his new mare was a very good horse. Going across the fields and through the woods meant it would take twice as long at least. But as a wanted man he’d thought it safer. But was the delay worth it?

  But there could soon be others on his trail. They'd have a harder time finding him if he wasn't on the roads. This was safer. But on the other hand the extra time meant that the Chief Magistrate would have had more time to learn that he was alive and send more soldiers.

  Of course if he'd wanted speed, he could have simply long stepped all the way. It would have only taken a few hours. But if he had, he couldn't have brought the horse. He couldn't carry a horse with him through the spell. And arriving at the city on foot would have marked him as a commoner. Nobles rode, traders used wagons, and commoners walked. As Prince Hendrick he could simply announce himself and be escorted – not that he dared to do that. But as a well dressed man on a horse he could be at least a noble. The city guards wouldn't dare bother him. And the riding gloves would hide his markings. He would ride straight through the gates. But a commoner would likely be checked. One found as afflicted would be refused entry to the city and probably locked away. And one discovered with his markings hidden might even be killed as a warlock. He needed the horse as part of his disguise.

  It was a dragon's choice. Every option was bad, but he had to pick one.

  Then again should he even have set forth on this journey? Maybe he should just have changed his name and run away? After all there were plenty of afflicted in the world, and the realm had fifty cities and a completely unknown number of towns.

  He could even leave Styrion completely. He could board ships on the east and west coasts and travel to new lands. There were said to be some according to the bards – island nations and even whole continents – though who knew if anything they sang about was truthful. And it would be a very long journey to find out. Three hundred leagues in either direction more or less.

  North and south were more difficult. They were wastelands so he understood. Mountain ranges, swamps and deserts, filled with deadly creatures and ruined cities. There maybe you could see magical creatures – before they ate you!

  He was sure that if had chosen to run, and left the realm of Styrion completely, he would never have been found. Mostly sure. It was possible that the Chief Magistrate would send Royal hunters after him, and the King's hunters were famed for never letting a ma
n get away.

  It was just that if he ran he would lose everything. His life in Burbage. A fairly good life given he was one of the afflicted. He would lose his brewery. A business that brought in coin and gave him the prospect of a good life. A business he was proud of. More than that he had people who knew him and knew of his affliction and didn't run away every time they saw him. He had friends and sometimes girlfriends. Above all he had a place where he belonged. He would lose all of that if he ran. He didn't want to lose it. And to keep it he needed to know why either the Chief Magistrate or the King had tried to have him killed. Once he knew that then he would have to persuade whoever had signed the order that whatever reason they had had for doing this had been wrong.

  The men he had killed played on his mind as well. They might have intended to kill him, and he might have been trapped and certain to die if he hadn't acted, but he just wasn't a killer. He wasn't a soldier of any sort. Was there something else he could have done? Something less deadly? He didn't know. He couldn't think of anything, even days later. But that didn't stop him asking the question.