by Veras Alnar
Then the thing grabbed him in its blackened, twisted claws and he was face to face with something whose face was indescribably animal. Amis opened his mouth to shout but a tongue was thrust between his teeth and the hot, fiendish breath blew into it and he felt such terror as he'd never felt and tasted in his throat the coppery flavor of blood. The crude clawed hand grabbed him harshly between the legs and Amis screamed, he shouted. He struggled against its mutant, enormous body.
“Amis,” the voice drew him from his struggle, “Amis!”
More insistent, like a frantic calling.
“Amis!”
GARSTWREN
The rumbled inhuman voice silenced and in its place was Lord Guain's gentle shushing. He looked concerned and was touching Amis' forehead almost instantly, checking it for some hint of fever. To Amis' immense embarrassment he realized he had been gripping Lord Guain's arm incredibly hard, to the point his own knuckles had gone white.
“You were shouting,” Lord Guain said.
Amis could barely work his mouth, “I saw- I saw-”
He closed his eyes and opened them again to be sure this time that he was awake.
“I saw the devil,” Amis said, voice trembling.
Lord Guain looked at him with some surprise, then let out a little laugh.
“That must have been some nightmare,” Lord Guain said, “sit down, or lay down. You look terribly exhausted.”
Amis trembled all over, cold and frigid and feeling worse than he'd ever felt before.
“I'm not making it up,” Amis said, “there's something in here, we're not alone.”
“You've been through a great deal,” Lord Guain said, “your nerves are at their limit. Please, lay down.”
With some hesitation, Amis sat on the edge of the bed and finally took in exactly where he was. It must have been Lord Guain's room, the upper solar. There was the bed draped in crimson, the fine stone carved tables and chests and all the ostentatious décor a man like Lord Guain would enjoy. Sculptures of great philosophers, tapestries hanging in the room of hunting scenes and fine velvet curtains that surrounded the bed, like every scarp of cheer from the keep had been crammed into its quarters. There were even scatterings of roes petals all along the floor, that had been tossed to and fro, as if they had dotted some wedding path.
Directly across the bed was a strange portrait that caught Amis' eye because of its uniqueness. It was the portrait of a dark haired man painted carefully in the style of ages past. A squirming devil had been etched in the corner like an ugly scratch in red and the Lordly man's black hair and grim expression were emphasized. Behind him was the very beginning’s of Garstwrot tower with a zig zag underneath. But clutched to the man's chest was a strange creature Amis could only make sense of as an insect, very much like a fat maggot, with spindly legs. It was an ugly and cretinous addition to an otherwise noble portrait of a handsome, if severe looking man.
“Who is that?” Amis said, apprehension growing.
“That's supposed to be Garstwren but I have my doubts,” Lord Guain said, “I think it was more than likely one of his much later descendants. The painting is too fine and the techniques too new, long ago the druids here carved stone and weren't hanging canvas to put brushes to.”
Amis sat uneasily on the bed, his nightmare still pounding through his head. The breathing of the beast still haunted him, its languorous touch across his flesh.
“Your thighs are scratched and bleeding,” Lord Guain said, with some surprise.
“Are they,” Amis said, sweat still sticking to him, “I must have done it to myself.”
It sounded weak to his own ears but still his body wouldn't stop trembling. At least he wasn't alone even if he had to bare Lord Guain's uncomfortable scrutiny.
“May I?” Lord Guain said, “I don't mean to take liberties, your health worries me and it's only two of us here to make do if one of us should get ill.”
Leaning over, Lord Guain gently checked his pale leg flesh and touched the great thick scratches that were still sluggishly red with blood. It was difficult not to notice the pulse of Lord Guain's breath and the pleasing way shadows fell across the back of his neck. The pale line it made and how the veins showed through the white skin. He felt like an arrow being loosed, so uncontrollable and quick. He bit savagely into the fine, pale neck. Plunged his teeth into the flesh.
He felt Lord Guain's arm hit him on the shoulder, a startled gesture of surprised as they tumbled over off the edge of the bed and to the floor. Amis drank from the wound, he bit harder, its soft sweetness unbearably wonderful. Like an internal caress from a fountain of desire, all the things he'd had to let go of came back to him. All the pleasures he had turned away when he was forced to Garstwrot's drab village. Soft beds and fine clothes, the whispered interest of ladies in the court, shining armor and gilt swords. They tumbled through his head as lovers would, their shining glory a wicked temptation.
“Amis,” Lord Guain's voice was laced with desire, low and whispered like a wish.
It burned like a fire inside of him, all reason and sense lost in ashes blood colored that fell from the sky as rose petals would during a coronation. He was still dreaming, he had to be, nothing about it seemed real. He grabbed Lord Guain's shoulders in a hard grip that would have been impossible before, he felt his hunger scalding hot. He felt more than alive, he felt powerful.
And standing at the foot of the bed in blurry effigy was a form Amis knew very well from every bible he had ever read. A dark shape with horns rising into the ceiling, clawed fingers, forked extended tongue and black, cloven hooves. It wavered like a blinking image and backed into the darkness to vanish without a trace.
“I think I'm going mad,” Amis whispered, as blood fell from his lips in drops and spattered against Lord Guain's pale skin.
And then dawn broke through the window like a knife cutting with blinding light and Amis knew no more.
That morning Amis awoke feeling tired in a way that went straight to his bones. His limbs felt heavy and his head thick, his eyes were sore from the barest hint of light. He had awakened in Lord Guain's room and in his bed. Humiliation slightly reddened his cheeks, what he had dreamed had seemed so real but there was no way on earth it could have been. As a matter of course he checked his thighs and to his great relief, there were no scratches or signs of anything.
After some struggle, he managed to right himself and go back into his own room where Fulk was waiting for him. It was not a pleasant sight as a matter of course but especially not first thing in the morning.
Between Fulk's teeth he held a pipe, the very same he had stolen from Amis the day before. He was puffing away on it, leering at him.
“Spent the night with the Lord in his own bed,” Fulk said, “moving up in the world, are we?”
“Shut up,” Amis said, “I walked there in my sleep. I had a nightmare, Lord Guain was kind-”
“Must have been some dream,” Fulk said.
“Oh will you stop,” Amis hissed, “with your jibes and banter. I'm sick to death of it!”
Fulk had the gall to laugh at him, a nasal and ugly sound.
“It's not unwise to practice for the military life but if you'd had a taste for men you should have spread your affections in the village,” Fulk said, “maybe a few would have taken up arms in defense of and not against your person.”
“Just because I wash my face and brush my teeth,” Amis said, splashing water on himself, “doesn't make me a damn Gamwyd.”
“Well you may have found your own Albin, regardless. Though I do wonder why a man like our Lord, who could have lifted any skirt he pleased for miles around, has instead set his sights on a lowly waif with unwashed hair and legs far too skinny.”
“He doesn’t fancy me,” Amis said, his gut twisting, “don't say something like that in earshot or you might be without a head once this business is through.”
The dream still burned and lingered shamefully in his mind but perhaps, not that Amis would ad
mit to Fulk of all people giving him comfort, perhaps it was something of Lord Guain's fancies that he had noticed without thinking and it had been put into his head. Though it was hardly shameful to find a man who looked like that attractive no matter which way anyone normally tended to look for lovers.
“Him and what army,” Fulk said, “you? Don't make me laugh.”
Fulk brushed passed him and leaned in close by his ear, nearly causing Amis to knock over the water basin in surprise.
“He's listening to us,” Fulk hissed, “he's been spying.”
“What,” Amis said, rather loudly.
Fulk made a shushing motion, “all night he wandered the upstairs halls and when I went to wake you up, you were dead to the world. As if you had been drugged. I took to the halls trying to find out where he was going but I lost him by the library.”
Amis' eyes went wide, “that's not possible, there's no where else to go up there.”
“He went somewhere, I could hear his steps as they faded,” Fulk said, “tonight, we'll talk elsewhere, with no other listeners. And keep in mind, he could have spiked the wine which would explain a man sleep walking when he's not known to.”
The night made sense in a way events hadn't before. And that had also explained Fulk's empty bed and perhaps, it had all been just a very bad dream.
“The library,” Amis blurted, “it's a small room, no one could go in or out without notice.”
“The library,” Fulk said,“I suppose it'll do. After this business in the town, meet me there and be sure you're alone.”
There were no servants and therefore the menial labors of the house were up to the three of them. It was decided that Amis should take on the skills that required less physical exertion due to his past illness having left him depleted. Unfortunately, it meant he was relegated to emptying the chamber pots into the gong pit and gathering water from the river at the bottom of the cliff, as the well on the grounds was blocked up. There was an old rusted mechanism that helped lift buckets from the river and its rickety gears weren't encouraging in the slightest. When Amis went to crank the water up he nearly fell in from the strain of pulling the buckets upwards and to his great insult, Fulk heard his shout and had to come and help him.
“Damn, this is difficult for one man. Typical of lordly folk,” Fulk had said, “scarper off before any real work gets done.”
“Shut up,” Amis panted, setting down his buckets, “if you had a mind to skip out on work, you would have. And who the hell would build a keep this way? No water but over a deadly cliff and only a few ropes and buckets to bring it up. I nearly killed myself hauling it one way!”
“It would keep out attackers,” Fulk said, “or keep in prisoners.”
Their gaze followed the same path down the steep cliffs overlooking the fens that had a single, water washed grate hovering over a most steep cliff side.
“I would hope I would never fall down,” Amis said, “it's not a great distance but I'd break every bone in my body on those rocks.”
When they had carried back their water, Fulk overturned an empty bucket in the outlying shed next to the kitchen and struck a pipe while sitting on it. His narrowed eyes were looking at the land, assessing it, though for what purpose Amis wasn't quite sure. Amis dumped his water into the wooden reservoir and then began dumping the other buckets that Fulk had hauled up while Amis had been struggling with his single set.
“What are you-” Amis began.
But Fulk shushed him and pointed outdoors.
It was a grim and foggy day, not unusual in a town during spring next to a marshy riverside. Out in the courtyard a few crows had gathered on the aspen tree, their caws a lonely sound over the quiet countryside. Several more crows began to show up and then a monstrous throng. The tree was filled with so many black birds the branches began to bend under their weight.
“An omen?” Amis said, still breathless.
“Not an omen,” Fulk said, “a knowing. They're here to feast on carrion but my question is, where is it.”
After their labors had been done and their work clothes exchanged for traveling ones, Lord Guain met them in the courtyard with a rather unusual surprise.
“I have found one,” Lord Guain said, “a single horse has survived. She had been hiding herself in the lower kitchens sitting as you please by the chimney.”
“Bless us,” Fulk said, “it would be terrible to walk.”
“We will still be walking,” Lord Guain reminded them, “I'll not have one horse go to seed carrying three men even on a cart. It's our last hope to get help should we become desperate.”
Amis glanced at the horse, it was large and black and had great dark eyes but it seemed cowed and greatly frightened, like it had seen some terrible thing. Amis immediately went to comfort it and it seemed more at ease when he had petted its nose and given it some assuring strokes.
“She's a lovely mare,” Amis said.
“Did you ride?” Lord Guain asked.
“No,” Amis lied.
Fulk snorted and continued smoking his pipe, “it's more convincing if you say yes to something. The man rode on a borrowed horse to keep the highwaymen at bay with our motley crew. Had trouble finding his way on the roads but when he struck true, he'd take a man's head clean off.”
“Shut up!” Amis shouted.
The self satisfied smirk on Fulk's face made Amis want to hit him but he held himself in check, just.
While Amis' riding was tempered by his inability to follow the proper course to anywhere without help, his favored long sword made sure that when he hit his mark no man would be left alive. Anyone in Garswrot who looked at his steel would have known that's where a certain pound of gold from the town coffers had gone and so he had hidden it wherever he could, in stables at the edge of town or sometimes with Durgia's milkmaid Ellie, in her father's house. When the call to arms was raised he would collect it and no one would question him once suited up to fight in his worn out armor, only happy they were one man stronger who could kill and put an end to banditry ever quicker.
“Let us hope that we have no need of such a skill,” Lord Guain said, “but if I should find a sword worth swinging I know who's hands it would be most useful for it to land in. Clearly to have learned to fight there had been a fiefdom in your hands to defend, though how you've ended up so lowly I can't begin to guess.”
“He's the first to go to arms,” Fulk said, “the last to return. And the most miserable companion on the road you've ever met.”
“Mysterious words from a grave master,” Lord Guain said, “more and more you interest me, Amis.”
“I'll not tell you anything more,” Amis said, curtly.
“His lot gets rather grim,” Fulk said, smirking, “after a certain point.”
Amis said nothing but exuded a gloom so miserable, it was as if the spring sun hid itself behind a cloud in protestation of witnessing it. The wind kicked up and the ground under Garstwrot rumbled ominously, the ash may have stopped falling for a time but its gray coat over all the land was far from a propitious sight.
Denied the use of a horse they went on foot, down into the town itself. It took some time to make it over the craggy hills and towards the lower part of the grounds. There was a bridge over a brook that had seen better days, it was a beautiful place but one Amis had last seen in inauspicious circumstances when he had been stupid drunk and had been pushed over its edge by Fulk's ruffians. The first houses belonged to the farm manager Aelfreg who oversaw the laborers on the land for the Lord. The door was unlatched and the smoke from the fires long burnt out, it was evident that no living soul lingered inside the house.
Lord Guain said, “I knew them well, they were quite dependable. Aelfreg was a solid man and his wife Madeline a pleasant lady. They were invited to my wedding along with their six children and had the best seating of the peasantry.”
Seeing the village as it was gave Amis the most extraordinary chills. He didn't want to remember his last nights before collap
sing in the stable, the rabble that had chased him or the reasons they had found his person objectionable amongst good and decent men.
“You're shaking,” Guain said, “are you all right?”
“I'm fine,” Amis said.
The door to the manager's house was open and to prove to himself that he was still made of the stuff of manhood, Amis opened it first. Shuddering at the sight, it was clear that Aelfreg and his family were dead. The man of the house had died leaning in a chair his head thrown backwards and body wring tight, the children were scattered around like peas fallen from their pods. Their small bodies contorted and twisted as though they had been in agony.
“Good god above,” Lord Guain said, “so many and in so short of time. This plague must have went through the town with astonishing speed.”
Amis looked at the woman of the house, Madeline, who had died leaning over a pot. She hadn't liked him but he hadn't particularly cared for her either, though he would never wish on her such a mean death. With the bodies in disarray and the actions of the house only half completed by its members, it was clear it wasn't some ferocious disease but more evidence the culprit was a fast acting poison. He glanced at Fulk who he was sure was thinking something similar.
With his spindly finger, Fulk put his finger against his lips. Amis would for once, heed his advice.
Wandering to the shelf of cookery Fulk ran his finger across some of the pots and looked at it as it came away dirty. Glancing at Amis and then at Lord Guain, he narrowed his eyes in thought.
“Isn't it strange,” Fulk said, weighting his words, “that dust is on every bowl?”
“What do you mean?” Lord Guain said.
“Almost like it's been more than a day since they died,” Fulk said.
The flies buzzed loudly in Amis' ears because it couldn't have been, there was no possibility.
“That would be very strange,” Lord Guain said, “and impossible. I woke up in my own bed after only a day with nothing amiss.”
“I woke up in a barn the next morning” Amis said, glancing between them, “there was no one to find who wasn't already dead.”
