by Alex Aguilar
She refused to accept it… She had just met the orcess and somehow she found herself on the verge of tears. Aevastra didn’t deserve this, she didn’t deserve to die this way… And what would become of the baby? He would become yet another motherless child left behind to fend for himself. The thought alone was a burden.
“I will go into the city!” said Adelina. “I’ll go to the nearest apothecary and come back as soon as I-”
“She doesn’t have that kind of time,” Mister Beckwit interrupted. “She’ll be dead by the time you return… The only way she’d survive is if…”
He paused there, wiping the sweat from his brow with an old cloth.
“If…?”
The old man sighed one last time. “…if you take her with you.”
The room went silent. Margot Huxley turned to the orcess, whose breathing was beginning to weaken and eyes were growing dark and heavy.
“I-I can’t,” Adelina stammered. “I-If they see her, they’ll… they’ll kill her!”
“And if you don’t, she’ll die here. At least if we take her, she has a chance…”
Adelina gave it some thought. Not only would Aevastra be killed at first sight, but her family might suffer the consequences for even being seen with the likes of her. And in a city like Val Havyn, it was near impossible not to be spotted. They’d have to be more than wary; they’d have to be practically invisible.
“We can go to the royal palace,” Old Man Beckwit suggested. “Sir Darryk Clark has been appointed Lord Regent. I knew his father Augustus quite well during my years of service in the royal guard. I’m sure the lad would be willing to help.”
The baby orc gave a whimper. And it only distressed Adelina further.
In one night alone, she’d lost her home and nearly lost her youngest children.
The thought of losing what little she had left sent a throbbing pain to her temples.
“Very well,” she said. “We must leave at once…”
They loaded Evellyn and Aevastra onto the back of the cart and Old Man Beckwit covered them with a large blanket. Nearby, Henrik was grunting and sobbing quietly as he shoveled dirt into a hole in the ground. And in that hole there was a body wrapped in a sheet. The poor farmhand wiped the sweat and tears from his red face as Mister Beckwit approached him.
“I’m awful sorry, Henrik…”
The farmhand said nothing, only kept shoveling.
“For what it’s worth, Larz was one of the two best damn farmhands I’ve ever hired… And the lad fought like hells…”
Still nothing. Henrik could hardly bear to look up, his eyes fixated on his dead friend. Mister Beckwit placed a warm comforting hand on his shoulder. “I’ll return in a few hours. We’ll have a drink in his honor.”
And so they made way towards Val Havyn, preparing to face the worst. Adelina and Mister Beckwit sat in the front, guiding the mule. And the twins sat in the back with the two wounded women. Young Margot Huxley allowed Aevastra to hold her babe during the ride, for she knew there was a possibility she wouldn’t live to hold him another day. All there was to do was wait and hope.
“He’s got your eyes,” said the girl, hoping to lift the orcess’s spirits.
Aevastra replied only with a half-smile.
“What’s his name?” Margot asked.
The orcess exhaled weakly. It was as if the poison had ripped her of her ability to speak.
“Does he not have one…?”
Aevastra gave her a shake of the head, a very weak one, but Margot got the message.
The girl remained dismally thoughtful. She didn’t know what would become of the orcess or her child. It had only been a day since she stumbled upon them along the edge of Lotus Creek, and yet she felt a peculiar warmth in her heart towards them both. If Aevastra died, who was going to give the child a name? Every child deserves a name, the girl thought.
“How about… River?”
Aevastra looked back up at her and smiled, more lively this time. And then the babe whimpered softly and looked up at them with twinkling eyes, so warm and yellow like buttermilk, so similar to his mother’s.
“He likes it, I think,” Margot caressed his cheek again. “Hello there, River…”
* * *
John and Syrena should have seen the attack coming. From the moment they sat down to eat, they should have known the silence was far too peaceful for it to have been a mere coincidence. But that malevolent crook and his gang of bandits seemed to have a knack for keeping quiet, as any skilled predator would.
Fleeing was pointless by then. They could see him in the distance, the man with no name, and his blurred figure alone was enough to give them both chills. The wicked monkey hopped off its master’s shoulder and skittered on all fours towards them.
John tried to stand, his knees shivering, as he prepared for a good fight.
But then a cold sharp blade pressed against his neck from behind.
“Stay down, boy…”
He froze.
Syrena of Morganna was startled. She leapt to her feet with her hands at the ready. But the man had a determined look on his face and a grin that was not to be toyed with.
“One move, witch… And I’ll slit his pretty littl’ throat…”
Syrena couldn’t bring herself to attack. She could’ve easily burned the man down with a single thrust of the arm, but she could not guarantee John would remain unharmed. She hesitated. And during that single moment of hesitation, another blade approached from the other side. She felt the cold sharp edge on her neck before she could even protest. And the bandits shoved them both down to their knees.
“Hands up. Now. And keep yours closed, witch.”
They obeyed. Having no other choice, they succumbed to them, the very same bandits that had attacked the company right at the border of the Woodlands, before the spiders came.
“Go on then,” said the one pinning John down, and then the other bandit seized Syrena’s wrists violently and began wrapping them in a piece of brown skin that was still moist with blood and reeked awfully.
No, the witch thought to herself. Not this again… You cowardly bastards…
She tried to resist, but the vile man was stronger than she expected. She’d told herself that if anyone tried to wrap her hands in ogreskin again, she would light them up in an inescapable hellfire without thinking twice. And yet there she was, her wrists tightened together all over again, and there was nothing she could do about it.
John tried his best attempt at a cold stare, but he couldn’t hide his fear. In everyone else’s eyes, he was a boy stuck in a man’s world, away from the safety of his farm. He loathed it and was thankful for it all at once.
Use it, John, he thought. Let them underestimate you and use it to your advantage…
The sharp-fanged monkey arrived first, hissed at them, paced around on all fours, examining every detail. His gaze was low and his nose was sniffing the ground, and John wondered if the tiny beast had somehow remembered their scent and that’s how they were tracked. When its master arrived, he brought with him that same grin from several days prior. A slow dishonest clap and a snicker, and then more laughs among the other two men.
“Wha’ a lovely surprise to find you two here,” the nameless man said, as he paced around them with a bow strapped to his back and a blade on his belt. “Thought you could run away from fate, eh…?”
You sure do love to talk, don’t you? John thought, and then wondered how that could work to their benefit.
The man turned from John to Syrena and then nowhere in particular as he spoke. “Where’s everyone else run off to, lad?” he asked. “Did the chief finally grow a pair ‘n’ cut off the dead weight?”
John said nothing. The monkey was sniffing the satchel by his knee and it was making him uneasy. As much as he loved animals, he couldn’t help but think that if the elfberries inside were hot enough, he’d feed them to it, and then the little beast would be no more.
“They cut off your tongue,
or what?” the nameless man spoke again. The more the silence lingered, the more impatient he appeared. “You gonna answer me?”
Syrena closed her eyes and sighed. She had the chance to burn them all but she’d lacked the nerve to take it. She felt her body grow hot with rage, feeling as if it was seeping out of her eyes, nose, and ears. Even from her fingertips, she felt it, which was odd. She would always feel the warmth in her hands diminish upon first contact with the ogreskin; they would turn cold and dry, and her power would cease to be.
Perhaps it was that the skin had been freshly cut…
Perhaps it was that her anger was greater than she thought it was…
Or perhaps it was, and she had considered this since the reeking fumes hit her nose, that the skin around her hands was not ogreskin at all…
“Alright,” said the nameless man. “Seems I’m talkin’ to myself then… Fine, I can talk… I can tell you that things won’t end well if you don’t tell me what I wanna know. I can tell you all of the awful things me ‘n’ my men will do to the both of you if you don’t squeal… But, tell me, where’s the fun in that?” His yellow smile was nauseating to look at. It was the smile of a man that had succumbed to the lowest form of human possible and hardly felt any shame in it.
“We don’t know where everyone else is,” John finally spoke. “We got separated.”
“Did you, now?” the nameless man asked, brimming with displeasure. “How sadly inconvenient. I was lookin’ forward to capturin’ the chief myself, to be honest. Torture him, kill him, skin him, the usual.”
More laughs from the bandits…
That’s it, John… Just keep him talking…
Syrena, however, didn’t say a word, as was usual of her. She was far too distracted pondering about her hands. But John had suddenly found their window of opportunity. His naïve eyes were narrowed, but there was hope behind them, as he kept his gaze ahead towards the nameless man… and towards a shadowy figure in a black hat sneaking through the trees…
“You would sell a man’s skin?” John asked, as an effort to keep the man talking.
“Shit, no. Skinning him’s for me own pleasure. Old habits ‘n’ all that,” the nameless man laughed, and this time his words made John’s skin crawl. “The chief’s armor would have gotten us a pretty coin, though. His blade, too. And that hair would’ve made for a nice wig for some balding arse-faced nobleman.”
John Huxley was no longer listening. His eyes met his thieving ally in the trees, and he was vigilant for any signs or gestures. He was so distracted that he didn’t realize the nameless man had bent down on one knee in front of him, so close that he had no option but to take in that awful breath.
“You kind of remind me of the chief,” he said, his expression hardening. “Both of you talk like you got something else on your minds… Tell me, what’s on yours, lad?”
John tried to look away, but the nameless man clutched him by the jaw and forced him to make eye contact. “I’ll tell you what’s gonna happen, lad… I’m gonna take your pretty little gal here over by the river for a bit. Whatever you hear, you’re gonna ignore it, yes? Pretend she’s just… laughing, if you will. We’ll just be down there havin’ a laugh. You say anything, you try anything, ‘n’ my men will slice your throat, yes?”
The fury in Syrena’s chest was nearly excruciating. It may have even been made of flames, for all she knew. Her magic was something that not even she could fully comprehend. She was born with the gift and it was all she had known since childhood. Over the years it still surprised her from time to time… And on that day, she swore that the more she shook from the rage, the warmer and sweatier her palms were getting, despite the ogreskin…
The nameless man got to his feet and grabbed Syrena by the arm.
She tried to fight it, but it was of no use.
“Sir?” called one of the bandits. “Will you be able to shag her with her hands tied that way?”
“Ain’t the first time,” the nameless man chuckled.
“If it rips, I’ve got more goblinskin in my rucksack.”
There was a brief silence…
Syrena looked down at her wrists. She knew the skin had felt different…
Its stench was different, it was thinner, it was softer… It wasn’t ogreskin at all…
Well shit, she grinned.
Suddenly, she released that rage she’d built up inside, and with little effort her hands burned through the wet leather. The nameless man backed away instantly, his sleeve suddenly caught in a flame. And then Syrena stepped towards the other two bandits, her eyes furious and indomitable. She held her hand out and the flames roared out like dragon’s fire.
“Someone get ‘er!” the nameless man shouted.
But the two bandits had shriveled in a panic. John Huxley darted out of the way and crawled back, as Syrena stepped in front of him like a shield-maiden. The nameless man felt the sudden need to act; he unsheathed his blade sloppily and stepped towards the distracted witch, but he froze where he stood as the cold tip of a single-edged rapier poked at his back.
“Put it down, old mate. Slow and steady,” said Hudson Blackwood.
But the nameless man was more reckless than John. He turned and swung his blade, sending the thief jerking backwards. There was a skirmish between the two, as Syrena’s fire roared out of her hand.
“I-I yield! Please! I yield!”
The last bandit was down on his knees, shivering with fright, next to a black charred skeleton that used to be his comrade. Syrena’s hands were still lit, the flames coating them like infernal gauntlets, and her auburn eyes were both deadly and stunning. “Stay down,” she warned him.
“Coward!” the nameless man shouted angrily. “Get up ‘n’ fight!”
But it was over. Their advantage was lost.
He was disarmed by a thief, outsmarted yet again.
“You filthy street rat!” he shouted. “Don’t you know who I am?!”
Hudson grinned. Of course I do, old mate. You’re just another ‘son of who’.
Suddenly, there was a rumble beneath their feet, as if something heavy and massive was being dragged over the earth. It was followed by a deep sound that may have been a grunt, only a hundred times as loud as a man’s. They all turned their gazes, slowly, afraid to make a sudden move.
John was on his feet by then, gripping the bone hilt of his silver blade. The sound had come from the stone they had chosen to sit against, a boulder the size of a house. It looked like any other stone, except now it had started to move… Bit by bit, it began to uncoil itself from its rotund shape and it was rising from the ground like a beast waking from its slumber. Hudson’s face hardened, his witty demeanor entirely gone, replaced by something else entirely. Something like fear…
“Stand… perfectly… still,” he said, softly, as if hiding beneath the whistling of the wind.
There was a loud hissing sound, like that of an exhale, except aggressively loud. And a gush of wind blew against them all. The massive stone shifted and turned, its shape becoming more beastlike by the second. It was alive. Its head and torso was massive and its limbs were short and thick. And when it opened its eyes, they were black and crystallized like obsidian. It looked as if a fifteen-foot tall ogre had been struck with a curse and turned into an living, breathing stone.
John Huxley’s jaw dropped. “What in all hells…”
“Don’t move, mate,” Hudson muttered at him. “Don’t even speak.”
The stonewalker was just five feet away but when it turned its eyes towards them, it could see nothing. So long as they didn’t move, they were practically invisible to the strange creature, just a chunk of flawed earth. It exhaled again and then its mouth opened. The sound was like a lion’s roar, only higher-pitched and hollow.
If that’s its yawn… I imagine what its growl must be like, John thought as he struggled through the knot in his throat. He was standing in between Syrena and Hudson, all of them careful not to tremble too much. The tw
o bandits, however, made an attempt to crawl away, both with their eyes full of terror.
“Don’t! I said don’t move!” Hudson hissed at them, for a moment sounding almost indifferent towards them, as if they were mere acquaintances rather than enemies. The stonewalker sniffed and turned its head again. He spotted them… its neck bent in an eerie way and the sound of stone grinding against stone filled the air. The bandit was on his knees still, shivering and whimpering quite loudly. He was closest one to it, and when the stonewalker began to sniff him, the warmth in his chest grew and his whimpers turned into cowardly moans.
“No,” he made the mistake of speaking. “No, please… no…”
Shut up, shut up, shut your damn mouth, Hudson thought to himself.
But it was of no use. The stonewalker roared again, this time viciously like a predator. Briefly, the shivering bandit stopped whimpering and looked up with horror-stricken eyes. And the last thing he saw was the stonewalker’s massive fist slamming down, crushing him and killing him instantly.
“Sh-Shit… Retreat!” Hudson shouted.
And so they did… John, Hudson, Syrena, and the nameless man ran as fast as they could, heading back east. Meanwhile, the stonewalker took its time rising from where it sat, as it had just woken up from a long and deep sleep. It stood on all fours like an ape and pounded its fist down, causing a tremor in the earth that may have spread for a mile.
The nameless man had somehow gotten the lead, the bow strapped to his back loosening as he ran. John knew to keep his eyes ahead, but his fear urged him to look back every other second. In the distance, he could see it; if it were to stand up straight, the stonewalker must have been almost 20 feet tall. Crouched and on all fours, it craned its neck and targeted them, four figures scurrying into the distance towards the trees.
It scratched the dirt back with its fists like a bull and prepared to charge forward.
John stumbled from the fright; the thief and the witch stopped and helped him to his feet.
The nameless man had vanished somewhere within the greenery when they came across a split in the path. They paused for a moment, realizing they would have to either lure the stonewalker back towards Miss Rayna’s tavern or follow an entirely different path, a path unknown to them.
