The Hamlet Of Maysouth
By Ryder Ataxia
Part One
“It’s getting dark out there,” he said. “How much longer must we wait?”
She didn’t want to answer. She knew it would only make him more anxious.
He fumbled nervously with the shutter while tapping his feet upon the wooden floor.
“Come away from the window, Tobias. They will come in time, and when they do, we are ready.”
Tobias turned and walked cautiously forward before letting his eyes meet hers. “What if we aren’t ready enough, Victoria? These people could kill us, after all.”
Victoria looked down at her feet and tried to evade his calculating look.
“Well?” he pressed, raising his tone slightly. It was obvious he wished to draw an answer from her, but something in his voice betrayed his anger and slipped the tone of helplessness that he was trying so desperately to hide.
Victoria noticed this and felt a rush of worry swell over her. She knew what Tobias could be like in pressured situations, and the fact that made it worse was that she knew he was right; these people could kill them, and probably would. She got up to her feet and walked to the dresser on the opposite side of the room, where her bow and quiver lay crossed. She played absentmindedly with the fletch on one of her arrows before gathering enough words to provide him with an answer.
“I know all seems hopeless Tobias, but trust me,” she begged, seeing that he was beginning to resign himself to the acceptance of doom, “we will make it out alive. We will live to walk the halls of Narsal again. We will look once again upon the valley leading to the east kingdom, but you must have courage. Above all else, you must have hope.”
Tobias turned her words over in his mind for a moment. Talks of courage and hope did not seem the same within the enclosed walls of a bare lodging as they did when spoken by a king to his armies before riding into battle. He and Victoria were cornered; they had no army, no king to follow. They were utterly alone, and they knew no help was coming now.
He turned his attention back to the window and once again scanned the lane and the surrounding fields. All was quiet, and the air was still and cool against the windowpane. The sky was a dark shade of maroon and violet, and in the distance the last rays of light from the setting sun could be seen through the tree line. Nighttime was fast approaching, and with every passing moment the worry that clung to the air within the room grew heavier and more defined. Tobias let out a long sigh and began to pace to and fro across the floor, pausing every time he passed the window to steal another glance at the world outside. He was built for his age, just turned seventeen but with the broad shoulders of a man in his thirties. Already a beard had begun to grow on his chin, and his brown hair fell about his shoulders, curly and tangled, the result of many days on the road without a chance to bathe himself properly. At his side, strapped to a worn leather belt, hung a battered sword in a weathered scabbard. It had seen far more battles than he, but it was still strong, sharp, and trusty. It was one of the few things that made him feel safe in this dark and dangerous time. He placed his hand upon the hilt and continued to pace the room following the same path every time he turned.
Victoria sat on the bed nearest the door and began to sing softly under her breath. Her voice was sweet and pure, but the song spoke of evil and despair. It melted her heart and brought tears to her eyes, which she swiftly wiped away before her pacing comrade could catch a glance. She was extremely beautiful with long golden hair and fair skin, and although she too had been on the road for many days it seemed the elements had not touched her at all. She remained bright and radiant as a thousand stars, which was a testament to her virtue and sanctity. Her eyes were blue and deep as cool pools, but they were glazed with bleak dejection, and swam with grief and heartache. When she had set out from her home many months ago, she knew she may well not return, but never had the notion been so dominant in her mind as it was at that moment. She felt every shard of hope draining out of her heart, only to be replaced with anguish and tribulation. She did not feel ready to die. She had so much still yet to do, so much life yet to live, but even self preservation could not surmount to courage at this point, and regardless of her will to go on living she failed to channel any energy into believing in the hope that she so readily pleaded her friend to have. She hid it well, but in doing so only added more to her own turmoil. She could not bear to see Tobias succumb to fear. He was all that she had left, and the only familiar face she had seen for what seemed like a lifetime. He was her only reminder of home, a place where more than anything, she longed to be.
Still, the world outside was silent save for the faint sound of the river running in the distance. In many ways, had it not been for the situation, this place would be seen as a relaxing getaway. It was quiet and peaceful, away from the hustle and bustle of the bigger villages and towns, and certainly worlds apart from the cities of the kings, which were vast and crowded. Maysouth tried to call itself a village, but really it seemed far too meagre to be anything more than a small gathering of buildings set in a wide expanse of open country. It was no less than forty miles to the nearest town in any direction, and rarely did its fifty or so permanent occupants venture outside of its borders. However, it was no stranger to visitors staying at the inn. Due to its location, it was nearly always the resting place of some party of travellers or other, the number of which depended mostly on the time of the year; at present, the guests were few. A sword smith on an errand from the north province and an old man in a room on the second floor were the only guests other than Victoria and Tobias. The lack of company made for an even more lonesome aura, and the quiet was sombre and foreboding.
Tobias had returned to the window, and was watching two of the townsmen who had begun to walk up the road towards the inn. They were heavily engrossed in conversation and both drew deeply on pipes, the smoke wafting gently into the air behind them. He did not catch what they were talking about, but he felt sure that he heard a hint of urgency in their voices. This unsettled him more. As he strained his ears to try to catch a word of what they were saying, they drew nearer, making their way towards the entrance of the inn. They walked inside, and he felt the floor shudder slightly beneath his feet as the door closed behind them. Their voices carried up through the floor, but they were muffled, and Tobias could not make out any words. For a minute, he tried to decipher the dampened speech, but soon gave up and walked slowly and silently toward the door leading out of the room.
“Where are you going?” said Victoria, who was wary of Tobias and worried about his intentions. “Now is no time for wondering, no matter how wearied we grow of these four walls.”
Tobias stopped and turned his head. “I know, and no wondering shall be done,” he said confidently. “None of the leisurely kind anyway,” he added. “I intend to step out onto the stairway for a few moments. I feel certain that the conversation the two men downstairs are taken up in could be something to do with us,” he paused, pondering his next words before speaking them, “or the company we are expecting.”
With this, he quietly opened the door, slipped out into the narrow hallway, and swiftly made his way toward the head of the staircase at the opposite end. There were no windows in the hall, and it was dark and dingy. He halted at the first step and shrunk into the shadow on the left hand side of the stair, then began slowly to descend, skipping out a floorboard that he knew to creak.
The voices grew louder as he drew toward the ground floor. At the foot of the stairs, he remembered that there was a small bookcase covering the space between the banister and the front most wall of the inn. There was a small gap to the side of it, which he slipped into effortlessly. He strained his ears and could now hear the voices of the men quite clearly. They were seated on stools and leaned on the bar, talking to the innkeeper. They sounded shaken and unsettled.
“Well, I saw it as quite queer,” said the bigger of the two men, his voice laced with puzzlement. “There we was,
Harold and I, mindin’ our own out in the field, tendin’ the horses, when suddenly they all bolted. I’ve never seen anything like it in my life.”
“Aye,” said Harold. “All eight of ‘em took off at once, and we’ve got no idea what made em do it, but I’ll tell ya what.” He leaned in closer to the innkeeper, as though what he had to say was of great importance, “At that exact same moment, I felt all funny ‘like. Old Felchy ‘ere felt it too.” He motioned his head towards the larger man who was nodding in agreement. “We felt as if we were being watched by someone or something. It made us feel right uneasy, and we didn’t want to stick around to find out if we were, so we packed up and came straight back ‘ere sharpish.”
The innkeeper looked at them with great intrigue. This was not a very usual subject of conversation for the early hours of the evening in their quiet dwelling, and he didn’t quite know what to make it. He seemed bewildered by the entire thing. After a moment of pondering to himself on what the men had said, he began to question them.
“Well, are you sure you saw no one? Maybe they were hiding in the long grasses or perhaps behind a hedge row?” He seemed convinced that there had to be a perfectly logical explanation for all of this, something that the men had missed in their haste to get away.
“Nothin’,” said Felch, who had also been deep in thought. “We took a wide look around before we left, and kept lookin’ back behind us all the way up the lane ‘til we got to the road. There weren’t a soul in sight, not even a bird I tell yeh.”
The innkeeper rested his arm on the bar and cradled his chin in his hand. He let out a long hum before asking another question.
“And there were no sudden noises? Nothin’ that could have startled the horses enough to bolt like that?”
“None whatsoever,” Replied Harold. “It was a quiet day today…a little too quiet for my liking.” He took a long drag on his pipe whilst retracing the events of the day. Suddenly, a sense of realization came over him, and he shifted uneasily in his seat. “It did seem odd, come to think of it. The wind was still, and there were no birds singin’, no rabbits rustlin’ in the grass…I ain’t heard neither a bug nor a beast all day. It’s like they’ve all vanished!”
Felch looked at him and felt the same realization creep into his thoughts. He, too, had not heard a single sound of life all day, but only now did that prospect trouble him.
The innkeeper looked at them both, mystified. He couldn’t make sense of it. He wanted to let it pass as simply ‘uncanny’, but there seemed to be something strange surrounding these events. He could see it in their faces. They were frightened and nervous, but for what reason, neither of them knew. This was no ordinary odd occurrence. There was something dark at work. As to what that was or the reason for it, he had no clue.
“Well,” said the innkeeper, gathering his thoughts and coming up short of an answer, “I’m stumped. At any rate, you’re back here now, safe n’ sound. Things will be back to normal by tomorrow, I’m sure, and the horses won’t have gone far. They’ve got more sense’n that.”
“Aye, that’s true,” replied Felch, “but what if things aren’t back to normal by tomorrow? After all, this isn’t the first queer thing to have happened this week.” He gave a meaningful look to the innkeeper, whose face had now contracted into a grimace.
Tobias listened intently; he did not like what he had heard of the men’s story, and wished very much to find out what had happened earlier in the week, but when the innkeeper spoke next he knew that this was unlikely to happen.
“Let’s just hope that these occurrences aren’t related.” He had grown slightly unsettled himself and did not like the feeling. He looked out of the window at the failing light of dusk as the sky drew closer to night. “Such matters are not wisely discussed in the dark hours of the day, anyway.” His voice was calm but stern, and absolute authority rang out from it. “Come.” He offered. “Let us have a drink, and save all this talk of ill will and evil ‘till the daylight hours.”
The men agreed, and it was obvious that the subject would be discussed no further. Tobias slipped out from behind the bookcase, melted into the shadows, and slunk back up the stairs toward his room.
When he reached it, he paused and knocked. Victoria opened up, and looked down the corridor before letting him in. He wasted no time in explaining the tale of the men and the horses, and how they had hinted at the fact that this was not the only strange thing to have happened recently in these parts. She listened carefully, and grim realization began to manifest itself inside her mind.
“So,” she said, “that settles it. They are drawing close, and it is likely that they will be here within the hour.”
Tobias knew what it had all meant already, but hearing Victoria confirm it made it seem more real. He looked vacantly at the wall and felt his heart begin to thump in his chest.
Victoria listened hard and tried desperately to hear any sound that seemed out of place. She heard nothing. All remained still as if time were refusing to tick on.
“Oh, this will not do at all,” said Tobias after a few minutes. “Let them come now and be known or let them leave us in peace; either way, I should be happier and feel more at ease than I do now. This wretched wait for events to unfold will be the death of me I’m sure.” He sat on the bed and placed his head in his hands.
Victoria stepped up to the window and surveyed the surrounding fields. It was dark now, and she could neither see far nor clearly as the ground was veiled in shadows. She let out a sigh and wished that this whole affair could just be over and done with.
Three miles off under the thick canopy of the forest, six black shapes continued their silent advance on the hamlet of Maysouth.
To be continued…
Switch
By Fred Waiss
I
June 26.
At exactly 1:27 p.m., mountain daylight time, as if someone somewhere had flipped a switch, John Fuller lost his mind. Until then, it had been a great day.
He and his son Steve had been fishing that Saturday morning, and Steve had enjoyed a real struggle landing a big carp.
They stopped in Chappell for burgers, fries, and Cokes. John had added a one-quart cup of Coke for the drive home. It took Steve about ten minutes to recline the bucket seat in the old hatchback and fall right to sleep.
The caffeine in the Coke was a precaution to make sure John didn’t do likewise. There is little of interest on I-80 in the Nebraska panhandle, and falling asleep after hours of sun wouldn’t be hard to do.
John kept his eyes moving. Big fluffy clouds had been forming in the south, and he could see the fanciful shapes with little effort. He watched as a butterfly pursuing a bee metamorphosed into a pelican holding a nut delicately at the ends of its beak.
A line of tar repairing a continuous crack in the asphalt ran along in front of him like a hyperactive ribbon.
Steve slept. His tanned legs, bare and smooth, shifted seldom as the boy slept with the easy depth of the unworried young.
John lit up a cigarette with the car’s lighter. He didn’t smoke a lot—maybe two packs a week—but he’d always light a few during a long drive. He inhaled deeply, let the smoke trickle from between his lips in a slow and satisfying release and…
[flip]
He glanced out the side window. The pterodactyl was about to crunch a human head between its jaws. He smiled at the thought. In front of him, the tar line fled westward like a spastic EKG readout.
He savored this new liberty of existence. Possibilities of all kinds flooded his brain as he drove. A memory flashed of setting fire to his parents’ bed and listening to the shocked alarm of their panicked voices. It was a false memory, certainly, but one he enjoyed.
He glanced at the kid’s legs. Almost like a girl’s, they were in their smooth perfection. You'd think the active little shit would sport the scars of scrapes, punctures, and scratched mosquito bites.
He looked at the lit end of the cigarette. A hyena smile distorted hi
s features.
He kept his eyes moving. Road, mirror, cigarette. He carefully scraped off dead ash and inhaled the cherry end to a bright glow. He contemplated and relished the thought. Road, cherry, road, target, mirror, target, cherry and he jabbed the burning end of the cigarette into the brat’s thigh, extinguishing it as if in an ashtray. He treasured the hiss as the fire was extinguished by the boy’s flesh.
[flip]
They screamed together, one from pain and shock, one from horror.
John braked to the roadside in a spray of gravel. Steve was screaming and crying, tears flying, clutching at his thigh, yet afraid to touch it. John pushed his hands away, apologizing, and then saying nothing, barely fighting the nausea back upon seeing the charred hole in his son’s leg. He yanked the lid off the cup, spilling soda on himself and the seat, fishing a chunk of ice from it to put on the wound. Steve screamed again, briefly, but then settled down as the cold won the brief battle of pains and the fire began to numb.
“God! Stevie, I’m sorry! I don’t know what happened! How could I do that to you? I must have almost fallen asleep myself, and I thought I was using the ashtray!”
A voice in his head was cold. Bullshit. You knew what you were doing, you knew why, and you remember it all quite clearly. Sadistic asshole.
But Steve seemed to accept the lie, and the pain had subsided. John got them back on the way quickly. One thing worried him as he drove the rest of the way home. What could he tell Tammy?
II
By the time John and Steve arrived home, the sharp edges of the pain had rounded off. Tammy gave him an aspirin, and she and John treated the wound first with a careful washing, then with Vaseline and a bandage. Amy, four, hovered around the perimeter, trying to see, then screamed and hid her eyes when she did. She was very sympathetic to her older brother, and even offered Miss Penguin to him if he needed to hug something. Steven grinned bravely and thanked her, hugged it once and handed it back, winking at his parents.
Dark Light Book Three (Dark Light Anthology) Page 20
