Vengeance

by Gail Z. Martin

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The group headed back into the ruined monastery, silent and somber. Polly had prepared most of a “welcome home” dinner before they left to open the Rift, hoping they would be successful. Everyone expressed appreciation, but Rigan had little appetite, and to him, the food had no taste.

  Usually, the friends passed the time in the evening playing cards, sharpening their weapons, or planning their next hunt. Tonight, conversation lagged, and people turned in early. Corran and Rigan found themselves alone in the sitting room.

  “How’s the arm?” Rigan asked.

  “Better. Almost completely healed.”

  Rigan gave a wan smile. “I had the same thought, on the other side. I thought it would require human blood to work the spell, and it did. Then we got jumped, and Mir pushed me out of the way before I could—”

  “I’m sorry we didn’t figure out how to get you back faster,” Corran replied. “We tried. Gods, we tried everything, from the moment you disappeared. And each time it didn’t work, I got more worried—”

  Rigan nodded. “Yeah. We had a few false starts, too. If what we did hadn’t worked—I don’t know what would have happened.” He hesitated. “There was something else… something in the Rift. A presence I don’t know how to explain.”

  “Presence?” Corran asked, leaning forward.

  Rigan grimaced and shifted in his seat, uncomfortable with even thinking about the creature he had sensed. “There are stories about the Elder Gods experimenting with creation before the worlds were slung. In those legends, the First Creatures are monsters, and the gods seal them away when they leave our world. I never believed those tales before. But now…” He stared off into the distance, trying to find words to explain.

  “You sensed something like that, inside the Rift?” Corran asked.

  Rigan nodded. “It’s hard to describe, like any of the words I could use aren’t big enough or dark enough. Huge—beyond reckoning. Powerful, almost a god itself. And cruel… something that feeds on fear and death and pain, but so much more than just an evil person.” He dropped his head. “I’m not explaining this very well.”

  “You mean those stories about He Who Watches?”

  “Yeah,” Rigan replied, brushing the back of his hand across his lips in a nervous gesture. “I’m pretty sure he’s real, and he knew we were there. And when I tried to use blood magic to open the Rift, the… creature… paid more attention. I saw him in my dreams.”

  That didn’t sound good at all, but Corran knew Rigan needed no new reasons to worry. “You’re out of that place. Maybe whatever it was can’t follow.”

  “Maybe,” Rigan said, clearly not convinced.

  Corran looked up. “What matters is that you and Trent got back. I’m sorry about Mir. He was a good friend and a good hunter, but despite it all, I’m still glad to have you two home.” He winked. “And I’m sure Elinor is glad, too.”

  Rigan blushed. “She’s waiting for me.”

  “Go,” Corran said with a laugh, slapping his brother on the shoulder. “We can talk in the morning.”

  Rigan started down the corridor, and Polly shuffled into the room, heading for the kitchen. “Thought you’d be asleep by now, what with all that magic,” she said. “I wanted to get some things ready for the morning. Easier to do while I’m still awake than trying to wake up to do it, if you know what I mean.”

  “As long as there’s coffee, I imagine we’ll get by,” Corran replied.

  Polly gave him a look. “Coffee doesn’t solve everything, you know. That’s why there’s whiskey.”

  Feeling adrift, Corran found himself following Polly. He should be exhausted from the working in the clearing and the fear and relief of getting Rigan and Trent home, but he felt wide awake, humming with energy that he doubted even a drink would dampen.

  “When everyone’s ready to go out again, I think I’ve found a hunt,” Polly said, mixing ingredients into a pan that would bake on the coals overnight. “And for what it’s worth, I think we should pack up and move on to another hideout for a while. Been here too long, done too much. We get comfortable; we’re gonna get caught.”

  Corran let out a long sigh. “I was thinking the same thing, about finding a new place to stay. We’ve been lucky to have made it this long.”

  Polly pushed a lock of red hair behind her ear as she stirred her mix. “I know a little bit about hiding,” she said, not looking at him. “Ran away from home, got myself a job in the big city, managed to stay a jump ahead of everyone.”

  “Who was chasing you?” Corran asked, concerned. Kell had cared for Polly, and if things had gone differently, Corran would have welcomed her as a sister by marriage when the time was right.

  Polly shrugged. “People I owed, people I didn’t want to get to know better, people who wanted to make me go back where I didn’t want to be.”

  Corran watched her work, noticing for the first time a jagged scar on the inside of one arm. She’s Kell’s age, fourteen, maybe fifteen, and been on her own for a while. Had the guts to kill at least one man who tried to take advantage of her, and ran away again before everything went to shit in the city. How bad did it have to be, at home, for this to be better?

  “I have a lead on a haunting,” Polly said, rousing Corran from his thoughts. She bent to push the pan into the hot coals and covered it with a lid, then stood and dusted off her hands. Polly returned to the table with a bottle and two cups, pouring them each a finger of whiskey.

  “How did you hear about it?” Corran asked, accepting his cup and tipping his head in salute. Polly grinned and mirrored the gesture, raising her cup in a mocking toast.

  “Last time Ross and Calfon and I went to the pub, I heard people talking. Then we got so busy with the Rift business and all, it didn’t seem important, what with everything else going on,” Polly said, taking a sip.

  “Seems there’s a village that comes and goes. Most of the year, it’s nothing but ruins. People keep their distance. But once a year, at midnight on one particular day, the town reappears as it was.”

  Corran let the whiskey burn down his throat, and considered Polly’s tale. “Sounds interesting.”

  She nodded. “I know. That’s why I went over all big-eyed and innocent-like at the pub and got the man to tell the whole story.” She widened her eyes and batted her lashes, looking so completely unlike herself that Corran had to laugh.

  “And he fell for that?”

  Polly lifted her chin. “You know, that’s what Ross said after, too. But yes, he got the chance to show off for a pretty girl, and he sang like a lark.”

  “You’re a dangerous woman, Polly.”

  “Don’t you forget it.” Polly knocked back the rest of her drink.

  “So what did you learn?” Corran asked, finishing his whiskey as well.

  “According to the legend, the people in the town all got wiped out in one night. Killed in their beds, murdered where they stood. No one seems to know who did it or why, although I guess folks have been arguing about it since the whole thing happened.” Polly leaned back in her chair.

  “Not sure we need to get involved if the town simply shows up and then vanishes again,” Corran said.

  Polly shook her head. “That’s not all. According to the stories, the ghosts that haunt the village lure travelers in and then kill them. Next morning, there’s nothing but ruins and a few fresh corpses, and when the town shows up again, those poor travelers are part of the village—killing more people.”

  Corran toyed with his cup. “It’s a great story. Sounds like what people tell around a campfire on a dark night to get a shiver. But who went back to find out if the dead travelers returned? And how did that person live to tell about it?”

  Polly shrugged. “I’m just repeating what I heard. We don’t have to do anything about it. But I did find out where this village was, and it’s in the right direction for the next monastery I had figured we’d stay in.”

  Before they left Ravenwood
City, Polly and Elinor had scoured old texts about the monasteries that once dotted the countryside. They had long ago fallen into ruin after being abandoned, but many, like the one in which they had been living, were solidly built. Most people ignored the old structures, and no one had cause to meddle with them.

  “I hope we can come back here,” Corran said. “For being outlaw exiles, this has been pretty comfortable.”

  “Those monks had it good,” Polly replied. “Everything I read about the new place makes me think we’ll find a hidden section like this, maybe more books.”

  “How will our resident ghost feel about us moving on?” Corran asked.

  Polly smiled. “I’m sure he’ll keep an eye out for us to come back. I think he was lonely.” She ran a hand up her neck. “I have a bad feeling we’ve used up our luck here.”

  “So this village,” Corran said, beginning to feel the stress of the day as the whiskey hit him. “Did you mention it to Aiden and Elinor and see what they made of it? Maybe it’s more than angry ghosts. Might be a curse involved, or some other kind of magic.”

  “In case you didn’t notice, it’s been kinda busy around here lately,” Polly said with a sniff. “I meant to talk to them, but it wasn’t the right time. I figured if it is angry ghosts, you and Rigan know how to put that sort of thing right. Travelers would stop getting killed. The ghosts could move on. Good for everyone. And if it’s bad magic, well, maybe our witches could still take care of it.”

  “How long has it been happening?”

  “The man in the bar wasn‘t sure, but he thought it had been a while. Maybe ten years or so.”

  “Why haven’t the other villages blocked off the road and routed travelers a different way?” Corran enjoyed a tall tale as well as anyone, but before he committed the hunters to taking action, he wanted more information. Especially given the condition Rigan and Trent were in.

  “Apparently they tried,” Polly replied. “But someone—or something—moved the barricades, stole the signs, undid whatever they put up to stop people.”

  “There’s got to be more to the story,” Corran said, intrigued despite himself.

  “Rigan can confess the dead, can’t he?” Polly challenged. “And the both of you can banish vengeful ghosts. Maybe between the two of you—with Aiden and Elinor to help and the rest of us watching your backs—you can put them to rest and solve the problem.”

  “Maybe,” Corran replied. “I’m just wondering—who killed them? Brigands? A fit of madness? Someone with a grudge against the whole village? Or did a witch put a curse on them? We’re missing something, and it could be important.”

  “Well, if we do this, you’ll get your chance to find out. The stories say that the village reappears three days from now, which is barely enough time to pack our things and get where we’re going.” Polly gave a little smile of triumph.

  “Let’s talk to Aiden and Elinor in the morning,” Corran said, stifling a yawn. “And if they’re willing, we’ll see what the others think. At the least, we do need to change locations. We’ve spotted too many patrols lately, and it’s only luck we haven‘t had more run-ins. But now you’ve got me thinking about the village, and I’m going to have a hard time forgetting.”

  “I was counting on it,” Polly returned with a smile.

  “That’s it? That’s the place?” Rigan looked at the darkened ruins warily. “How long ago were the villagers killed?”

  “Ten years,” Calfon replied. “At least, according to the version of the story Polly heard.”

  Oberfeld had not been a large village. Corran and the others walked among the remains of houses and shops and tried to imagine what it once looked like. Some of the buildings had burned or crumbled down to the stone foundations, but others remained remarkably intact, though damaged by weather and neglect.

  Here and there, enough remained of the ruins for Corran to see where fire had charred wood, making him wonder about how the villagers met their end. It would not be the first town to suffer great loss due to a fire, but the buildings were spaced too far apart for that to be the whole answer.

  If they died from something natural—a fire caused by lightning, for example—or from an accident, then why the vengefulness? Why kill travelers and lure them in?

  “It feels… cursed,” Rigan said quietly. Ross and Calfon hung back, weapons at the ready, letting the Valmonde brothers get a sense of the place. Before their exile, Corran had never considered using grave magic as a source of information about the dead. Rigan had realized that potential, with his ability to summon ghosts and hear the confessions of the dead.

  Corran nodded. The whole area since they entered the ruined village set his hackles rising and gave him the feeling of being watched. He looked at the tumbledown buildings and attempted to guess what might have happened to set the doomed villagers on a quest for revenge so strong that it extended after death.

  “Whether or not your ghost story is true, there’s got to be some reason people just left the buildings to rot without anyone moving in to take them over,” Ross said, coming up to stand with him.

  “Can you tell—are there any ghosts?” Aiden asked.

  “Not at the moment, although the whole area feels… strange,” Corran replied.

  Polly, Elinor, and Trent had stayed behind to pack up their things at the monastery. They had agreed to leave the furnishings behind, except for a few books Rigan and Aiden wanted to study, which they asked Tophen’s permission to borrow. Still, packing up their personal items would take a while, and they all had the sense they needed to move out quickly.

  “How do you intend to banish an entire village?” Calfon asked.

  Rigan frowned. “I don’t intend to banish them right away. There’s got to be a reason they’re killing people. I want to confess them and find out what happened. Once they’ve been heard, they may go to the After willingly.”

  “And if not, we’ll shove them through the door, and make sure they can’t return,” Corran said.

  Whatever tragedy befell the village, it happened far too recently to be noted in any of the histories at the monastery. Wanting to keep a low profile because they feared pursuit, they had decided not to make a stop at the nearest pub to see what they might learn after they spotted other travelers at the inn. Rigan still debated that choice. Walking into a bad situation without enough details had nearly gotten them killed before.

  “Are you sure we can’t hide on the other side of the village and lure in the bounty hunters for the ghosts to take care of?” Ross asked, only partially in jest. “It might sate the ghosts’ hunger for blood so they’d be more polite to us afterward, and we’d get rid of some of the sons of bitches who are after us.”

  “Tempting,” Corran said. “But we’ve only got tonight, and I don’t much fancy playing bait.”

  Rigan and Trent were mostly recovered from their injuries beyond the Rift, thought Corran knew his brother’s nightmares would likely take much longer to fade than his bruises, and whether real or not, Rigan still sensed the presence he had felt in the Rift. They all bore Mir’s loss like a heavy weight. Corran had been uncertain about the wisdom in taking this hunt so soon, though Polly and Trent argued vigorously for it. Eventually, the others had come to agree, but with so much going on, everyone seemed on edge.

  “I wish we could put the whole village inside a salt circle,” Rigan muttered. “Or at least use my salt rope.”

  “I’d like that, too,” Corran agreed. “But it’s a little too big for that.”

  Instead, they had used the salt-aconite-amanita mixture and iron filings to make a large circle for the hunters to stand in. Rigan carefully painted the sigils at the quarters and set out the candles. Separate circles several feet away gave Ross and Calfon defensive positions from which to keep watch. Calfon had a bow and Ross a crossbow in addition to their swords, in case the most dangerous enemies turned out to be human—or flesh and blood monsters.

  “How will we know when it’s midnight?” Rigan
asked.

  Corran shrugged. “If the stories are true, we’ll know.”

  He and Rigan both had iron swords as well as steel, and silver knives. Elinor had prepared pouches of dried leaves and plants that would contain evil and decrease its power, and she gave them a wineskin of water steeped with protective herbs. Corran had no illusions that settling an entire village of haunts would be easy.

  In the distance, bells rang from a far-away tower.

  “Look!” Rigan murmured, eyes fixed on the ruins.

  One moment, the moon shone down on the lonely remains of a deserted village. In the next, the damage vanished as if it never was, and the shops, houses, stables, and other buildings stood whole. Lanterns glimmered in the windows, and people moved through the streets.

  Corran blinked once, then again, but the scene remained the same. If he had not known the truth, he might have wondered why so many people were up and about at midnight, but at least from this distance, they appeared solid and real.

  “What do you make of that?” Rigan asked under his breath.

  “I don’t know what to think,” Corran replied. “They don’t seem to take any note of us.”

  “Then again, we’re outside the village boundaries. The stories say bad things happen when a traveler enters.”

  “I’m not going to test that,” Corran said. “Let’s bring them to us.”

  Corran and Rigan both had scars from vengeful ghosts they had faced in the past. Even if the spirit could not manifest a physical body, many of the revenants could muster sufficient energy to throw candlesticks, smash pottery, or hurl knives. Not only did the ghosts have unnatural strength, but they also did not tire, putting mere mortals at a disadvantage in a physical fight.

  Magic evened the score.

  Rigan and Corran chanted, letting their voices rise and fall in the familiar litany. Rigan had taught Corran the slight variation he used to summon ghosts; they both knew the incantation for banishment by heart.