“I have helped many places beset by illness and disease,” Devin said. “How could you be so certain I would be of no help here?”
“Because it’s happened before,” the mayor said. “Years ago, when my grandfather was mayor. No plant or flower helped then, and I expect none will help now.”
Devin’s anger grew.
“I have sworn upon my life to bring aid to Dunwerth in its time of need,” he said. “If I am not here to administer to the sick, then pray tell, what am I here for?”
Jonathan rose from the bed, pulled a book off a shelf, and offered it to Devin. A page was marked by a long loose cloth, and he opened to it and glanced over the loose, sloppy handwriting in the dim candlelight.
I know my story will earn no belief, so I write this in secret, to be judged only after my death. I’ll care not your opinions once in Anwyn’s hands. Call me a fool if you wish, but I witnessed the impossible. I knelt before living stone and demanded its blood. I saw its face. I heard it speak its name like a woken god.
Arothk. The only cure to pock-black disease.
“That is my grandfather’s journal,” Jonathan said when Devin glanced up with a sour expression on his face. “He was a good man, and a good mayor. He told no wild tales, and he was known throughout his life as a man of honesty.”
“A faery tale?” Devin said, snapping the book shut. “I traveled all this way from Londheim to help you find a faery tale?”
Jonathan’s face flushed bright red.
“You insult my grandfather,” he said. “This is no faery tale. It is real, and it saved the lives of each and every person who had succumbed to the disease. Keep reading. He passed through the forest to the bald mountain, and at its base he met with Arothk, a creature of stone that gave of its own blood to cure the darkness.”
“Enough,” Devin said. “Why not send someone else? One of your hunters could have made the trip and back a dozen times before my arrival.”
“Because we need your skill with those,” Jonathan said. He pointed to the long, thin blade sheathed against Devin’s left thigh and the hammerlock pistol holstered against his right. “Twice I have sent hunters into the woods, and neither time did they return. That forest is a cursed place now; anyone who steps inside can sense it. Help us, Soulkeeper. People I love and care about are dying. I may be desperate, but only because the solution is before me and I lack the strength to reach it. This is not some trumped-up tale told around a campfire. This is real.”
Devin opened the book again, glancing over several more lines. It started with the goddess Lyra visiting the grandfather in a dream and ordering him to travel through the nearby forest to the base of the bald mountain. She’d told him that a creature from a time before mankind would await him there. From it, he would receive his cure.
“Jonathan, please, listen to me,” he said. “The Sisters created the Cradle for us. Humans. They did not create monsters or faeries or whatever this Arothk creature supposedly is. We are their children, their only children. Whatever stories you’ve heard are not true, they were never true, and I will not risk my life and the lives of those here because of the ravings of a dead man’s journal.”
The mayor fell silent. Devin didn’t blame him. In many ways, he’d just pronounced a death sentence for much of the village.
“I will do what I can to ease the burdens of the ill,” he said, putting up a callous front. “For your sake, I’ll not report your real request to the church.”
“Your herbs and bandages are like pissing on a wildfire,” Jonathan said. “At least you’ll be here for the reaping rituals. Anwyn knows there will be a lot of them.”
Devin slammed the journal down upon the desk.
“Do not belittle my coming here,” he said. “I swore an oath to aid Dunwerth and its villagers, and I did not take it lightly. I would put your lives above my own, yet what options do you give me, Jonathan? Forget silly tales in hidden journals. What would you have me do?”
“There is but one thing I would have you do, and you lack any faith or trust in me to do it.”
It hurt having a man so desperate and afraid look upon him, judge him, and find him wanting. Devin rubbed his eyes as his mind whirled. Forget the stories of this Arothk creature. What was the truth hidden in the faery tale? If he pried away the fanciful retelling of dreams and ancient creatures granting cures, what might be left to explain the events that occurred?
“Your grandfather went to this… bald mountain, and he came back with a cure for the same disease you’re suffering from now,” Devin asked. “Is that correct?”
“More or less.”
These people were clearly in need. Every fiber in his body wished to help them in some way. He could ease their pain with roots and herbs, but that was like massaging the shoulders of a man awaiting the fall of the executioner’s axe. It wasn’t a cure. Worse, he couldn’t shake the nagging fear of what would happen if the disease spread from this little remote village to some of the larger towns, or Goddesses forbid, Londheim itself. The need for a cure would be dire…
“Let me rest for a few hours,” he said. “My journey here was long.”
“So you’ll go?” Jonathan asked. Cautious optimism bubbled into his voice.
“I will go, but not to spill blood from a stone. Some weed or mushroom saved your people years ago, and I pray Lyra guides me to it now. As for your forest, I have no fear of lingering ghosts. Souls reside in the hands of Anwyn, Mayor, and she does not lose track.”
Jonathan’s dire smile gave him chills.
“You dismiss much,” he said. “Keep your heart and mind open, Soulkeeper. Here in Alma’s Crown we have learned to trust what you in the east dismiss as children’s tales. We are the edge of the known world, and you soon walk into lands beyond. Tread carefully.”
CHAPTER 2
Devin knelt before the forest’s edge, his tricorn hat in his hands and his head bowed in prayer.
“Lyra, guide my steps this night as you do all nights,” he whispered. “Protect the life Alma gave me, and should I fall, deliver me swiftly into Anwyn’s embrace.”
The howl of a distant wolf punctuated the end of his prayer. Devin pulled his hat low over his face and reclaimed the torch he’d staked into the ground. He took in a deep breath and then let it out slowly, the niggling fears and warnings of Dunwerth’s mayor exiting with it.
“A forest like all others,” he said. His gaze lingered on the enormous mountain looming over the pines. “All right, maybe not quite like all others.”
The first mile was an easy one. The ground was flat, the snow thin, and the trees evenly spaced. Devin much preferred the pine forests of the west to the Helwoads that grew north of Stomme, his hometown. Those forests were unruly messes of brush and pits, the trees themselves of wildly varying heights and separation, as if the oaks and elms jostled each other in a gluttonous competition for the sun. Not here. Here, even the wild felt organized into straight lines.
Devin held his torch high and enjoyed the quiet of the forest after the stress of the reaping ritual and visiting the plague-ridden of Dunwerth. Hardships would return, and he would burden himself when they did, but for now he refilled his heart and mind with the tranquility.
The third mile was when the forest turned dark.
“Who is there?” he asked aloud, quickly turning about. Nothing but snow and tree trunks softly lit by his torch, but he was certain of being watched. Hearing his voice break the quiet only unsettled him further. His footfalls crunching the top layer of snow were like shattering stone.
“If Jonathan sent you to aid me, please come forth,” he told the night. “I gladly welcome the company.”
Glinting blue eyes watched him from the corner of his vision. He spun, saw nothing. Every hair stood on end. Again, just beyond his line of sight, he saw blue eyes. Little phantoms, just watching, always vanishing the moment he turned. Devin pushed on through the forest, keeping his focus straight ahead as the incline steadily sharpened. It was
only a trick of the night, he told himself. His torch’s light reflecting off the snow, combining with the moonlight…
Devin halted several minutes later and closed his eyes.
“Anwyn, send me your grace,” he whispered in prayer. Trick or not, he needed to calm down. So far nothing but a little glint of light had him unnerved, that and the warnings of an old man who’d never left his little frontier town of Dunwerth.
An earsplitting howl broke his prayer. It was close, and many more howls responded in answer.
Devin jammed the base of his torch into the ground and dropped to one knee while drawing his hammerlock pistol from its holster. He cocked the hammer halfway, exposing an opening into the barrel. His left hand pulled a flamestone out from a belt pouch, and pushed the heavy red orb through the opening and into the barrel. Cocking the hammer all the way back slid a metal shield across the opening, protecting against the possibility of an early discharge. He pulled a lead shot wrapped in thin cloth from a second pouch while simultaneously sliding the ramrod out from its sheath underneath the barrel. Two quick pumps and the pistol was loaded.
It took him all of seven seconds to perform the maneuver, but those seven felt like an eternity. Devin left the torch positioned in the snow and drew his sword as a pack of wolves emerged from the woods and circled around him. Devin kept perfectly still, his pistol ready in his left hand, his sword in the right. By his count there were six, and he scanned them in an attempt to locate their pack leader.
“Forgive my trespassing into your domain,” Devin said. He kept his voice firm and his arms away from his body, which stretched his heavy coat and made him appear larger. His eyes never met theirs. He didn’t wish to issue them a challenge, only convince the creatures that he would be no easy prey.
“Leave me be. Take your hunt elsewhere.”
Devin slowly rotated, ensuring that no wolf stayed out of sight for long. They should have been snarling and nipping at his legs to scare him into fleeing… only they weren’t. The six held their places, their teeth bared, their eyes watching him with frightening intelligence. Such strange behavior worried him more than any howl they could have made. Locating the biggest of the wolves, Devin pointed his pistol at its head and hoped the black-and-gray beast was their pack leader.
“I said be gone!” Devin shouted. Still they remained, unafraid.
You leave me no choice, he thought sadly. Wolves were majestic creatures, and he’d refused all offers to wear one of their pelts during his many travels about the western lands. But if anything would scare them off, it’d be the noise and power of his hammerlock. Taking aim between the pack leader’s eyes, he squeezed the trigger.
The hammer snapped forward, the sharp spike on its front piercing the flamestone in half. The power within the orb exploded the instant it broke, ejecting fire and shot with a thunderous roar. His target never made a noise. The bullet caved in the front of its skull, dropping it dead instantly. The recoil pulled his aim to the sky, and Devin held the pistol above his head as smoke wafted from the muzzle.
None of the other wolves moved. The blast’s echo gave the night its only sound. Their yellow eyes looked to his, and Devin swore he saw a uniquely human emotion in them: hate.
What in the void is happening here? he wondered.
Devin half-cocked the hammer with exaggeratedly slow movements, hoping not to provoke the wolves. The moment it clicked, the wolves growled in unison. Devin holstered his pistol under their watchful gaze. There would be no chance to reload.
“More of you will die,” Devin said, his firm voice belying the growing unease in his breast. “Leave, now, all of you! Go!”
One of the remaining five finally broke from their position, but not to flee. The wolf trotted over to the downed corpse of their pack leader, nuzzled against the wound, and then turned Devin’s way. Blood smeared across its face like war paint. Human intelligence sparkled in its yellow eyes.
“Hunt,” it growled.
The five wolves lunged, nearly catching Devin flatfooted from the shock of hearing that singular word. He rolled to his right at the last moment, his sword braced against his left shoulder. The wolf overshot, its lower body landing awkwardly atop Devin’s roll. The sword sliced into its belly, spilling blood and intestines across his coat. Devin exploded back to his feet, his left arm flinging the wolf’s body at the others to stall their attack. A second leapt ahead, its jaws wide. Devin jammed the tip of his sword straight down its throat, letting the creature kill itself as its weight slammed against him. He held in a scream as the creature’s sharp claws scratched at his chest, his blood mixing with the blood of wolves.
The remaining three held back, suddenly wary of his sword. Devin took the moment to yank the torch free from the snow and wield it in his left hand. He batted the fire at them. Instead of backing away from the flame, they steadily circled, waiting for the right moment to attack with cold, calculated patience.
Fear clouds your mind, he told himself as he watched their pacing. It didn’t speak. Wolves don’t speak.
Devin sensed the wolf at his rear leaping for his back. He spun, his torch up and his sword slashing. His timing was off by the slightest amount, and his blade caught near the hilt in the wolf’s ribs. Its body slammed into his, carrying them to the ground. Only the position of his torch saved him, the fire scraping across the beast’s left eye. It snapped for his neck, missing and latching onto his shoulder instead. Each tug of its jaws was a scattershot of pain throughout his body. Devin ripped his sword free and then sawed at the wolf’s underbelly, a mad race to rip the creature apart before it did likewise to him.
Its death came suddenly and without warning. Devin gasped as the wolf’s weight collapsed atop him, but there was a blood-soaked silver lining: The dead beast offered a moment’s protection against the other two wolves. They nipped and dove at him, seeking openings. Devin pushed the carcass up while rolling. His head curled into the chest of the dead wolf so they could only tear at his back. One leapt atop him, teeth sinking into the nape of his neck. Another went lower, closing its teeth about Devin’s ankle. Devin twisted again, his sword swiping through the air.
The blood-masked wolf released upon seeing the attack and hopped up and away, but not quickly enough. Devin’s sword sliced across its left front paw, cleaving it off at the joint. It whimpered and collapsed onto one side. Devin was given no reprieve. He was on his back now, exposed, and the other wolf took every advantage it could. The beast jumped atop his chest, its hungry mouth biting.
Teeth clasped about his face, pulling and tugging with an iron grip. Devin couldn’t see, his eyes clenched shut out of reflex. He could barely think at all. Instinct ruled his actions, his left hand grabbing at the wolf’s head, his right stabbing viciously. His sword cut open its throat once, twice, three times. Its jaw clenched tighter as the wolf’s muscles seized in death. Only with an excruciating shriek of pain did Devin finally pull the beast free.
Devin rose on unsteady feet. Blood flowed down the left side of his face like a torrent. He met eyes with the final wolf, who limped closer. Its breathing grew more strained with every passing moment.
“Leave,” Devin told it, his own breathing heavy. “I won’t chase. You die for nothing.”
The wolf’s tongue licked at the blood across its face. It spoke again; this time it lacked anger or fury. Just tired, gravelly resignation.
“Hunt.”
It rushed him on three legs, and despite its wounds the beast was still terrifying as it bared its teeth and snarled. Devin sidestepped the attack and then dropped his elbow upon the wolf’s back. It crumpled onto its side, and Devin jammed his sword underneath its jaw and into the base of its skull. The creature died instantly. Strange as it seemed, Devin was glad. He didn’t wish the wolf to suffer any more than it already had.
He wished he could say the same for himself. Devin collapsed amid the bodies, his mind reeling with shock. Jonathan had warned him. A dangerous, foul place he’d described the forest
.
“Dangerous,” Devin said as he grimaced, the bite marks across his chest, arms, and back burning like fire. Even talking hurt. “No kidding, Jonathan. No fucking kidding.” He painfully pushed himself to his feet. “I hope you’re still watching, Sisters, though at this point I think it’s just for your own amusement.”
He removed the glove from his left hand and gingerly touched the bite on his face. A large flap of skin hung loose beneath his eye, and even worse, his finger touched not flesh but bone. No amount of coin could have convinced him to look in a mirror.
“You’re one ugly son of a bitch,” Devin said as he slid his glove back on. Blood trickled across his lips. The stench and taste of it overwhelmed all else. “Assuming you live, of course.”
Normally he’d have stopped and administered first aid, but was there even a point? The wounds were so numerous, his blood loss severe. He looked through the trees to the bald mountain ahead. It wasn’t far. The ground already sloped heavily upward. If he continued, he could reach it in another ten minutes or so. What other option was there? Spend another hour walking back to town hoping he did not collapse before reaching it? Already pain wrapped around his body like a cocoon, and it would only worsen over time.
In this forest of talking wolves and phantom eyes, Devin put his faith in the same cure as Jonathan. If it could cure the terrible disease ravaging Dunwerth, then perhaps it could cure him, too.
“Arothk,” Devin gasped as he began his walk. The bite on his ankle added a fresh lance of pain up his leg, as if he didn’t have enough agony to deal with. “You better be there, whatever you are, or I will be royally pissed.”
He’d also likely be royally dead, but Devin tried to focus on the positive. Step after horrid step he crossed through the woods. No blue eyes watched him from afar, though he doubted he could see them if he tried. His head slowly grew dizzy. Time itself slipped from him, large portions in his mind becoming empty blackness focused on the steady motion of one foot after the other.
Soulkeeper Page 2
