Enter the Lamb's Head (The Adventures of Ranthos Book 1)

by Jasper B. Hammer

  Bell understood, and the scarred barrus was once again enveloped by the moonless dark.

  18

  The Gate

  Bell hurried after Vhurgus, still quivering. She could only hear the barruses faintly now in the distance. Bell and Vhurgus marched West—though Bell hadn’t any idea if it were truly West and certainly didn’t have the courage to ask Vhurgus.

  “Have you seen them before?” Bell asked.

  He grunted, “Mhmm.” He was obviously still unwilling to talk too much with her. She shouldn’t bother him too much.

  Meeting the barrus had been terrifying, though it filled Bell with a new purpose.

  A second purpose.

  Which was inconvenient.

  She couldn’t ignore the scarred barrus.

  But she also couldn’t ignore Ranthos.

  But more than either, she had no idea how she would tell Vhurgus that she wanted to help the creature. He hadn’t heard their exchange, and in truth must’ve thought that Bell was some sort of lunatic for crying against a massive monster.

  “Vhurgus?” she asked timidly.

  “Hm?”

  “I—I think that the barrus wants us to help her,” she blurted, twiddling her fingers together.

  “What?” he asked, “Where’d you get that idea? No. We will have no further complications. We’re going to go find the healer and bring her back to Ranthos and Sarky.”

  “And Nosgrim!”

  “He’s being dramatic.”

  “I suppose.”

  “Good. We are in agreement.”

  Bell chuckled before realizing that he meant they were in agreement about the barrus. “No.”

  “Bellelar, I told you to do exactly as I say, did I not?”

  Bell didn’t remember telling him her whole name. He likely overheard Ranthos or Nosgrim say it. “You did,” she said, “but I think this is important. She wants us to go We—that way,” she pointed West. “She wants me to take my sword. The herd was very sad, I mean very sad, Vhurgus. Something terrible happened. And it’s not even all that out of our way, is it?”

  “How far West?” he asked.

  It was West! Bell was thrilled with herself, but didn’t have an answer for him, “I don’t know.”

  “What’s over there?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Then we go straight to,” he yawned. It was one of those really long yawns that he tried to speak through, but it was unintelligible. He must’ve said Sortie-on-the-Hill. The late night and brisk pace must’ve finally been catching up to him. It certainly would have Bell comatose on the ground if she wasn’t still chock-full of adrenaline from their last encounter.

  “I think that there’re flockers West.”

  “Then we avoid them,” he said.

  “I don’t know if we will have that luxury.”

  “Then I will kill them if they come our way and we will continue our journey. Now stop talking.”

  Bell dropped her eyes and felt her ears flush. She was being annoying. The barrus must not have meant anything.

  No.

  Good Heavens, Bellelar.

  “Vhurgus!” she said, “We can’t ignore her!”

  He spun on his heel, obviously displeased with her tone, “Do you want your brother to die?”

  “Of course not—”

  “Then stop talking—”

  “I think the barruses have been attacked by flockers, Vhurgus. That could mean they have a barrus on their side, doesn’t it?”

  Vhurgus was silent, and angry.

  “An immortal barrus,” she said, as if he didn’t understand. She knew he did. She didn’t know why she said that. Stupid Bell.

  “The Lamb’s Head isn’t here. I know that he isn’t here,” he said, “Only he can make more.”

  “Then they at least have enough sheep to kill a barrus. None in the herd were wounded. Why else would they be that sad?”

  “What do you want to do about it?”

  “She told me to take my sword West. It’s not even that far off.”

  “Why do you trust an animal? It doesn’t know what we’re doing out here.”

  “But it might.” Bell didn’t know why she said that, but she believed it.

  “It doesn’t. Stop talking,” he turned and kept walking.

  Bell did. Her stomach felt like a black pit that wanted to swallow her up. She felt hot and cold at the same time. She felt like she was wound so tight she could burst, but felt like she lacked the energy to do any of it at all. She hadn’t any idea what she was to do next. She only knew that she had to save Ranthos, and if she could help the barrus—well. That would have to come after, she supposed.

  It didn’t sit right with her. Not because she didn’t want to save Ranthos. She even knew in her heart that Ranthos ought to come first. Not saving him was plainly out of the question, but she didn’t think she could do so without going West.

  What was so terrible about West, anyway? Vhurgus was leading them only NorthWest, or EastWest, or something. Bell just knew it wasn’t a whole direction away, just half a direction—if the difference was even that great.

  Bell didn’t know what to do. She kissed her first knuckle and prayed. She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t pray every day, but prayed regularly—more regularly than Ranthos. She prayed for his soul. She worried for him, and didn’t know how to talk to him about prayer, or how he felt about any of it.

  It was important to her that he believed in something magical, though he plainly refused.

  Though she assumed most priests would take issue with the One being called magical.

  Regardless, Bell believed in mysteries and Ranthos didn’t. Even after the buck. He was such a dolt. How do you fight a magic creature and not believe in magic?

  She refocused herself.

  She wanted him to be happy, and so often he just wasn’t. He would sit alone at night and just think too hard. She could smell him brooding in his own impatience. He wanted something so badly. She didn’t know what he wanted and didn’t know how to give it to him. She always did her best to cheer him up and help him smile.

  He really needed some help sometimes. Not that he wasn’t kind, or funny, or sweet, but he let everything hurt him in a way that it might not have to.

  Bell suspected that he was so dour because he felt helpless. He couldn’t do anything he could be proud of in Tatzelton. Except for the buck. Which was, frankly, the most impressive thing Bell had ever seen anyone do. But now he was dying and helpless again.

  She had to give him magic.

  Or whatever word the priests wanted her to use.

  Bell prayed to the One to help her give that to him, and to help guide her now. She didn’t know what to do, and Vhurgus didn’t want her around. She asked that the One shape their path in the right direction, and that He place along that path everything that Bell needed to find to save Ranthos and the scarred barrus.

  The sky began to light in the South—or wherever the sun rose from—and Bell suddenly realized how tired she really had become. Her dress was heavy, despite the fact that it wasn’t. Her feet were terribly blistered, she was sure, and her limbs felt like they were full of splinters, or that they were on fire. It was just painful; she didn’t have a good metaphor.

  The yellow-green pastures seemed to stretch forever in every direction. Vhurgus and Bell marched for hours and hours over rolling hills but didn’t seem to make any progress. Sure, they’d passed a tree and now that tree was far behind them, but there was another tree of the same variety waiting for them ahead. Save the occasional fat squirrel, quail—which, Good Heavens, quickly became Bell’s favorite bird—or heap of barrus dung, the entire place was empty.

  That wasn’t entirely true. There were massive rocks that dotted the landscape. She hadn’t seen them until the light arrived. But they weren’t large mounds of boulders like Chickenrock back at Tatzelton, they were tall slabs of stone that stood straight up into the air. Bell got goosebumps whenever she looked a
t them or she passed between two on either side of the trail. They must’ve been the leyline Founts that Sarky described to them, but she did not feel confident enough to ask Vhurgus.

  Though Bell did enjoy imagining the stones radiating magic, and was fairly certain that they did, as she could, without fail, give herself goosebumps by looking at one. She might’ve even been sensing the magic.

  What an exciting idea? Bellelar the Enchantress.

  No.

  Bellelar the Warden of the West.

  No.

  Bellelar the Hated by Vhurgus and the Killer of Her Brother Because She Thinks She can Talk to Barruses.

  Now she was just being cruel to herself. It seemed a greater trial to force herself to be kind when she so disdained herself in light of recent events.

  A dark shape became visible on the WestEastern horizon. It seemed to be—was it?

  “There it is,” said Vhurgus.

  “Sortie-on-the-Hill?”

  He didn’t answer. He must’ve thought it was a stupid question.

  Bell huffed. Vhurgus was the absolute worst. When they reached Vallenholder Bell was certainly going to tell his maiden that he never loved her.

  Too far, Bellelar.

  As they crested the next hill, they glimpsed a handful of shepherds driving a large flock through the fields. Two dogs barked and nipped the sheep’s heels.

  The moment she saw sheep, Bell’s heart skipped a beat, and she curled her sweaty hands around the hilt of her sword, ready to draw at any moment.

  Vhurgus didn’t seem worried. He hardly smelled like he cared.

  These must not have been the evil sheep.

  Phew.

  Bell did not relax, however.

  How could she?

  The barrus trail intersected a wider two-lined wagon trail, which led directly up the rise to Sortie-on-the-Hill, and they started up that way.

  Vhurgus beckoned Bell to his side and spoke to her with a harsh, quick tone, “Say nothing to anyone. Keep your eyes down and your ears covered. Speak nothing of sheep or bucks. Or Tatzelton, or the caravan, or your brother, or Alrys, or—”

  “I understand, no need to—”

  “Say nothing,” he growled.

  Bell crossed her arms and huffed.

  He smelled frustrated, and opened his mouth to scold her, but seemingly thought better of it and just strode further ahead. He must be tired by now, surely? He was certainly grouchy enough to be tired, but his body showed little sign of fatigue, whereas Bell could hardly keep pace with him on her little legs. She could only imagine the heavy bags under her eyes, and Good Heavens, the poor shape of her hair; it was absolutely wretched. She hadn’t bathed since the cottage burnt down. She looked like a homeless vagrant.

  Well, she supposed that was an accurate description of her condition.

  Two shepherds waved to Vhurgus and Bell from the side of the road. They looked kind, and rather similar to Tatzelton folk in dress. These were certainly wilderness types, like the hunters back home. They looked like brothers and had bushy beards, curly hair, and torn, sleeveless shirts. They smelled like sheep, and sheep didn’t smell great, though the shepherds were certainly more comely than their sheep.

  These sheep of the standard variety had four horns curving off their heads and gruesome under bites and snaggleteeth. Their coats were crusted in mud and grime, and they stained the grass in their wake with mud. They must’ve just crossed a river or some such. Bell could only imagine what a wicked sheep could look like.

  However, as Bell got a closer look, they were almost cute, in a deranged ugly child sort of way. They had wide crossed eyes and dumb-looking noses. She wanted one. They bleated and waddled onto the trail and into town.

  A tall, lanky shepherd approached Vhurgus and offered a pleasant, “Greetings, traveller.”

  “Greetings,” replied Vhurgus, uninterested.

  “What brings you to Sortie-on-the-Hill?” asked the other, guiding a straggling lamb back to the fold with his crook. This shepherd was short and fat.

  “The caravan,” said Vhurgus.

  “Arrived a few days ago, I’d imagine,” said the tall shepherd.

  “We saw them wagons headed to the town. I imagine they made it without trouble,” said the short shepherd.

  “I would imagine,” lied Vhurgus. He was about to bid them farewell when Bell cleared her throat. Vhurgus glareed at her.

  The shepherds turned their heads kindly.

  “Have you seen any barruses?” asked Bell.

  “Quiet,” hissed Vhurgus.

  She knew she was disobeying everything he had clearly demanded of her, but she needed to know.

  “Oh sure,” said Tall.

  “Saw some dead ones not a week ago,” said Short.

  “Forgive my daughter,” said Vhurgus, “We ought to be going our own way now.”

  “No problem,” said Short.

  “Dead barruses?” asked Bell, to Vhurgus’ chagrin, “Where?”

  “Across the Severium River,” said Tall, pointing West, “By the standing stone.”

  “Looked real nasty. Could smell them a hundred yards out,” said Short. “Bad omen if you ask me.”

  Vhurgus had resigned to brooding silence. Bell was sure she was going to hear it from him later, but for now she could ask what she wanted. “What could kill a barrus?”

  Tall scratched his neck, “Couldn’t tell you.”

  “Don’t say that!” said Short, “I knows what it was for certain.”

  “Oh, don’t be daft,” said Tall. He covered his mouth and whispered to Bell, “He’s been outside town for too long. We haven’t seen civilization for weeks. The sheep schite messed with his head.”

  “Mayhaps!” shouted Short with his finger in the air, “But I could tell you for certain what did those beasties in.”

  “Here we go again.”

  “I’m telling you,” said Short, “It was them devil-sheep.”

  “Devil-sheep?” asked Bell, eyebrows raised to Vhurgus.

  He didn’t react. Bell thought this was certainly going to be helpful information.

  “That’s right.”

  “They’re not real,” said Tall dismissively.

  “Then what else killed the barruses?”

  “Dragons,” said Tall, rolling his eyes.

  “Very funny, brother,” said Short.

  Bell smelled something coppery—like the butchery—in the direction of town. She looked over but couldn’t make out more than the silhouette with the morning sun right behind it. “Vhurgus do you smell that?" she asked quietly.

  Vhurgus couldn’t hear her, which probably meant he didn’t smell anything.

  “Well,” said Bell, “Thank you two very much. Maybe my father and I will see you in town again!”

  “Alright,” said Tall, “See you mayhaps.”

  “Watch out for them devil-sheep!” said Short.

  They bickered further as they walked away.

  “I smell blood,” said Bell to Vhurgus. Hopefully, if she distracted him enough, he would forget her imprudence and focus on something else.

  “Where?”

  “Town,” she said.

  “Be ready to run,” Vhurgus said, “Ask for Blossom if you find the caravan.”

  Bell didn’t like the way he talked. She didn’t like the thought of being alone in a strange town. Bell didn’t like the idea of any situation that she had to run away from.

  “Understood?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Understood?" he asked again frustratedly.

  “Yes!” she said louder.

  He huffed and kept walking silently. It seemed that she had avoided a scolding—

  “Do not speak—”

  “Good Heavens, Vhurgus! They were just shepherds!”

  His lip curled, and he shouted at her, “Do you want to die?!”

  “What?!” Bell threw her arms out to her side, “I’m not a child! And you’re not my father! You’re—”
<
br />   “I am not claiming to be your father,” said Vhurgus, “I am claiming to be the one charged with your safety.”

  Bell pointed at Tall and Short, “They are not dangerous, you idiot.”

  “How do you—”

  “They weren’t lying. They didn’t smell like anything bad. They were just shepherds.” She rarely raised her voice to this volume, and it was certainly unused to such intensity. Her voice creaked like a floorboard, and she felt her angry eyes filling. She was now snarling beneath her words, “You—”

  “Do you want to die?!” asked Vhurgus, “Then go on!” He pointed West, “Go chase your nonsense. I’ll save your brother and Sarky.”

  “I came out here to save them too, and I think that ought to earn me a measure of respect.”

  “My friend is dying too, Bellelar,” said Vhurgus, “And more of them are strewn about a field back there. The White Cult is so close on our tail that we’re barely hanging on. And you cannot just run your mouth and risk exposing us to their wrath. They are many and we are few, Bellelar.”

  “Running my mouth?!” she was aghast, “I asked them about animals!”

  “You spoke when I told you to be quiet. You’re an incessant and annoying girl. Stop talking and let us get this finished so that I can pass you off to Alrys or someone that gives a damn.”

  The tears finally dropped onto Bell’s hot cheeks. She wiped them away immediately; she couldn’t bear to let him see her crying and clenched her fists tighter and tighter so that her fingernails dug into her palms.

  She was trying to be some strong heroine on an adventure, but now she was crying before they had even found any danger.

  “Shut your mouth and keep it shut until they’re healed, understand? Alrys took the blame for their injuries back at the ambush, but I was the one who should’ve been watching for the flockers.”

  “And that’s why you blamed Ranthos?!” she screamed, “What was he supposed to do?! He’s dying!”

  “I didn’t blame him.”