by Tim Moon
Reaching for the table to steady himself, Jaron’s hand caught only air and he tipped over backwards in slow motion. Pain rocketed up his spine when his coccyx landed on a rock jutting up from the dirt floor. Jaron sucked in a breath and clenched his eyes shut to blot out the pain. It didn’t work. He tipped over in utter agony and curled into a ball.
The scent of damp, wormy earth filled Jaron’s nostrils. He barely noticed when Lurch’s stupidly large hands reached for him. All he caught was a brief flash of an angry bull’s face before a huge, hairy fist dropped on top of his head.
“Night, night,” Lurch rumbled in a deep voice.
Jaron’s vision burst with bright lights again before darkness edged in and the light shrank from the expanding black void like a Saturday morning cartoon.
Jaron faded into unconsciousness to the sound of a cackling witch echoing in his ears.
9
Jaron bolted upright, gasping for breath and smashed his head against something hard. He collapsed with a groan and cracked an eye open. Looking around quickly, he found himself in a cage. The roof and floor were made of wood with bars of wrought iron. A heart-wrenching sight greeted him. The entire room was filled with cages of captive children.
At least a dozen pairs of wide eyes stared back at him. The kids looked grimy, stressed, and maybe little crazy. The looks in their eyes unsettled him.
“What the fuck is this place,” he growled. The fetid air made his nose wrinkle and his legs felt cramped.
“Ooh, he said a bad word,” a girl’s voice said to the amusement of the other children.
“What is he?” a young boy asked.
“Make yourself comfortable, my friend. You are going nowhere fast,” an older voice said with a blend of sympathy and humor. “But if all goes well, this will not be the end.”
Jaron managed to push himself into a corner, rubbing his head where a knot had formed. He sat hunched over with his head brushing the top of the cage.
His nose wrinkled and he covered his face with one hand. The air was thick with sweat, piss and feces. He couldn’t believe the conditions. Despite the filth, none of the children appeared to be sickly or malnourished. If anything, they looked all looked extremely well fed. A little chubby even.
Jaron flinched when a curious hand snaked through the bars on his right side and poked him on the leg. The kid giggled and pulled his hand back.
“It’s real! He’s green like moss,” the boy said.
“He’s boogey color like goblins,” another kid said with bubbling laughter.
“Yes, yes, good fun,” Jaron muttered with a scowl. “What is this place?”
“It’s not a fun place to be for you and me.”
Jaron turned to glance at the voice beside him. He jerked away from the bars with a shout. “Whoa!”
“The green one jumps like a grasshopper, and croaks like a frog,” his feline neighbor said with a toothy grin. “But he cannot jump.” He tapped the bars. “And has no log.”
“What are you?” Jaron asked. He tried his best to sound polite. After all, it was clear the kids found his appearance odd, so he understood his reaction wasn’t the best. “Sorry. I mean, who are you?”
The creature stroked his chin with a large paw. “Who am I? Cyprus Kaedari. What am I? Of course, felidari.” He extended the claw of one toe, a good five inches of feline talon, and scratched his whiskers absentmindedly.
“Hey mister, what’s your name?” one of the kids asked him.
“Yeah, tell us your name?” a little girl pleaded.
Jaron stared at Cyprus for a moment. The felidari was a curious being with streaks of silver and brown fur, a silver beard, yellows eyes and tufted ears like a lynx. His slightly humanoid paws seemed large compared to his size, which was smaller than Jaron. Cramped in a cage it was hard to tell exactly, but he figured Cyprus would stand at least a foot shorter than he did. A short, bushy tail flicked lazily on the cage floor beside Cyprus.
“My name is Jaron. Now, what the - what is this place?” he asked through gritted teeth, nearly cursing but managing to restrain himself because, you know, kids.
The children stared back at him with blank expressions. Jaron met the felidari’s eyes and raised an eyebrow. When no one offered an explanation, and he didn’t want to accept his own conclusions, he asked.
“What is going on here?” his voice took on more of an urgent tone than he intended. He grabbed the bars and rattled them with all his strength. Kicking at the bars, he shouted, “Let me out of here. Do you hear me? Let me out!”
After he tired himself out with no apparent results for the outburst, he collapsed, panting. It took Jaron a minute to calm himself and collect his wits. Finally, he rolled to the side to face his neighbor.
“Tell me,” he said.
Cyprus lifted his bush tail, which was matted in places, and stroked it, picking out pieces of filth. “I’m afraid it is a sad tale.”
A contemplative expression on the felidari’s face delayed the many questions Jaron had. Instead, he waited patiently.
“We are captives of Myra Bathory,” Cyprus said. “To fully understand, we must first start with Myra before she became the hag. You see, she wasn’t always so vile. As a young woman, Myra was pious and proud. Her father was a holy man of standing in the village. Myra helped tend her father’s flock, especially the young children, and studied diligently. By all accounts, she grew into a smart, beautiful woman.”
“One day as she worked at the church, Myra met a young lad that caught her eye. He was strong and kind, from a respectable family that moved to town. The two fell in love as young people are wont to do. They wed and had children. The births took a heavy toll on Myra’s body and she grew ill. Her husband sought aid from priests and healers but the outlook for her health looked grave and he began to drift away, fearing the worst.”
“Feeble and weak, Myra became bedridden. With her husband suddenly finding himself quite busy outside of the house and her parents deceased, she only received care from the household staff. Desperate to cure her illness and repair her relationship, Myra sent for an herbalist who was rumored to be a witch. Such was her desperation that she invited the witch to call on their estate. Curious and pleased for the chance to prove herself, the witch took up the invitation.”
Cyprus stroked his beard absently. “On her way to Myra’s room, the herbalist heard sounds that piqued her curiosity, and through the crack of a door, she spied the husband plowing a maid. The herbalist, having suffered such betrayal before could not remain silent. As she treated Myra, she divulged the infidelity. The news rang true in Myra’s ears though it broke her heart, and she broke down. Calming her patient’s nerves, the herbalist finished treating Myra’s ailment. She left never knowing the seed she planted would corrupt the soul of the woman she healed. At least not until it was too late.” Cyprus looked pointedly at Jaron who raised his eyebrows in interest.
“Low and behold, the herbalist’s concoctions worked their wonders and Myra was soon back on her feet. She kept her miraculous improvement to herself, not even telling the staff. Myra stewed with the knowledge of her husband’s infidelity, and doubts grew in her mind. She told herself that her husband simply could not bear to see her weakened with illness and did not know how to deal with his emotions. So, when her husband went away on business, Myra saddled a horse and traveled to the herbalist’s home to confront the woman. The herbalist stood by her words and Myra flew into a rage. She murdered the woman that healed her with a knife through the heart. The last act of the herbalist, who actually turned out to be a witch, was to curse Myra with her dying breath.”
“Wow,” Jaron said.
“Wow, indeed,” Cyprus said. “Eventually Myra’s husband returned, and she slipped out of bed to follow him when her husband went calling on the maid to play his flute. She witnessed the truth of the witch’s words and her heart broke once again.” Cyprus paused for effect before continuing.
“Myra raged at the truth re
vealed to her, but she did not barge in. No, she plotted to take that which her husband held dear. The next day, she made a special soup just for her husband to celebrate her improved condition. He seemed less than overjoyed at her recovery but happily emptied his bowl, even asking for seconds. When he inquired about the children who had not joined them for supper, Myra grinned like a wolf and gave him more soup. He dug in, forgetting his concerns and claimed it was the best meal she ever prepared and lamented the fact that the children could not partake. Afterwards, he kissed his wife on the head and left in a haste, claiming to be busy with work. Myra did not argue.”
“What happened to the children?” Jaron asked softly, dreading the implication. He glanced around the room at the plump children in cages. When his eyes fell back on Cyprus, the felidari wagged his eyebrows and grinned, exposing sharp, feline teeth.
“The business to which the husband left to attend was the maid he had just hired and sought to bed. She was a young woman from the village, eager and new. His sweet words proved his intent to pursue. The staff understood and voiced their concerns. Myra released them from service and continued cooking her husband’s favorite soup. Each time he lamented the children who had grown scarce at the manor,” Cyprus said. He shifted and continued the story. “The husband’s concern grew until he confronted his wife. She claimed to have sent them to her sister so the two of them could spend time alone. He reluctantly accepted the excuse, and although his suspicions were aroused, he was more interested in seducing the new maid than investigating his wife. The maid gave in to the husband’s advances, as the others had. Myra spied them in the barn. As the maid’s nails raked the back of Myra’s husband and she took all his glory, Myra stalked in and swung her blade with fury. The same blade she murdered the herbalist with.”
“Myra flayed them both, a cruel torture. In those dark moments something inside her broke. It was the witch’s curse. The next morning a neighbor came calling and found Myra drinking and bathing in the blood of her husband and the maid who dangled from the rafters and whose skins were draped over bales of hay.” Cyprus shook his head slowly. “Now, she claims to suffer a depraved hunger for blood and human flesh. Much the way she served her children to her husband. The curse requires blood to restore her health and magic. It has twisted her into what you saw out there. Illusion is her strength, and is how she lures her victims,” Cyprus said. “As I am sure you noticed.”
That had been one of the most disturbing stories Jaron had ever heard. The curse didn’t exactly make sense, but it wasn’t that important. Jaron gazed around the room again to see evidence that, at the very least, large parts of the story were absolutely true.
That thought made Jaron extremely uneasy with their predicament. Depraved hunger indeed. Myra was fattening the children before slaughter. A chill ran down Jaron’s spine. Would she try to eat him and Cyprus too?
“Incredible story,” he said softly. “Horrible but incredible.”
“And true.” Cyprus tapped his chin. “Although I do need to work on the rhyme and cadence.”
“How do you know?” Jaron asked. His neighbor glanced at him curiously. “That it’s true, I mean.”
“Stories about her have spread far and wide with disturbingly consistent details, conversations with locals from her home village,” Cyprus said, raising a finger as if to forestall any protest. “More importantly, she told me herself.”
Jaron nodded in surprised acceptance. He looked closer at the children, some of whom stirred uneasily under his gaze. They were a mix of ethnicities and a range of ages from perhaps six years old to at least ten. Kids didn’t just wander around swamps and the ones he heard speak didn’t sound like swamp people. Jaron winced at the prejudiced thought rearing its ugly head.
“Where are the children from?” Jaron asked. “And how did you end up in here?”
“Well, like many of my people, I am curious by nature. The tale of the Blood Hag is told far and wide to scare children. A few weeks ago, I overheard some mutterings in a tavern and decided to investigate.” Cyprus grinned and chuckled with his paws raised in a shrug. “Along the way, I met an old couple traveling home in a wagon and they generously offered me a ride. As I sat in the back with four burlap sacks, I couldn’t help but wonder what they contained. I just had to peek inside. Curiosity, right?” Cyprus shrugged with a grin. “Badda-bing, badda-boom, next thing I know, I wake up here much like you. Apparently, the children had been stuffed inside the sacks. A fresh herd for the slaughterhouse.”
Jaron’s eyebrows shot up and he shook his head. “How did she get the children? Surely their parents are searching for them.”
Cyprus donned a sad expression.
Jaron turned to the nearest child and asked, “How did Myra find you?”
“I was offered a sweet to help Myra find her kitten,” the little girl offered in a shy voice. Several of the children snickered and she ducked her head. “We never did find Mittens,” she mumbled as an afterthought.
“I told you, Sabrina. There was no kitten. It was a lie,” one of the boys said.
Stories started to fly as the kids fought to talk over their neighbors and the din grew too loud for such a small space. Jaron raised his voice to quiet them so he could find out more, but he was drowned out. Cyprus saved the day with a piercing hiss.
Jaron winced at the sudden noise. When he opened his eyes, he half expected to see the felidari puffed up with his back arched like a cat. To his surprise, Cyprus looked calm as ever, more concerned with scratching his ear than anything else.
Jaron glanced at the door, waiting to see the hag barge in and berate them for making so much noise.
“Do not worry,” Cyprus said, clearly sensing his concern. “This room is warded to prevent noise from escaping. Would not want us to annoy the missus,” he said sarcastically.
Something in the cacophony of noise had caught Jaron’s attention. “I thought I heard something about an orphanage selling the kids to Myra. Is that true?”
“I was not there. Young Kwang says so and I have no reason to doubt his word. He is uncommonly perceptive for a six-year-old.”
“That’s messed up.”
Cyprus nodded.
“So, how the hell do we get out of here?” Jaron asked as he gave the bars a rattle. They held firm no matter how hard he shoved.
“That is the platinum piece question,” Cyprus said with a sympathetic grin. “If you were fortunate enough to get out of your cage, you would still have to escape the room which is barred from the outside. Then past our captors if they are home. If you did all that, you would still have to navigate the swamp which is filled with snakes, sharkodiles and other monstrous creatures.”
“You’re not instilling me with much confidence, man.” Jaron scowled at his fellow captive.
“This is not a place of hope.”
Jaron sighed. He tapped his foot and then realized he hadn’t analyzed Cyprus yet. Glancing at his neighbor, he activated the skill.
Name: Cyprus Kaedari
Race: Felidari
Gender: Male
Age: Unknown
Height: 5’ 6” (167 cm)
Weight: 152 lbs (69 kg)
Alignment: Unknown
Level: Unknown
Health: Unknown
Mana: Unknown
Stamina: Unknown
Defense: Unknown
Jaron didn’t learn much that he couldn’t determine on his own.
“You don’t seem like the type of guy to wait around to be eaten. Surely you have a plan to escape,” Jaron said. “I know I’m not waiting around to die.”
“Please, mister. Don’t let her eat us,” one boy said.
The rush of voices started to grow again. Jaron raised his voice to get their attention. With more confidence than he felt, he met the eyes of those around him.
“I don’t know how yet, but we are going to get out of here. All of us,” Jaron declared, holding a hand to his chest. “I promise you that.”
Holy shit, Jaron thought with a sinking feeling in his gut. That was unexpected to say the least. All their eyes were on him. Had they received a notification too?
Feeling the familiar weight of responsibility for other people’s lives, Jaron took a deep breath and nodded. He had meant what he said, and he wasn’t going to back out. Suck it up and drive on, hooah!
Jaron would prove himself to these people and more importantly, end the perverse machinations of the Blood Hag. These kids deserved better than being fattened up for the slaughter.
Jaron just had to figure out a way to make it happen.
10
Cyprus grinned at Jaron. The look in the felidari’s eyes made him suspicious. Had Cyprus goaded him into making such a proclamation?
Jaron shook his head. Even if Cyprus set it up, Jaron had every intention of getting out and when he did, he certainly wouldn’t leave them behind, so it didn’t matter. Everything would work out. The real question was whether Cyprus would help.