by Tim Moon
Luckily for Jaron, Myra fared much worse. The blast had flung her backwards into the fireplace. Flames clung to her as if her body was made of the driest kindling ever created. The air stunk of rotten flesh and Myra’s shriek rose to a volume that made him wince. Dogs from miles around could probably hear her agony.
Then Jaron realized something — the steady thump of wood splitting had stopped. He spun around and quickly barred the door before Lurch could intervene. It was a miracle the minotaur had failed to respond quicker. The wooden bar across the door might not block Lurch for long, but it just might be enough to give him the precious seconds needed to kill Myra.
Facing the fireplace again, Jaron’s mouth dropped open when the table moved and the Blood Hag stood, blackened and smoking. The orange glow from the fire silhouetted her, making the sight feel even more sinister.
“You are going to suffer beyond belief,” she croaked in a rough, dry voice. “This is my house. My swamp. You will not defeat me.”
Jaron ignored the loud thump on the front door behind him and leveled a hateful gaze at the hag. “If I wanted any lip from you, I’d rattle my zipper, bitch.”
She blinked in surprise, as if understanding it was an insult but struggling to piece together what exactly the strange words meant.
The time for talking was over. Jaron ran forward and kicked the table at her.
She tried to move but her injuries hampered her movement. Charred skin on her arms and legs cracked, exposing raw, red flesh beneath. Every movement elicited a moan of agony.
The powerful kick sent the wood table forward. It crashed into Myra hyperextending her knees and causing her to topple over backwards, howling. He gripped the table and shoved with all his might. The wood scraped against the dirt floor as he forced Myra back the few feet to force her into the fireplace. Even in her sorry state, the woman fought like a wildcat, hissing and clawing at him.
Jaron tried to fend her off while pushing, but it proved too difficult. One of Myra’s hands launched tendrils of black energy that wrapped around one of Jaron’s forearms. They gripped his arm like octopus tentacles and pulled his wrist into her desperate grasp. A burning sensation spread on contact, and it felt like the magical appendages were peeling his flesh off, but he didn’t retreat. If he did, she would get free and his life would end.
The spell gave Myra leverage that allowed her to claw her way over the table. They fell in a tangled mess and grappled for dominance. Instincts drilled into Jaron from his past life kicked in.
For a moment, Myra appeared to have the upper hand. She punched Jaron three times in a flurry that put him on the defensive. She mounted him, digging her claws into his shoulder with a shriek of victory.
“You are my captive,” Myra shrieked. “And you will learn to obey me.”
The black energy spell faded and that freed Jaron’s other arm. Through sheer instinct he maneuvered past her guard. He bucked his hips and she tipped forward, having straddled him too high to keep her balance. She clawed at him wildly, scoring both shallow and deep cuts across his torso, neck and face.
Jaron pulled his leg up and pressed a heel into her hip. With a mighty shove, the withered old hag flew back into the flames. This time though, she struck the cauldron which fell on her, spilling its boiling contents over her already scorched flesh. She writhed in pain and crawled away like a crab with shocking speed. No one could say she didn’t have a strong survival instinct.
One of Myra’s hands clutched Jaron’s ankle, halting his retreat from the hot liquid that spread out in a steaming mess from the fireplace. Pulling his knee into his chest, Jaron reached down and grabbed her wrist. He wrenched her hand away and pinned it to the ground. Then he pivoted his body to put most of his weight on the hand holding her wrist. She lay face down on the floor helpless to his counterattack. Without hesitating, Jaron brought his knee down viciously on her elbow with a resounding crack.
Myra moaned in pain and tried to pull away, but the shattered bone made it too painful and her body slumped. Pitiful moans turned into another chant of spell power. Maintaining wrist control, Jaron straightened her damaged arm and hauled her up to her knees, twisting the arm to force her head down.
“You seem a little raw,” Jaron said with a cruel chuckle. He applied pressure to her shoulder joint and fractured elbow. “And I like my meat well done.”
With that, he shoved her head down into the fireplace and stepped hard on her lower back to hold her writhing body in place.
“How many children did you kill?” he shouted at her. “How many suffered a fate worse than death for your delight?”
She bucked like an angry bull, but her movement was restricted by the joint lock, his foot and the sides of the fireplace itself. The heat got to be too much for Jaron. Sweat poured down his body and it felt like he might burst into flame at any point. He took a half step back and kicked her in the ribs, cracking more bones. The force of the blow shoved her to the back of the fireplace and before she could scramble out, Jaron ran around the table and pushed it against the hearth, nearly closing it off. A gap of maybe six inches remained at the top but he held the table firmly in place feeling the heat begin to seep through the wood.
Myra’s face suddenly pressed against the gap, startling Jaron. She begged for mercy in a harsh, raspy voice. Jaron ignored her pleas. Her nails gouged troughs in the wood as her cries rose to a crescendo.
A few seconds later, one charred hand reached desperately through the gap, flakes of burnt skin sloughing off. Her fingers clawed at the air as a horrible moan arose from the last remains of her vocal cords. Her hand clenched the edge of the table that he held in place and froze. Her moan cut off and all he heard was the crackling of the wood and roar of the flames.
The table heated quickly, and he backed away before it caught fire. As he stood and staggered backwards a couple of paces, the table burst into flames, adding to the inferno.
Jaron wiped sweat and blood from his face. The air was putrid with the scent of her burning flesh, but he couldn’t stop gulping oxygen. The reality of what he’d done mixed with the stench of death made him gag. He was so drained by the encounter that he wanted to just lay on the floor.
A faint thrill of victory shot through him. He had done it. He defeated the Blood Hag of Fang Marsh. A weary smile spread across Jaron’s face, or at least it felt like it did. He was too exhausted to tell.
The banging on the front door had ceased, but Jaron wasn’t removing the thick wooden bar until he rested and found a damn weapon.
Lurch could bang on the door all he wanted. Myra Bathory was naught but charred bones.
13
Sometime later, Jaron lifted his head and realized he was still on the floor. He couldn’t be sure how much time had passed but he knew it was time to get up. A great weight lifted from his shoulders as he surveyed the scene. He really had killed Myra.
The fireplace continued to glow behind the overturned table and he briefly wondered if there was anything left of Myra’s body. Part of the charred table still showed signs of her scratch marks. Screams echoed in his ears and the memory of her terrified face staring out at him from the flames sent goosebumps sprawling across his arms. Defeating the witch had been more intimate and brutal than Jaron was used to, and he was no stranger to the sights and sounds of battle.
A series of flashing notifications at the bottom of his vision drew his attention. As soon as he focused on them, the first message appeared.
Congratulations! You have vanquished Myra Bathory, the Blood Hag of Fang Marsh. Ridding the marsh of a powerful witch has dealt a blow to the darkness in this land. While you have undoubtedly made Fang Marsh a better place, your actions have altered the balance of power in the region. There may be unforeseen consequences for doing so. Rewards: 1,000 XP, 5 gold coins, +100 Reputation. The gold coins will be automatically awarded when you have a place to store them.
Jaron blinked, fighting off drowsiness, and had to read the message twice to fully compr
ehend the words. Satisfied that he understood, Jaron went to the next message screen.
Congratulations! For slaying a witch more than 3 levels above your own, you have earned the title Witch Slayer. Spilling blood of the coven has forever marked you as a threat. Because sisters of the coven can sense this violation, your reputation starts one level lower than it otherwise would with witches of neutral or evil alignment. You also gain 5% damage against all witches regardless of alignment.
Jaron Lionhart the Witch Slayer, had a nice ring to it. He chuckled and looked forward to using that title. There were more messages, so he righted the bench and sat down, leaning against the wall behind him to read the next one.
Congratulations! You have completed the quest Free The Lucky Seven I. Seven young souls now have the chance of a future. The world is a harsh and unforgiving place, but you have shined the light of hope and chased away some of the shadows. Well done. You have improved your reputation by two levels with those present, and have been awarded 250 XP, 5 gold coins, and other unknown benefits. The gold coins will be automatically awarded when you have a place to store them.
You have unlocked the quest Free The Lucky Seven II. Investigate the child slave trade and corruption that have forced these and countless other children into perilous, and often fatal, situations. Bring these heartless individuals to justice, whatever you determine that to be. Reward: 350 XP, 5 gold coins, 100 Reputation.
Do you accept?
Yes or No
His pulse spiked. The kids!
Jaron accepted the quest as he hobbled to the detention room door and threw it open. The children began chattering and pointing at him. Cyprus sat at the back of his cage with a drunken, almost lifeless expression. Jaron leaned down and looked at him. The felidari did not look well at all.
“Are you okay?” Jaron asked.
“Did you… bring… the key?” Cyprus asked, his voice weak and strained.
“Oh, right.” Jaron strode to the living room as fast as he could and found the key. He moved the bench, climbed up and pulled it from a rusty nail embedded high on the rafter.
As he walked back to the room, movement outside the window caught his eye. Jaron wiped ash and grime off the glass, bracing for a surprise from Lurch. However, the minotaur simply trudged aimlessly in plain sight with a dull, lifeless expression similar to Cyprus.
What happened to them? Jaron looked down at the key and wondered if it had something to do with the slave collars. He rushed back to Cyprus and handed him the key. Jaron turned his attention to the cages, which had no obvious locking system.
“How do I open the cages?” Jaron asked.
“Lurch just pulls the front open,” Oubin said.
Jaron gave him a skeptical look. He reached for the boy’s cage door and pulled on it. The door swung open without resistance. The revelation didn’t sit well with Jaron. Oubin climbed out and began to open doors for the others.
“Is this a joke?” Jaron asked. “You mean the doors were unlocked this whole time?”
Sabrina shook her head and rattled the door. “Mine’s still locked.”
Jaron reached out and it opened. “Hold on.” He closed the door.
“No!” Sabrina cried.
“Try to open it now,” he said.
She grabbed the bars and shook. Her little body strained to open the door and she looked panicked.
“Okay, calm down. I’m not going to leave you there,” Jaron said, feeling awful for adding to her trauma. He opened the door and helped her down. “Better?”
Sabrina wiped a tear from her cheek and nodded at him.
“Go to the kitchen, but stay away from the fireplace,” Jaron said. “Oubin, you’re in charge, okay? Keep everyone together and do not go outside.”
“I don’t want to stay here,” Silvano and Zola said almost in unison.
Jaron held up his hands. “Don’t worry, we’re going to leave. I already promised you that. Lurch is outside and I don’t want him to hurt you. So, stay with Oubin in the kitchen.”
“I’m hungry,” Kwang said. “Let’s see if there’s any food left.”
“Stay away from the fireplace,” Jaron said again.
The kids hurried to the kitchen without another word. Jaron knelt to help Cyprus who was still in his cage. Jaron opened it and waited for his friend to emerge.
“Come on,” Jaron said.
Cyprus grunted with effort.
Jaron watched his new friend attempt to unlock the collar. An invisible force kept Cyprus from inserting the key. Jaron saw nothing blocking the key, yet it was undeniable that something kept Cyprus from freeing himself.
“Let me try,” Jaron said, holding out his hand.
Cyprus stopped, panting from the effort and handed over the key.
Jaron reached forward when Cyprus tilted his head back to expose the collar. He expected to be held back, yet nothing impeded his movement. He inserted the key into the lock as easily as he had opened the cages.
“How is this possible?” Jaron asked.
When the collar came off, Cyprus sucked in a deep breath and seemed to come alive. He climbed out of the cage, practically shoving Jaron aside.
The felidari stretched and made a pleased chittering sound.
Jaron picked up the collar and looked closely at the inscription.
“Slavers are wily bastards,” Cyprus said. “It must be a failsafe to prevent escape attempts.”
“And the cages?”
“The same principle, I presume.” Cyprus rolled his neck and shook out his legs. He hopped in place a few times and then looked at the cages. Jaron realized they had inscriptions on them too. “While I couldn’t open my own prison, nor could I have reached through the bars to open someone else’s door, it seems that anyone not captive could open them. Though it is odd you could open them since you had been captive too.” Cyprus continued to mutter and inspect the runes. “Perhaps because you killed the hag?”
“That’s clever,” Jaron said. The disapproving look Cyprus shot his way made him cringe. “It’s cruel in this application but clever in a general sense. If you put a mage lock on your front door and set it to only let family inside, robbers would be shit out of luck.”
Cyprus shrugged and left the room. Jaron followed and they found the kids eating in the kitchen.
When they entered the main living space, Cyprus sat on the bench and motioned for Jaron to join him. “Take a seat and let me heal your wounds before they get infected and begin to fester.”
“You’re a healer?” Jaron asked.
“Not a healer exactly, but I can use a few minor healing spells which are perfect for your injuries. Now please, take a seat,” Cyprus said. “It’s the least I can do.”
Jaron sat, unsure what passed for healing in this world or what magical healing would feel like. Luckily, none of his wounds were grievous so he wasn’t too worried. It wasn’t like his friend was reattaching an arm or something. Was that possible?
Jaron braced himself while Cyprus inspected the scratches and burns, and then stepped in front of him and placed a paw on his forehead. With a few muttered words and gestures with his free paw, golden light began to emanate from the felidari’s fingers. The light flowed to Jaron’s head like water and he felt the strangest tingling sensation as the light passed over his whole body. Twinkling lights surrounded him and Jaron watched in amazement as the wounds stopped bleeding and began to close right before his very eyes.
Cyprus lifted his paw and Jaron stood to look down at his body in amazement. His arm, which hurt like hell to move, could now flex and rotate without an issue. He prodded the places where he had been burned and impaled by splinters. Nothing hurt. He felt solid and whole.
“That was incredible,” Jaron said, beaming at his new friend.
Cyprus had a pleased expression on his face. “I’m glad you think so. Like I said, it was the least I could do.”
Jaron stood in astonishment for a few more seconds, testing out his body and pro
dding wounds that had since disappeared.
“This is amazing. I’ve never seen such a thing.”
Cyprus gave him a curious look. “How do you heal injuries?”
“We have doctors who heal using medicines, tools, devices and whatnot…” Jaron’s voice trailed off at the look of confusion — possibly revulsion — on Cyprus’ face. He cleared his throat, feeling awkward. “We should leave soon I guess, but I was thinking we should see if there is anything here worth taking?”
Cyprus gave a small shrug and waved a hand around. “Help yourself. I’m going to eat and stretch my legs.”
“Great,” Jaron said with a greedy smile. “How long do I have until we need to leave?” He spotted the minotaur through the window. “And what do we do about Lurch?”
“He will not bother us,” Cyprus said.
Jaron looked down at his short friend.
“Trust me,” was all he said. “Did I appear well enough for a fight?”
“Fair enough. Let me give it a run through.” Jaron waved his finger in a circle to indicate the house. “And then we can get the hell out of here.”
“Take your time,” Cyprus said, looking meaningfully at the fireplace.
Jaron glanced at the charred remains in the fireplace. It felt surreal that he had fought a witch, an honest to goodness magic wielding witch. He couldn’t even begin to guess what the future held in store for him.
“Well done, my friend,” Cyprus said. He reached out with an open paw.
Jaron took his soft paw and gave him a shake.
“Interesting,” Cyprus said, looking at their hands with a shocked and mildly amused expression.
Jaron felt awkward again, so he gave a small nod and turned away to explore the house.
14
Jaron had no interest in anything from the detention room and the kitchen was full of hungry children, so he went down the side hall that Myra had used just before he ambushed her. Apparently, Myra hadn’t added any windows in the back because very little light reached the hallway. Even with her corpse turning to ash in the fireplace, nervous energy coursed through Jaron’s body.