by Kit Hallows
The restless man lunged for me, knocking me back down into the snow. One of his eyes was a bloody hollow, the other a sightless, spinning orb. I shoved him away, leaped up and held the sword of intention between us. As he snapped his teeth at my blade, I shoved it into his mouth and tugged, slicing through his diseased face. He gurgled and spat, and slowly his features fell apart in a rotten, seeping mess. I swung the sword swiftly and ended his suffering.
I took down the next restless and stalked to the fire to finish the last, a younger woman with half her arm missing. Somehow she’d gotten stuck in the fiery logs and the flames had taken hold. As she wrestled herself free and began to stagger toward one of the wagons, I lopped her head off, and she fell sizzling into the snow.
It took a while for the caravan to return, but when they did, they praised me, their eyes filled with gratitude and wariness. By their clothing they seemed to be merchants or craftsmen, not fighters. “Morgan Rook,” I said, sheathing my sword and holding my hand out to a short man with a large gut and receding hairline.
“Thank you, my friend,” he said. “You saved us.”
“No problem,” I said, as I eyed the cooking pot that somehow still hung, suspended by the fire. It filled the air with the warm succulent aroma of stewed vegetables and meat. “I’d appreciate a bowl of food, if you have one to spare.”
“Of course, it’s the least we can do” the man said. “I’m Harold.” He shook my hand with a limp, doughy grip and introduced me to his fellow travelers. They were merchants heading north, and trying their best to avoid trouble. Clearly it hadn’t been working out so well for them.
“And you?” Harold asked, as he passed me a thick clay bowl filled with a garlicky broth, meat, carrots and peppery dumplings.
“Thanks!” I said as I held up the bowl and ate a spoonful of the soup. “I’m traveling too.” I didn’t expand upon my statement, and they didn’t pry. “This is delicious” I smiled, ate my food, and did my best to put them at ease.
When we’d finished eating I drew the blanket Harold’s wife had given me over my shoulders and gazed into the spitting, crackling fire. “I’m on my way to Gallowmorn, and now it seems I‘ll be completing my journey on foot. Is it far?”
“Less than an hour, on the main road,” Harold said. “It’s a good place for a man to have some fun, especially if he’s alone.” He smiled until he caught his wife’s withering glare.
“I’m not alone,” I said, “I was traveling with friends. Maybe you’ve seen them on the road?” I gave descriptions of Astrid and Samuel.
“I saw ‘em,” a gaunt man with a thin, wispy beard said. We’d been introduced, but I’d already forgotten his name. “He called himself Gregory Pissleshoot.” His brow lowered over his eyes. “Like I believed that. He’s a thief. Robbed Earl Worrel. Stripped his house of everything that wasn’t fastened down and claimed he'd done the world a favor. Said Worrel was a bigger thief than he was.”
Gregory Pissleshoot. It seemed like the kind of ludicrous moniker Samuel might adopt. “When was this?”
“Only a season ago,” the man answered, “but I’ve heard tales about that swindler for years. You say he’s your friend?” He gave me a slow dark look.
“I don't know? It's hard to imagine we’re taking about the same fellow, ‘cause I’ve never had any trouble with him. Where did you see them?”
“They were on their way into Gallowmorn just as we left,” the man said. “Both of them, Gregory and that strange woman he travels with. Don’t like her neither, truth be told. There’s ice in her eyes.”
“Were they okay?” I asked.
“Seemed fine to me,” the man replied, “but there was blood aplenty on their clothes, just as there is on yours, though I very much doubt a single drop of it was theirs.”
I nodded and took a swig from the bottle of wine Harold passed me. He was friendly enough but I could see he’d be happier once I was gone. “So what takes you south, Morgan?” he asked as he handed me a pipe. I refused it and gazed back to the sputtering fire as a log fell into the charred branches and coals. They were no threat to me, so I gave them a potted version of my story and mentioned Stroud, in case I might glean anything of him.
“It truly is a small world,” the older lady on the other side of the fire said. “My dear departed brother’s wife, went to see him years ago. Her son had the scarlet malady, and it was said Rowan Stroud had the cure. They lived right in the middle of the Marwood Forest, not far from where Stroud holed up when the king’s men were after him. So she and her poor boy went in search of him and she was barely halfway there when she met a band of knights on the road. One took pity on her and told her to turn back. When she asked why, he said things weren’t set to end well for Stroud and his people. It was true enough, because the next day all of ‘em were found dead, their throats cut as they’d slept.”
“And she did nothing to warn them?” The words exploded from my mouth, only they weren’t mine, they were my other’s…. he’d spoken through my lips! A crawling shiver ran down my spine as he broke through and spoke again. “Or was she content to let them be slaughtered in their sleep, these people she sought a cure from for her filthy diseased son?”
The people in the camp began to rise and back away. Harold patted my back in some apparent attempt at consoling me, but the fire within, the fire that wasn’t mine, was ready to spill. “Listen,” he said, but his words tailed off as he gazed into my eyes. I had no idea what he saw, but moments later he turned as white as the snow falling around us.
My hand strayed to my sword and tried to pull it from its sheath, but it clung there and became a dead weight, as if it knew I wasn’t in control. The people backed away and cowered behind their wagons, screaming. My other twisted my lips in cold mockery. Before he could stalk toward them I wrestled back command, ran to the horse tethered to the back of Harold’s wagon, untied the beast and jumped into its saddle.
It took everything I had to enforce my will over my own body as the horse galloped away amid cries of fear and anger, but I held on tight as we sped off.
My other laughed, the sound low and mocking as demonic magic thrummed in my veins and dark knowledge filled my mind, slithering through my thoughts like insidious snakes. I was infected and I had no idea how long I had left being Morgan Rook, how long before my other took my body as his own, and his alone.
42
Tiny flecks of hail struck my face and hands as I rode. The snow cover was thinning and the surrounding landscape began to merge with velvet blue darkness. Now and then I saw lights flickering in small, isolated stone buildings.
My other lurked silent and still. It was almost as if he wasn’t even there but his actions and the force of his power at the camp had unnerved me. I did my best not to dwell on it, but it was alarming, how quickly he taken control. The demonic magic I’d taken in Heathersage was no longer viable, but the echoes of its owners were still within me, inspiring the hideous, sadistic thoughts that flashed through my mind as I passed lone travelers on the road.
I slowed as I came upon a large wooden sign that read:
‘Gallowmorn’
The horse cantered along a wide path lined with ridges of black ice and frozen mud, then tiny lights gleamed like hope on a band of darkness in the distance and I saw the wall. It was huge, far longer than the one that had surrounded Skyrehaven.
Guards stood at the gates, holding their lanterns up as I approached and looking me over with caution and disdain.
“Down here,” one called. He was a small man with a metal badge, and he glared up at me with an aura of irritability and quick temper. It didn’t seem like too much of a stretch to assume he was in charge.
I jumped from my horse and let him get a good look at my eyes. “Are you going to let me in?” I asked, savoring his barely concealed fear.
He winced and nodded, “Gates,” he called to the men behind him. A moment later it rumbled open.
“Don’t make problems for me,” I whispe
red. He nodded again, quickly, like he wanted no more conversation. “I’m only here to meet friends,” I continued, “so if you and I don’t cross swords, things will most likely work out better for you. Understand?”
“I understand.” I could see the wheels turning. He had weapons and men at his disposal, but it was clear that whatever he’d glimpsed in my eyes was enough for him to know they’d come out losers if things kicked off.
“Great.” I nodded at him and led the horse through the gates, and handed him off to a boy at the nearby stable.
Gallowmorn was built on a gently sloping hill and the features of its cramped buildings were lost to the darkness, while the standing torches offered scant illumination. I wandered the streets trying to figure out where in the hell I’d find Astrid and Samuel. Inns and pubs were the obvious choice and whilst it was creeping toward the witching hour, several places were still lit up and booming with the sounds of laughter and bawdy, drunken shouts.
I checked out two crowded inns before I stumbled across ‘The Old Sun and Moon’. The crooked stone building had a hefty thatch roof that looked about ready to collapse in on itself, but it seemed popular enough by the lights blazing in its windows. My ears pricked up as someone whispered in the alley alongside the front entrance, but I ignored them and shoved the door open onto a warm barroom packed to the rafters with ruddy faced drinkers.
It didn’t take long to spot Samuel sitting at the head of a table, surrounded by desperate looking men clutching cards close to their chests. He had his poker face on, but I caught the gleam in his eyes as I approached.
“Morgan!” Astrid appeared behind me, a tankard of something dark and sweet smelling in her hand. She set it down, threw her arms around me and squeezed so hard it hurt. I held her head against my chest for a moment and then we gazed at each other. As I leaned in to kiss her she pulled away and the relief in her eyes faded to despair, and anger. “What have you done?”
I saw Samuel glance up. His smile didn’t last long.
“I’ll tell you both after he wins his game,” I said.
“He could be playing for hours.” Astrid’s voice was as frosty as the first time we’d met. “He’s trying to get what we'll need to solve your problem. But…” she shook her head, “I’m not so sure there’s a solution now. What happened? What did you do to yourself?”
I was about to speak when she turned, glanced around and took a long sip from her tankard. “Not in here. Outside.” She swore as she slammed her drink down on the table behind her.
We wandered along Gallowmorn’s cobbled streets, ignoring the drunken revelers and the women lurking under the lanterns plying their tradea. Astrid paused by an alley and glanced into its gloom and as I gazed into the darkness, I felt a flash of relief. Why? I had no idea; the thought hadn’t been mine, at least not as far as I was aware.
“Come,” Astrid led me along the passage and we stood under the thatched eves of a cottage as tiny snowflakes fluttered through the gloom like static on an old television screen.
“What’s going on?” I asked. “Why are you getting all cloak and dagger?”
“Because there’s ears and eyes everywhere. Now, tell me what happened?”
“I want to hear about you and Samuel first,” I said, trying to buy time. I was still coming to grips with Heathersage, and not exactly sure how much I wanted to tell.
“I escaped from the knight, Samuel took down his pursuers, then we used the necklace and ring to find each other, but we couldn’t find you. Not even with the lock of hair I took from your head. It was like you were…” her voice faltered, “dead.”
“Yeah… I lost the necklace your mother gave me,” I said, “I’m sorry.” It was kind of true, but I wondered why in the hell I wasn’t willing to tell her the whole story. It seemed Astrid did too, by the way she continued to stare at me. “Okay, that’s not exactly true.”
“I know. Don’t lie to me, Morgan. Not now.”
“I think my other threw the necklace away.”
“How?”
“He… I had a blackout. Nothing serious, but I've been getting flashes of lost moments, memories of things I wasn’t aware of having happened. I didn't even realize I was missing the necklace until we lost each other, but that’s not all of it. I think he’s forced me to do other things.” I told her of Thomas, Heathersage, and in particular De’ Nix and the magic I’d taken from her demons.
“What are we going to do with you, Morgan? We’ve told you over and again about tainted magic. Taking it is a rare talent but no sane person would use it. And-”
“It wasn’t me. Not fully. I think he pushed me to take the demon’s magic. Although why, I’ve no idea.”
“I do. If you become eclipsed… if you become someone, or something else and you’re no longer you, then whatever’s left will be easier to control. Then he can take over. You’ve been doing this for weeks now, Morgan, and we’ve told you to stop, but you won't listen. Was it all him or was some of it you?”
“Some of it was me. I didn’t want to rely on the crystals, they made me feel weak.”
“Don't you realize the magic you took has done exactly that? You’re far more vulnerable to him now.” Astrid shook her head.
“And what about Stroud?” I asked. Except I didn’t. It wasn’t me, it was him, he was speaking again. I tried to wrestle back control but he shoved me away and as I looked at Astrid, it was through his eyes, not mine. “Do you know where he is?”
“No, but we’ve heard rumors he’s calling the restless to amass in Marwood Vale, which is south of here. The demons he set loose were clearly meant to distract people from whatever else he’s been up to. Also…”
She continued to talk but I couldn’t hear her, not fully, because it was my other listening, not me. He glanced from her pale throat to the end of the alley, checking to make sure it was still empty. And then, before I could stop him, he reached out with my hands and grabbed her by the neck.
Astrid’s eyes grew wide with shock, hurt, and then anger. She seized my hands and tried to prise them away, but he was too strong. Her face turned redder and redder, her eyes wider. She dug her nails into his hands, my hands, but I felt nothing. She reached back and landed a punch that barely registered.
He squeezed harder. “Cold little bitch!” His voice was low and wracked with hatred. “You’ll be colder still in a moment.”
She let out a tortured gasp. She was about to die, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
43
Astrid grasped at my hands to prise them away. I helped her as best I could, but my other shoved me aside and squeezed harder. At least until Astrid brought her knee up into my balls.
The sharp pain broke Emeric’s hold over both of us and I yelped and leaned over, my eyes watering. Deep sharp waves of agony spread from my groin to my stomach and I gagged. A stream of vomit flew from my lips and spattered the thin crust of snow.
Tears streamed from my eyes as I glanced back to find myself facing the wrong end of a dagger. I threw a hand out. “It was him!”
Astrid gave me a long, conflicted look as I rose amid a series of slow, painful breaths. Finally, she sheathed her dagger and massaged her throat. Even in the darkness of the alley I could see my fingermarks on her skin. “If… if you ever do that again…”
I shook my head. “I won’t. I didn’t.”
Emeric blindsided me with another attack and almost got the better of me. I held onto my focus for dear life and as I looked into Astrid’s eyes, my love for her fought off his cold sick hold and he sank like a shark as he retreated into the depths of my mind. “Are you hurt?”
Astrid nodded, “Yeah.” but slowly her lips turned in a smile. “But not as badly as you are, judging by the look on your face.”
“Possibly not.” I continued to cup my hand over my groin. It ached, but the pain was beginning to fade a little.
Astrid kissed me lightly on the cheek. “Let’s not have that happen again.”
“Ag
reed. But I couldn’t stop him, he’s more powerful than he’s ever been.”
“It was a desperate move, I think he knows the end is coming.”
“When?” I asked, as I moved my hands from my balls, leaned against the wall and tried to catch my breath.
“Very soon. Shall we go have a drink now and watch Samuel amass a small fortune?”
We ordered a pitcher of ale and watched Samuel play, his expression as unreadable as a Vegas card sharp. Slowly, the other gamblers threw their cards down, each one growing more and more red faced and furious as the game narrowed down to two players, Samuel and a colossal man with a scarred, bitter face.
"And now for the grand finale,” Samuel said as he threw his cards down, and drew the mountain of coins toward him. His opponent jumped up and pulled a knife out from under his cloak. Astrid stepped in, whipping out her dagger. The man glanced my way, and I shook my head. He looked me in the eye, and then with a foul cascade of words, strode away.
The landlady flew over like angry hen. “Do you know how fast they’ll shut me down if word of this gets out? I know you’ve already booked your rooms but I can’t have brawlers lodging here. Now get your things and go!”
Samuel smiled, pulled her aside and whispered in her ear. She shook her head and rested a hand on her ample hip. At least until he opened his purse and filled her palm with coins, and then the matter was apparently settled and her grievances forgotten.
I spent that night in a chair in the corner of Samuel’s room. He offered me the bed, but I told him I wasn’t tired and doubted I’d sleep. It didn’t take long for him to ask me what had happened and so I fessed up to everything and watched the dismay fill his eyes.
“Tomorrow will be an interesting day. For you and him both.” he said, before wishing me a good night and blowing out the candle.