“This must be higher than Gray Mountain,” said Riverpaw, in awe of the beautiful vista.
“I believe it is,” added Whiteclaw. He turned away from the orange glow of the sun to gaze at the rest of the room. It was a very long room, with little decoration, save for the table and chairs. Though at the other end of the room seemed to be the statue of a man. Whiteclaw began to walk across the room toward it. The others noticed his departure and began to follow him.
The party reached the statue and looked upon it. It wasn’t especially large for a statue, no bigger than a normal sized man. It seemed to be cast in some polished metal that no one could recognize. The statue stood at attention with its eyes fixed upon the horizon. The group looked around at the rest of the room, hoping to find a clue, but there was nothing.
“What are we supposed to do now?” asked Riverpaw, rhetorically.
Suddenly, the eyes of the statue began to glow red and a voice emanated from its metal frame.
“Who has passed the test?” asked the voice.
The group looked at Evercloud. He stepped forward, in front of the statue and answered, “I have.”
The statue made a whirring sound and the red glow of the eyes changed to a deep blue. Then a small click was heard and the voice returned.
“Take the parchment and candle. Good luck to you.”
The door of a small compartment in the torso of the statue swung open slowly. Evercloud looked inside to find a small piece of parchment and a candle. He took them out and turned them over in his hands. The candle was plain enough, yellow, roughly the length of his hand and not even two fingers thick. The parchment was ordinary as well, yet it was weathered and folded in upon itself. He unfolded it and saw a message had been written in ink. He read it aloud:
Whoever has passed the test must be brave and strong and true,
To travel down to Oldham’s Bog and retrieve these items two.
An apple from the tree of death, none ever seen so red,
To poison both the guardians and free the wind again.
Next the hammer she hath made from oak and steel and bone,
Nestled tightly underneath the witch’s cursed throne.
Use the candle for passage quick to the bog and back,
Two may go and two may come but must stay close at hand.
The world is old and full of lies but also full of truth,
And here between the earth and sky the questions fall to you.
“So we have to travel to a bog?” asked Tomas.
“We won’t be doing anything,” said Whiteclaw. “Evercloud passed the test. It is he who must travel to Oldham’s Bog.”
“Well it sounds like I can take someone with me. The parchment says that the candle can take two there and bring two back.” Evercloud looked at everyone. “So who should I take?”
“That is your decision,” answered Whiteclaw. “We cannot choose for you.”
Evercloud looked around. Who to choose? Should he choose whom he wanted to choose, or whom it made the most sense to choose? As he pondered his decision, Riverpaw stepped forward.
“I don’t care if it is your decision,” he said to Evercloud. “If you think you’re going to leave me here with that creepy statue while you’re off having all the fun, then you’ve lost your mind.”
Evercloud smiled at his cousin. “Well, since you asked so nicely.”
“So, what are we supposed to do?” asked Tomas. He walked over to the table and had himself a seat. As soon as he sat down, the table was covered with food and drink. His eyes widened as he gazed at the sumptuous dishes before him.
“We eat,” said Ben, his mouth watering.
Evercloud filled his pack with some of the food and then looked at the candle. “I guess this must work once it’s lit.”
“Yes,” said Whiteclaw, “but the parchment seems to suggest that you and Riverpaw must remain in physical contact while it works.”
“Fair enough,” said Evercloud and hoisted himself onto Riverpaw’s back.
“Make sure you two return to us,” said Whiteclaw. “Even if you have not completed the task. We can always try it again. Do not be foolish.”
Riverpaw and Evercloud nodded.
“Here,” said Tomas, handing a lit match to Evercloud. “I took it from the Padre’s place.”
Evercloud took the match in one hand and held the candle out in his other and then looked down at Riverpaw.
“You ready for this?”
“I’ve been waiting my whole life for something like this,” Riverpaw replied with a grin.
Evercloud lit the candle and with a flash, they were gone, without a trace.
Chapter 22: Biding Time
The little tavern along the road from Kreskin to Gable wasn’t seeing the business that it used to. This was due to the feud that had been going on, for years now, between the two most powerful families in each village: the Laughlin family of Gable and the Montgomery family of Kreskin. It had all started with a rumor that Lady Montgomery and Lord Laughlin had been having a secret affair. Rumors being what they were, it spread like a plague upon the two villages, reaching the most esteemed doorsteps of the Montgomery’s and Laughlin’s respective estates. Lord Montgomery, being none too pleased with what he was hearing, questioned his wife on the matter. Without hesitation, the Lady denied the accusations and called for retribution against whoever started such a nasty rumor. The tales of her husband’s infidelity also shook Lady Laughlin. In his defense, Lord Laughlin swore that he would find the vile perpetrator.
So, the search began. The villagers of Kreskin and Gable were all interviewed on the matter, mostly by thugs, working under the command of the effected lords. These thugs, being what they were, were very adept at extracting information from the villagers. However, under the pressures of certain “tactics” used by the thugs, the information being given was not always reliable.
In the end, every person in both villages had been implicated by someone. Everyone, with the exception for a man by the name of Derrick Kane of Kreskin. After much deliberation, the two lords decided that Derrick Kane of Kreskin was, indeed, the perpetrator, and had, in fact, scared all of the villagers into giving any name but his own. It was decided that Derrick Kane would be hung in Kreskin Square. Derrick Kane’s last words, as he stood with a noose around his neck, were still remembered in both villages to this day.
“All right,” he had said. “Quit pullin’ my leg.”
A few months later, it had been discovered that Lady Montgomery and Lord Laughlin had, indeed, been having a secret affair. Ever since that time, it had become very common to say, when things of a tragic and unjust nature had occurred, ‘There they go, pulling Old Derrick’s leg again.’
After the adulterers had been outed, the feud had begun. All trade and general niceties had been cut off between the two villages, which had drastically cut down on traffic passing the little tavern. A few years after the feud had begun, the owner of the tavern decided to rename the tavern, Derrick’s Leg, as a tribute to the man whose fate the tavern shared.
This night, as smoke poured from the chimney into the chilling air, a conversation about recent happenings sprung up between the patrons of Derrick’s Leg.
“I say it’s not true,” said a man named Jensen as the barkeeper poured him a small glass of strong-smelling stuff. “Too grotesque. Can’t be real.”
This wasn’t Jensen’s first glass of the night and he was beginning to give off a stronger smell of alcohol than the drinks themselves. His gray, wispy hair, which he usually combed over his bald dome, was now waving in the air, giving the impression that Jensen was a drunkard. Jensen was a drunkard.
“I don’t know,” said Bing, a fat man, sitting at a table behind Jensen. “I travel all over Ephanlarea, and I’m starting to hear these stories everywhere.” Bing’s black hair was slicked back and he constantly eyed a pocket watch that he had set on the table next to his mug of ale. “What do you think, Bart?”
The bar
keeper, Bart, was rubbing a glass with a rag he kept behind the counter. The rag was dirty and so was the glass, but Bart kept on rubbing as if friction alone would be enough to get the glass clean.
“Don’t know,” he grimaced. “I hear a lot of stories and rumors, but you know what they say about rumors.”
“See,” Jensen barked. “People are gettin’ all worked up for nothin’.” He put his fist around the glass on the bar and shot its contents back into his throat. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and continued. “Listen to this one I heard. So this guy, this…Messenger, I guess they’re callin’ him. One night, he just walks into this young couple’s house while they’re eatin’ dinner. He sits down at the table and starts eatin’ their food and talkin’ to them like he knows them. The young man asks him who he is, and this guy tells him that he’s a messenger. Real sense of humor this guy has. Then he turns to the young lady and tells her that her husband is a thief, and he stole all the food that she was eatin’. So the husband gets upset and tells the guy that he don’t know who he is or why he’s here but he better leave or else. And this guy’s shovin’ his finger into the Messenger’s face. Now listen to this, this is where it gets good. The Messenger gets up from his seat and grabs the guy’s finger. He tells the guy to tell his wife the truth or he’ll break it. So this guy starts cryin’ and he tells his wife that he’s a professional thief and everything they have was bought with dirty gold and whatnot. The guy’s wife starts cryin’ and yellin’ at him. The guy tells his wife he’s sorry and asks for forgiveness. Next thing you know the Messenger breaks this guy’s finger and then strangles him to death. The wife runs out of the house screamin’ and when she returns with the authorities, they find the dead guy sitting at the dinner table and the word thief is written on the walls in blood. And guess what? The Messenger is nowhere to be found.” Jensen shrugged his shoulders smugly as he finished his story. “Now you tell me that doesn’t sound fake.”
The barkeeper nodded, but Bing shook his head.
“I’m not saying this Messenger fellow isn’t a little off his rocker. But where there is smoke, there is usually fire, and there is smoke all over this land. Listen to this story I heard from a man claiming to have seen the Messenger, all the way down in Cerano. This fellow who said he saw the Messenger describes him as a large man, bigger than he’d ever seen. He also said that his hands glow with light.”
“Oh, I see,” laughed Jensen. “Ten feet tall and shoots lightnin’ out of his bum. I can see where this story’s goin’.”
“Just listen,” said Bing. “I ain’t making it up.” Bing shook his head and stole a look at his timepiece, then continued. “So this guy says he was riding his horse through the forest near Cerano, when he saw funny lights in the darkness. It was late and he thought he might be seeing things, but in the end, he decides to check it out. He rode through the brush where he had seen the lights and came upon a dead body. He looks at the body and there’s no head. So he panics and rides his horse as fast as he can into the village to alert the authorities. But when he gets there, he finds the officers outside of the jailhouse looking at something on the ground. Turns out it’s the head of the dead body in the forest, and the head’s got a piece of paper in its mouth. One of the officers pulls it out and sees that it’s a note. ‘I was selling your children as slaves’ is what it said. Turns out, kids had been disappearing in Cerano for about a year. So this guy tells the officers that he found the body out in the forest. So they all go out there to retrieve the body, but when they get out there, they find the Messenger waiting for them. He’s got a big hood over his face and his hands are glowing with blue light. They’re all so scared they can’t move a muscle. The Messenger tells all of them that what happened to the slave trader is what will happen to all who are evil. Then the Messenger disappears. The scary thing is,” added Bing, “that this guy who told me the story was a doctor, and he said that the head of the slave trader wasn’t cut clean. He said it looked like the head had been ripped off.”
Bart the barkeeper swallowed hard and ran his hand over his neck.
“Rubbish,” said Jensen. “Biggest pile o’ rubbish I ever heard. Glowing, blue hands. Please.”
“I’m telling you, Jensen,” argued Bing. “I’ve heard a story about that Messenger from all corners of this land, and every one talks about those glowing hands. I’ve heard rumors before and the stories never match; the fundamentals change. All these stories match. This man, if he’s even a man at all, is out there, and he’s punishing those who do wrong.” Jensen waved an arm dismissively at Bing. “I even heard one account,” continued Bing, “of a guy who says he’d seen under the Messenger’s hood. He said he’s got no eyes.”
“Now I’ve heard it all,” said Jensen, throwing his arms into the air.
“Well, you know. It’s funny you should say that about the eyes,” said Bart, still rubbing the dirty rag against the dirty glass like a bad habit. “I just recently heard a story of this Messenger and the eyes came up. But this fellow told me that the Messenger was blind.”
“Really?” said Bing with a curious tone. “Let’s hear the story.”
“Well it wasn’t so much a story, I guess, as just a conversation.”
“Well, go on anyway,” said Jensen, becoming more inebriated by the minute. He eyed his empty glass. “I’ll take another drink as well.”
“You sure you want more?” asked Bart. “You don’t look so good.”
“I’m fffine,” slurred Jensen.
Bart poured the man more alcohol and began to tell them what he had heard. “So, like I said, I was told the Messenger is blind. Well, sort of. The guy said that the Messenger sees through the grace of the Holy, but he can’t see like we can. He told me that the Messenger works for the Holy and that’s why he punishes evil. He told me that the world needs to change.”
“Well,” said Bing. “Sounds like that guy has spoken to the messenger himself.”
“Don’t know,” said Bart. “Didn’t want to pry. But you can ask him yourself if you want. He’s right over there.”
Bart pointed across the tavern at a large man in a white robe, slumped across a table in the corner, sleeping.
“Oho,” started Jensen. “Didn’t even see him over there. Thought it was just the three of us tonight.”
“Came in around supper time and ordered some water and potatoes,” said the barkeeper. “Talked to him briefly while he ate. He was the only customer in here. He kept that hood on the whole time though. Thought that was kinda weird. He fell asleep when he finished eating and I figured I’d just let him sleep. Must’ve needed it pretty bad.”
“You know, maybe we should just let him sleep,” said Bing tentatively.
“Nonsense,” said Jensen, stumbling off of his stool. “I’m starting to like these stories. Good entertainment. I want to hear what this fellow has to say.” Jensen tried with difficulty to walk in a straight line over to the man. When he finally reached him, he tapped him on the shoulder. “Hello,” he called. “Hello in there. Anybody home?” The stranger raised his head from the table and looked toward Jensen, his large, white hood shading his eyes. “There you are,” continued Jensen. “My friends and I were just telling tales of this myth that’s been going around the land, and we were wondering if you might have any stories to add. Have you any tales to tell of the Messenger?”
The stranger grabbed the glass of water that he had not finished and poured the rest of the liquid down his throat.
“I’m sorry,” he said from under the hood. “I have no stories to tell. But I do have a question for Mr. Bing.”
Jensen turned his face to Bing with wide eyes and a foolish smile. “Bing, this man says he knows you.”
“Oh, uh, really?” said Bing nervously, his eyes darting to the watch on the table. “You must have misheard him, Jensen.”
“Why do you keep checking your watch, Bing?” asked the stranger with a louder and clearer voice.
“I-I-I don’t know w-what you’
re talking about,” Bing stammered and slid his watch into an open pocket.
“Waiting for something?” asked the stranger.
“I th-think you have me confused f-for someone else.”
The stranger turned to Jensen. “I’m sorry, Mr. Jensen, but it would seem as though you’re going to have to die.”
“What are you talking about?” exclaimed Jensen.
“What I am talking about, Mr. Jensen, is the poison that Mr. Bing put in your drink when you left to relieve yourself. He continues to check his watch so that he knows when it will be a good time to leave the tavern and steal your horse. Probably about the same time that you, Mr. Jensen, lose the ability to breath. Am I right, Mr. Bing?”
Bing shot out of his chair and began to head for the door. “This is preposterous. I never. I’m not going to sit around and listen to–”
The stranger raised a hand and suddenly, the tavern was bathed in blue light. Bing stood, frozen, unable to move.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Bing, but I just wouldn’t feel right with you leaving. At least not until we’ve seen eye to eye.” The stranger stood from his seat, hands glowing blue, and pulled his hood back from his head. He walked over to the petrified Mr. Bing and looked into his eyes. Behind him, Mr. Jensen clutched at his throat and fell to the floor. “As you can see, Mr. Bing, I do, indeed, have eyes.”
Everflame: The Complete Series Page 19