by Leon Logos
“Go out through the back and into the forest,” he said.
“Why? And why me?”
“Because I said so,” Desmos said typically.
“What do you want to me go there for?” she asked, nettled.
“Fill up our canteens with fresh water from the stream,” he said, pointing at six empty canteen water bottles on the floor. “Bring your own as well. I don’t trust the shitty tap water we get here.”
“If Father comes back while I’m gone, what then?”
“We’ll wait for you. But don’t take too long, or we’re gone.”
It was never a bad experience taking a stroll through a forest. All the water canteens, hers included, she had stored in a pail from the tool shed. Pail in hand, she walked through the forest with her eyes on alert.
The stream was only about two miles into the forest. They had stopped by the stream every time they entered the forest, whether it was during hunting, or just ambling leisurely under the tranquility of nature. The water was fresh, and would certainly taste better than the tap water they drank back at the house.
She knew she was alone here, but she couldn’t brush off the feeling of being watched. There weren’t any other humans for miles. Sure, the crows perched high above the tree branches gawked at her as she passed. But it wasn’t the animals that disconcerted her. Perhaps, she was feeling this way only because she was alone this time. The other times, she had company and didn’t need to keep her eyes peeled since the others had that covered. It was a feeling of vulnerability that shrouded her; there was nobody there to have her back if something went wrong. At the thought of this, she sped up.
The stream came into view as she entered a clearing. Three elks on the opposite side of it bolted out into the underbrush at the sight of her. All the animals here knew well enough to flee at the sight of a human. Who knew how long Patrick had been hunting in here, and how many animals he had killed?
She crouched down by the stream, dumping all the canteens onto the dirty, pebbled ground. One by one, she began filling them all up. The water was icy and numbed her skin. Frequently, she checked her flank out of caution, aware that she was susceptible with her back turned.
Filling the six canteens took three minutes. After closing the caps securely and tightly, she dropped all of them back into the pail. Now it was time to head back. The clouds above were mutating from white and fluffy, to gray and menacing. She didn’t want to be caught in the rain.
As she turned away from the stream and began heading out of the clearing, a flicker of movement caught her eye. It came from far out into the trees, about half-a-kilometer away. She squinted, peering as far as her eyesight would allow her. It took a moment, but it registered in her mind who it was: Patrick, wielding a hunting rifle.
For a moment, Serenity considered tailing him. But she quickly realized how intrusive and snoopy she had been recently. No, she should just get back to the house before torrential rainfall showered her. But unfortunately, the way back was in the same direction Patrick was currently traveling. She made sure to pass unnoticed, walking by the biggest trees that could obscure her. Patrick kept constantly turning his head, looking back as if he had something to hide and didn’t want to be followed. Gradually, she began to catch up to him, maintaining a safe but observable distance.
For a while, she had lost him. It didn’t concern her, as she minded her own business, continuing forward back to the house. But after several minutes, Serenity found him again. He was downhill below in a bushy area, beyond the high slope she was standing on. She crouched down again, wondering what he was up to. He was clearly waiting for something. Careful not to be caught spying, she set down the pail and got into a prone position. It was fortunate that birds were considerably noisier in this part of the forest; they drowned out the noises of the twigs that snapped and crackled at every subtle movement of hers.
The minutes dragged on until, finally, whatever Patrick was waiting for arrived. But it wasn’t a ‘what,’ but rather a ‘who.’ She stared at the person, transfixed; he was tall, as tall as Garen, and covered from head-to-toe in black leather-looking armor. Not even a line of his skin was exposed. From the breeches to the breastplate, he was protected. The man wore a hood, which she found redundant; he was already wearing a metal mask, with two openings where the eyes were. Despite the openings, the eyes were invisible in darkness. His legs were wrapped with chains, extending and twisting up to his waist. Overall, his entire appearance was ominous and forbidding.
Her gut was screaming at her to run, but she remained frozen. This enigmatic individual was in no conventional attire, and the way he moved was not likewise to any human. He didn’t give off the impression of somebody in a Halloween costume; on the contrary, this person exuded veritable malice and hostility.
“About time you showed up,” Patrick spoke, his voice barely audible from where she was. “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.”
The other person didn’t respond. He raised his right wrist and pointed at it with his index finger.
“Time? I’m not sure when Gunther is arriving,” said Patrick, understanding the gesture. “You may want to keep lookout by the forest’s entrance. I doubt he’ll be traveling by vehicle. He’ll be on horseback.”
The man shook his head taciturnly, taking a step forward. Unnerved, Patrick took a step back, raising his hands warily.
“Okay, okay,” he said. “You’re right, Gunther’s a sharp fellow. Ambushing him while he’s traveling through the forest would be unwise. Perhaps, when he’s at the house? I’ll keep him over for supper.”
The man nodded; he then pointed at his imaginary watch again.
“Er, maybe around 7:30? 8:00?” Patrick said uncertainly. “My capricious wife, Helena, is never static when it comes to supper preparation.”
The mysterious man nodded again, turning around to leave. Patrick, although reluctantly, stopped him in his tracks.
“W-wait! Can you guarantee success? What weapon shall you use?”
The man paused like a mannequin for a few seconds. Patrick appeared fearful as if he was regretting his decision of meeting up. Slowly, the mysterious man turned again to face Patrick. Then, in a flash, he lunged a spear forward, stopping it when the blade was an inch from Patrick’s throat. Serenity blinked, boggled on what had just happened. Her eyes were too slow; the spear had come out of nowhere. It wasn’t an ordinary spear; like the Aurelian knives, the spear was fancy and encrusted with silver. But the blade of the spear was a quarter of the length of the handle.
“I-I apologize!” Patrick wheezed, in fright. “It’s wrong to doubt you; I’m sure you’ll do excellently. I’ll be on my way. But before you go, just a fair warning; Gunther will not be alone, since his blasted sons are with him.”
This time, she saw it; the spear suddenly retracted, shortening significantly in length. It was now the length of a short sword.
The hooded-masked man disappeared out into the underbrush. Patrick suspired in relief, but what he did next was unknown. She scrambled to her feet, took the pail, and dashed out of the vicinity. Even when she got tired after a couple minutes, she didn’t stop. She panted heavily as fatigue consumed her, and her heart was beating rapidly.
She gleaned enough from this transient meeting: Patrick was conspiring with somebody to assassinate Gunther and the others, herself included. Patrick and Gunther were supposed to be old friends, but this couldn’t be true at all. A change in heart must’ve been recent if it had been true.
She hurtled down slopes and hopped over fallen branches, racing towards the direction of the house. As she was running, she tripped over a thick root and stumbled downhill, rolling down and accelerating until she fell off the top of a steep slope. The pail had went flying off somewhere. She landed headfirst, the side of her head slamming roughly against the trunk of a tree. Her head felt dense and dizzy in an instant. The impact was enough making her blackout and consequently lose consciousness.
Her mind be
gan to fade back into consciousness sluggishly. Serenity opened her eyes, her sight-impaired and blurry. A muffled voice was calling to her, but it was incomprehensible. She tried to sit up; it took up all of her strength just to do this. She was still dizzy and felt like a horse had kicked her. Her head was pulsating profusely. The voice continued to call, followed by a hand grabbing her shoulder.
Her vision and stamina regained enough, and she became aware of her surroundings. It was late in the evening; judging from the sky, nightfall was nigh. The voice became coherent and intelligible. She looked upwards. Kyler was standing by her.
“What happened to you?” he asked baffled. “Can you hear me?”
“I can now,” she groaned, massaging her head. “What-what're you doing out here? How long have I been out?”
“Look around, it’s nearly night,” said Kyler, pulling her to her feet.
She had to hold onto him for support, struggling to stand firmly.
“What about you? Who knocked you out? Your head is bleeding.”
Serenity felt the back of her head; there was a bit of blood and a sizable lump that would linger for quite a while. A concussion was definite. The memories returned to her.
“Nobody…I tripped over something and hit my head on the tree,” she said. “But that doesn’t matter right now; we have to leave!”
“I went looking for you,” said Kyler. “It was almost evening, and you still weren’t back. It took me almost two hours to find you here. Let’s go back. We’ll eat and then depart with Father.”
“Father? He’s back?!”
“Yeah, not too long ago. I think, maybe, four or five hours after you left. He arrived on horseback, though. Which was strange but efficient..”
“‘Horseback’?! We have to go, now!” she said urgently.
“I know, it’s getting way too dark—”
“No, no! You don’t understand; we’re all in danger!”
“Slow down, what are you saying?” Kyler said, grabbing her by her collar, pulling her closer to him.
“Patrick, he’s plotting to kill us!” she said frantically. “After I got the water, I saw him ahead of me and followed him. He was meeting with some guy—some weird guy in black armor, and a hood, a mask, and—”
“Have you been hallucinating recently?” Kyler said skeptically as if he thought she had contracted Helena’s lunacy.
“Why won’t you believe me?!” she cried. “The others I get, but YOU?!”
“Okay, okay, tell me on the way back,” Kyler decided. “Come on.”
They hastened through the forest, Kyler running at the same speed as she could muster in her current condition. She wasn’t at full strength yet. This was a race against time; darkness would soon envelop them, and they had no flashlight. And if they were too late to warn the others—a murder scene could be waiting for them at the house.
She had no emotional attachment to Gunther or the brothers. So why was she so determined on saving their lives? To inform them of the impending danger? There was no time to dwell on this conundrum.
“Supper time?” Kyler said, listening to her story as they moved. “Patrick was insistent on having us stay for supper. Uh-oh.”
“Exactly! I don’t know why Patrick is doing this, but you guys were right not to trust him,” said Serenity.
“Father hinted that he was untrustworthy in his letter,” Kyler said rationally. “We should’ve been more careful. But it was your fault for tripping; you could’ve told us way sooner.”
“I know, I was careless,” she breathed, dodging a dangling branch in her way. “I’m glad it was you that found me. The others wouldn’t even try to listen to me. They’d think I’m lying.”
“I’m still not too sure I believe you. But I believe you enough to be alarmed,” he added, at the look of acrimony on her face. “But I’m not too worried either. Whoever this guy is, he best hope he can fight. Trying to assassinate us? Especially when Father’s with us, he’s insane.”
“He has this weird spear we have to look out for,” she remembered. “One second, it’s as long as a spear, the next as short as a sword.”
“We have guns, we don’t have to be wary of any spear,” Kyler said dismissively. “And if you’re smart, you’ll hide while the killing begins.”
Serenity had no response to this. It was true that she would be of no use if a deadly fight did break out. And most likely, she’d stay behind them or hide. However, this would just reinforce her image as a coward. She didn’t want to hide anymore.
The house finally came into view when they dashed out of the forest. A mustang horse was grazing on grass by the porch, unrestrained and not even tied up to anything. This must’ve been Gunther’s horse. Superficially, at first glance, the house looked the same as before. There were no signs of a battle on the exterior; the windows were intact, and the roof wasn’t on fire.
“Nothing’s happened yet,” Kyler commented. “Let’s go inside.”
She nodded, following Kyler to the veranda. The horse took indifferent notice of their presence and continued to feed on grass. Kyler led the way inside. In the living room, everybody but Helena and Patrick was settled in. Gunther was conspicuously seated in a chair adjacent to the fireplace. He was sipping tea. He looked up from the cup, his gaze piercing directly into his eyes.
“Where the hell was she?” Desmos asked, irked.
“She tripped and knocked herself out,” Kyler replied flatly before she could answer herself and come up with a fake, not-so-embarrassing answer.
“WHAT?! No way!” Cackle burst out in laughter. “Is she autistic?! And I thought she couldn’t get any more retarded!”
Gunther continued to stare at her, his eyes narrowed. His eyes were weary and worn out, illustrating the effects of a long journey. His journey must’ve taken a toll on him. Nevertheless, the man was resilient and did not openly display any signs of fatigue or weakness. He was as intimidating as ever.
“Kyler, you don’t expect us to believe that story, do you?” said Desmos.
“Ask her yourself, or feel the lump on her head,” Kyler said dully, striding over to him.
He bent over slightly, intending to whisper something in Desmos’s ear, but was interrupted. Patrick bustled into the room energetically. He clapped his hands together and rubbed them, a broad smile on his face. Kyler looked at the man expressionlessly.
“Supper’s nearly ready! Gunther, my old friend! I’m sure you’re yearning for another taste of Helena’s cooking!” Patrick said sunnily.
“Incorrect,” said Gunther gutturally. “I wasn’t even aware you married. The last time we met, you were a bachelor.”
“Is that so?” Patrick frowned. “Well, you’re in for a treat, then.”
Serenity watched Patrick as he heartily began regaling them, telling a joke. When he got to the punchline, he guffawed at his insipid humor. His acting was Oscar-worthy. If she hadn’t known what she knew, she’d be completely fooled.
Sitting cross-legged on the floor, Kyler was patiently waiting for Patrick to leave. Serenity knew he was trying to fill Desmos in on what she saw. Hopefully, Desmos believed him—no, believed her.
She stood by the window, frequently staring outside into the dark for any signs of danger. There was no telling when or where the mysterious man would attack. She remembered Patrick mentioning “supper time,” which was soon. Anxiety and trepidation infused her insides, resonating within every cell in her body. Any second, any minute, all hell would break loose.
“What happened to your head, girl?” Patrick asked.
“I was climbing a tree in the forest, then the branch broke off, and I fell down and landed headfirst.”
“You mean you were in the forest today?” Patrick asked darkly, his tone changing faster than lights at a nightclub.
She nodded quietly, attempting to give off the impression of innocence. While Patrick was focused on her, Kyler immediately began whispering in Desmos’s ear. The eldest brother, his eyes fixed on
Patrick, listened silently and attentively. Gunther took notice of Kyler.
“Alone? What were you doing there?”
“Fetching some water from the stream,” she said truthfully. “For our canteens, that is. We like freshwater, you know?”
“Indeed…” Patrick said, glaring subtly at her.
By the time he turned around again, Kyler had already finished disclosing everything to Desmos. He stood relaxed and unsuspecting, his hands behind his back. Patrick took one last gander at them all.
“Supper’s ready, come inside the kitchen,” he said.
The second Patrick was in the kitchen, Desmos relayed the information to Gunther. Serenity expected a bigger reaction from him. After no more than ten seconds, Gunther merely nodded. She presumed it didn’t come as a surprise to him because he had already distrusted Patrick.
Before Serenity could enter the kitchen, Desmos pulled her aside.
“You best not be lying just to stir up some trouble,” he said warningly.
“What could I possibly gain from lying?” she said flabbergasted. “I know what I saw, and we’re all dead if you don’t believe me.”
“Describe the man you saw,” Gunther demanded. “The man allegedly colluding with my old friend.”
“All black,” she said, his attire engraved vividly into her memory. “With a hood, a mask, and his lower body was all chained up or something.”
For the first time, to her recollection, Gunther’s face lit up in shock. His eyes widened and then closed like he realized the severity of the situation. She looked up at him, confused. Did something ring a bell?
“God help us,” he murmured, shaking his head.
“H-huh…?” she stuttered, staggered at his grave, serious tone.
Never had she seen Gunther so—not frightened, but alarmed.
“Venators,” Desmos sighed.
“Aurelian hunters?” Garen said, face-palming. “Wait? Here? Now?!”
“We need guns,” Kyler said pressingly. “Patrick has some out in the back, in the toolshed. Somebody needs to go and get—”
“Too late,” Patrick snarled, forcefully backing them away from the kitchen entrance, hunting rifle pointed at them. “You fools should learn to speak a tad quieter so that your enemies don’t eavesdrop.”