Absence_Whispers and Shadow

by J. B. Forsyth

  Kring took him around the side of the building and he saw the reason he had called him out straight away: the rear wheels were missing from their wagon and the axle was resting on wooden blocks.

  ‘They mean to keep us here,’ said Kring.

  Ormis ran his hand along the axle as if he didn’t believe what he was seeing. ‘Send the warden out for the cartwright. We’ll leave for Irongate as soon it’s fixed.’

  ‘That’s the other problem. The warden’s gone and I think he knew about this. He came outside as soon as you went in with the girl. Said he was just getting some air, but he seemed a bit twitchy. Likely got off as soon as I came round here.’

  Ormis shook his head. ‘He believes what that damn blacksmith said. His hands were trembling so much he could barely use his keys.’

  Kring rubbed his chin with one great hand, scraping his fingers over stubble rough enough to sands rocks with. ‘They’ve been given a tough story to accept. I mean if I hadn’t seen that thing for myself…’

  ‘Are you saying I should have whipped her through the streets just to appease them. Knowing what we know?’

  ‘No. I’m just saying that from their line of sight, what the blacksmith said makes perfect sense. And they’ve got eyewitnesses that mark her as a killer.’

  Ormis felt his irritation evaporate. The toruck’s words were a simple observation. Kring was endowed with a mirror like honestly that on the whole he had come to admire. ‘Maybe we shouldn’t have left that thing in the woods. If we’d brought it back, there wouldn’t be any of this nonsense.’ He struck the side of the wagon in frustration. ‘If they took the wheels then it’s for a reason… We should leave on foot right away.’

  ‘I think were too late,’ said Kring looking over his shoulder. Ormis followed his gaze to where a lone villager was walking down the street. He recognised him right away: it was Al Hivlak and he was carrying a large axe. As they watched, dozens more men filtered out from side passages to join him; some with mill sacks over their heads, but all carrying some form of weapon. Behind them a man rounded the corner riding a horse and cart heavily laden with wood and hay.

  ‘Is there a back door out of this place?’

  Kring shook his head. ‘Everything goes in and out the front.’

  ‘This could go badly.’

  ‘Aye. There’s over fifty now and they’re still coming,’ said Kring as the bristling wave of villagers rolled down the dusty channel towards them.

  Ormis jumped up onto the wagon, fitted a key into the seat box and opened it. He pulled out a pair of backpacks and threw them to Kring before jumping back down. They unfastened the horses and with a whisper in their ears and a slap on their flanks, Ormis sent them bolting up the street. They moved around to the front steps of the holdings and watched as the mass of villagers parted to let them through.

  ‘That’s something at least,’ said Ormis as he watched them disappear. The horses had the mark of the Caliste and would make straight for Irongate. When they were found without riders a search party would be sent out. But that could be days away and whatever happened next, they were going to have to face it on their own.

  They climbed the front boards and planted themselves behind the rail. The morning sun was over their right shoulders and it sent two long shadows into the street.

  ‘Do you want me to try to disperse them again,’ asked Kring. His lower hands were gripping his sword hilts and the muscles of his forearms shifting under his skin like snakes. Ormis considered his offer. Since Kring succeeded the soldiers previously responsible for his safety, there had been little obstruction to his work. So far the toruck’s skills had not been called upon - his mere presence obviating the need, the way a crocodile deters people from swimming in a river. Ormis had heard from another toruck that Kring once pulled a six and a half foot grixle sapling out of the ground with his bare hands, setting a toruck strength record that only his brother surpassed. He had never heard of a grixle sapling, let alone witnessed such a feat. But as he considered Kring’s offer, he could imagine him running out amongst the villagers and plucking them out of the street like weeds.

  ‘Not yet. I’ll speak to them first.’

  ‘I think they’re done talking. And they’ve brought bows. Three of them. Two on the right and one on the left.’ He turned to Ormis with a glint of amusement in his eyes. ‘But you can rest easy. I’ll wager they brought those for me.’

  Ormis felt none of Kring’s humour. The employment of bowmen was a bad omen and he looked out over the gathering mass with grim contempt. There was nothing either side of the mountains he despised more than mob justice. Nothing that sickened him more than to hear of the suffering meted out by self-righteous mobs and their poisonous superstitions. He would face these people because he could - unlike many thousands before him who had faced similar mobs without power or authority and who were dragged kicking and screaming to agonising deaths.

  The villagers drew up. They were rigid and hard faced – like gravestones in the dirt. Whatever talk had passed between them since leaving the street; it had decided them on some course of action and turned their fidgety uncertainty into steely resolve. Ormis had seen many such gatherings and his instincts on this one were bad. The villagers were all of one mind now - a single beast with the blacksmith for a head.

  The Barrel Runs Dry

  ‘What’s all this about?’ asked Ormis, regarding them the way a granite headland regards a rough sea.

  Al stepped forward. His nose was red and swollen and his shirt spotted with dried blood. He had lost much of the wild fire that was burning up his eyes and when he spoke there was authority in his voice and defiance in his posture. ‘We’re here for the witch and her accomplice.’

  ‘You’ll wait a lifetime then.’

  ‘I’ll not!’

  They glared at each other as a black cat sprang onto the front boards and sat down to lick its paws.

  ‘I thought we’d reached an understanding.’

  ‘You were mistaken.’

  Ormis’s knuckles whitened as he gripped the rail. ‘Is this the same murderous pack that marched on the girl’s house last night? The same bunch that left her orphaned?’

  ‘Whoever was responsible, it was a deed well done. Jarl brought the witch here. He got what was owed him.’

  ‘Do you consider yourself above the law blacksmith?’

  ‘Do you? We have considered your fairy-tale and we’re all in agreement - the witch has your tongue. We reject your authority and demand you hand over your charges.’

  ‘If we don’t?’

  ‘Then we’ll fire the place with all of you in it.’

  Ormis’s anger ripened at this and he got the sudden urge to bound down the steps and start his nose bleeding again.

  ‘We mean no harm to you and the toruck, but if you don’t step aside you leave us no choice. The witch has you in her thrall and we’re here to break her spell one way or another. If you step aside, I’m sure you’ll thank us in the finish.’

  Ormis gripped the rail tighter and looked out beyond the blacksmith. ‘If this man speaks for you, why do you cover your heads? Let me see the faces of those to whom I will express my gratitude.’ Nobody moved. He looked from one set of corn sack eyes to another, daring them to show their faces.

  Al turned. ‘What are you waiting for?’ Take ’em off! We’re agreed aren’t we?’

  The man closest to him doffed his hood and one by one the others followed. In Ormis’s experience those who came to such things with their heads covered were those with the most fragile intent and the giving up of anonymity was the ultimate test of their resolve. But he saw no hesitation in the doffing of sacks and no uncertainty in the exposed faces. The last man to remove his hood was the warden and Ormis flashed him a thin smile. ‘I thought as much. You’ve abandoned your post and your oath.’

  ‘Abandoned? No. My oath was to uphold the law and to protect the people of this village. I believe I continue in both these things.’ He held aloft a
ragged piece of parchment for all to see. ‘The Witch Laws exorcist. Remember these? The Caliste had us fix up copies all over town.’ He turned the writing towards him and read from the page. ‘Those suspected of possession should be secured and held in isolation until a representative of the Caliste can attend them.’ He looked back at Ormis. ‘You didn’t bind the witch and we don’t trust you to isolate her.’

  ‘I am a representative of the Caliste am I not? The girl is not possessed and as I’ve already told you the real killer lies dead in the woods.’

  ‘But we believe you all to be possessed and therefore subject to this instruction. You’re not infallible! You’re a man like the rest of us and this witch had bested you. If the baker here can burn his bread and the blacksmith can hammer his thumb; why can’t an exorcist fall foul of a witch? There are precedents for it as you well know. We have decided to take charge of this situation as we need to be certain the girl’s secured.’

  ‘Secured!? He wants to burn her!’ shouted Ormis, pointing at the blacksmith. ‘I know what the Witch Laws say about that?’

  ‘I’ve been assured she won’t be harmed,’ the warden replied.

  ‘Did he tell you that? Look at him! At them! They’ll burn her and you’ll hang with the rest.’ He looked out at the others now. ‘Go home and reconsider this madness. The Caliste will show no mercy to those who pursue this further.’

  The villagers stood solid, without a nervous twitch among them. Something was wrong. There were other angles here and Ormis worked quickly to draw them. It took him all of about two seconds. The Caliste didn’t know they were in Agelrish and these men knew it. He had come here with Kring this morning after a rider from the village happened upon them on the High Road. They had been on their way to a festered haunt in Galleran Forest, but after they learnt of the killings here he had made it his priority. So without evidence to the contrary, four charred bodies in the holdings would go down as an unfortunate accident and the villagers would have little to answer for. These men weren’t fearful of consequences, because they had been assured there wouldn’t be any.

  ‘If it’s the law you seek to uphold then send word to the Caliste - bring others with authority outside of this situation, so that they can judge. We will remain here. If indeed the witch has our souls in her hand, then what harm can come if we are contained here. What say you to that blacksmith?’

  ‘Nine dead exorcist. Nine. My brother Imich, Rayle and Janie Oakley, their children Sofia and Meg; Lady Demia and Mr Tilder; Mr Arabell and his lady wife. All who stand here have lost friends or family to her foul deeds. This business needs finishing here and now. The village fears another night in proximity to the witch.’

  ‘She’s under lock and key and poses no harm to anyone.’

  ‘So you say exorcist. So you say. But we’ve no trust in you and no faith in the Caliste. We’ve been waiting over two years for them to purge our lake of the boy’s sister, so why would they make greater haste now? There’ll be no more debate, lest the witch’s words roll of your tongue and lay seeds in our minds.’ He went to the cart, dropped the back board and pulled the stopper from a barrel. Dark liquid spouted out and splashed into the dirt. ‘If you haven’t brought them out by the time this runs dry, you’ll be dealt with together.’

  Ormis glared at him, wishing he had locked him up when he had the chance. ‘You know I won’t give them up and you don’t want me to, do you? This is the one chance for those of you up at that house last night to slip the noose.’ He regretted saying it straight away. Hearing it out loud would only solidify the idea for them, making it a more valid prospect.

  ‘The barrel runs dry.’

  He pushed himself off the rail and swept back into the holdings, barely in control of his temper.

  They took up positions in the warden’s office either side of the window. There wasn’t enough headroom for Kring to stand tall and in order to look out through the glass he had to perch on the warden’s desk in a litter of papers.

  ‘What do you think?’ Ormis asked.

  ‘It’ll be a fine thing. If we run, we’ll have to turn our backs to the bowmen. Chances are they’ll stick one of us with an arrow and if I take a bad one, your chances are grim. Only way is to rout them. I could charge the centre and put some bodies between us and the bowmen. It’ll be messy and some will die… Many if they stand. While I engage them you could get our charges around back. There’s a cornfield between here and Galleran Forest that’ll give you good cover from their archers.’

  Ormis could picture the carnage. The odds of success were slim, but he could think of no other solution. ‘Very well. Bring them here.’

  Kring rose awkwardly, grabbed the keys from a hook and ducked out under the rear door. Soon after, he was back with Kye and Della in tow. Ormis turned from the window and appraised them gravely.

  ‘There’s not much time to explain, but the situation outside has deteriorated. The villagers have immersed themselves deeper in their witch theory and no longer respect our authority. They have demanded we turn you over to them.’ Kye paled, but Della just stared. ‘Of course I would never do such a thing. My oaths do not permit it.’ His words were laced with conviction and his eyes burned with sincerity. Kye relaxed a little, but not by much. ‘We’re going to fight our way out and run for trees.’

  Kye looked at Della but her eyes were distant and dreamy; as if she hadn’t heard what the exorcist said, or just didn’t care.

  ‘Time’s up exorcist!’ Al shouted and they all looked out of the window in time to see the barrel drip its last into a circle of wet earth. ‘You’ve made your decision.’

  A group of men began unloading bundles of straw and wood from the wagon and three more appeared alongside them - each brandishing a lighted torch.

  Ormis shook his head. ‘They mean to do it then.’

  His words were barely out when the window exploded inwards. A large rock bounced off the warden’s desk and clattered across the wooden floor. There was a cheer from outside and men began rushing forward with bundles of wood and forkfuls of hay and piling them in front of the building. The torch bearers were close behind and in a matter of seconds a large fire was blazing outside the window.

  ‘Back to the cells!’ Ormis said, ushering them out the rear door just as the men with pitch forks ran forward and lifted clumps of burning straw through the broken glass. He pulled the door shut behind him and they all stood looking at each other in the corridor between the cells.

  ‘We need to go right now,’ said Kring. ‘While there’s still good air in our chests. There’s little to burn in the cells, but once the fire gets in the roof it’ll be the end of us.’

  Ormis looked at his two charges. ‘Kring will go first to scatter them and we’ll follow. We’re going right around the back and through the corn field. You must stay close and follow my lead without hesitation. Can you do that?’

  Kye nodded, seemingly for the both of them.

  Ormis took two small knives from under his cloak and handed one to each of them. ‘If something happens to us, don’t let them take you alive. Get to the Caliste if you can. Tell them everything that happened and they’ll help you.’

  Kye stared at his knife, but the thought of what he might soon be using it for rendered it alien in his hand. Everything was happening to fast. As the first wisps of acrid smoke entered his nose, he understood he might die here. And possibly quite soon. A few minutes ago he had been sitting in the cell, wondering what he would tell Bill when he arrived. He realised now that he might never see him ever again.

  ‘Kye are you okay?’

  ‘Emilie?’

  Ormis grabbed his shoulders. ‘Your sister is here?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Outside somewhere.’

  His brow furrowed as he studied him. ‘Did you call her here? When you were in the cell?’

  ‘No’

  ‘Send her away. Do it now.’

  Kye understood that this was
no time to argue. The exorcist’s grip was hurting and the smell of smoke was getting stronger. He spoke to his sister while the exorcist stared into his eyes. ‘Emilie - you have to go.’

  ‘He can’t hear me, just listen. You’ve got to get out quick – the whole front of the holdings is on fire. The men are guarding the door, but I’ll try to frighten them away. Quick Kye before it’s too late.’

  ‘Has she gone?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You better not be lying to me boy.’

  ‘I’m not.’

  Ormis signalled Kring and the giant led them to the front corridor. The fire was already into the eves and thick fingers of smoke were reaching up from the angle between the front wall and the roof. Wood crackled, fire whispered and fresh fuel clattered against the door.

  Ormis looked back at Kye and Della. ‘Count three after I’ve gone then come out together, quick as you can. If you run, the flames won’t hurt you. Once you’re out - head around the right side of the building to the back. Use the wagon for cover.’ He turned back to Kring who was now crouched behind the door; waiting for his signal. ‘Alright then. Whenever you’re ready.’

  Flash Thawed

  The villagers watched with grim satisfaction as the entire front of the holdings went up in flames. The cart was empty and those with pitchforks leant idly against them, squinting into the raging flames as sweat beaded their brows. But then one of them gasped and raised his tool like a weapon. Those close to him saw it as a sign of an imminent break out and braced for it. The bowmen saw them stir and took aim at the burning door. But when the man who gasped saw the other making ready he realised they had misinterpreted his reaction. ‘No look! There’s something in the fire!’