by J. Z. Foster
Maybe I can’t do it now, but I need to make sure that someone else can, that someone else can pick up where we left off.
“I’m not insane.” Richard shot a defiant look at Minges. “There’s a witch loose in Bridgedale and I’m the only hope there is against him now. I might not live out the night, but another will come after me.”
Minges sighed and nodded. “Probably will do our defense better if you keep spouting it all anyways. So, what happened next?”
“This uh... this shouldn’t be too hard. I think.” Richard struggled to keep his teeth from chittering as he laid down in the cold van. He had removed his coat as part of the ritual, which called for him to bare himself to the world. Richard was pretty sure that meant to be naked, but he was hoping that taking off his jacket would be enough. Ted had driven them down one of the old roads and parked off to the side, hoping for some privacy.
The wight was hunched over him, struggling to fit into the small space of the van. “How frail a thing man is, that the elements can harm you so. Is it possible you may die?”
“What, from just a few minutes without my jacket? Come on, I’m not that bad!” His skin prickled, but it was important he have as much skin exposed as possible. Something to do with the meditation phase.
“Well, this is as quiet as it’s gonna get,” Ted said, looking out from the front seat. “Sure you don’t want me to leave the heat running?”
“N-no. It’s okay. But man oh man, it’s getting cold fast.”
They had pulled the seats out of the van and set them on the side of the road. Richard had placed a few candles around and drawn some shapes inside a circle. He laid between them in the cramped news van, thankful that it was big enough and he didn’t have to do it outside.
“We can’t do anything else, Richard? Only watch?” Beth asked from the passenger’s seat.
“Just make sure nothing bothers me while I do it, all right? I’d really hate to wake up to find something chewing on my toe or something.” He rubbed his hands together. “I just need to lay here and focus.” He crushed some herbs he had taken from his kit, rubbed them between his hands, and dragged them across his forehead. “Jeez, I hope I’m doing this right.”
“We’ll watch you, buddy, don’t worry.” Ted said without so much as a glance back. He kept his gaze scouring the outside.
Richard nodded and lay back. “Just try and stay quiet so I can focus.”
“Let’s just step outside, Ted,” Beth said with a smile to Richard. “Good luck.”
“I will watch over my human,” the wight said as he thumped down on his hindquarters, causing the van to shake.
“Just don’t eat him.” Ted said before closing the door behind him.
Richard closed his eyes and laid out his hands. The chill of the van seeped into his skin and burrowed into his bones; he clenched his fists in an effort to bite back the cold. Inside, he could hear the heavy breathing of the wight, and through the thin metal walls of the van, the muffled talking of Ted and Beth. Richard drew in deep breaths, filling his lungs from bottom to top. He rubbed the herbs between his fingers and focused on a name, drawing the letters like ink on paper in his mind. He exhaled and etched the letters, one by one.
Erlend Boberg
His friends were right. That name had power, and something more. It sent a buzz through his veins that seemed to stretch out around him. The buzz extended from him like his own flesh and he felt it touch the wight and the van around him.
Erlend Boberg
More than just a name, it was a target. A weakness. A wound left from the days of mortality. Richard focused on it and a creature took form in his mind—a beaked thing with dark feathers that fluttered for a moment in his mind’s eye.
Am I just imaging that? Was that the witch? Am I doing this right?
He tried harder to focus, drawing up mental walls around the witch’s name so that nothing else could come in. He worked the herbs through his fingers until he was sure they would leave a dark brown stain across his palms. What did he expect? He didn’t know. He didn’t know what success would look like.
Maybe it will look like some kind of hazy puddle, like in the cartoons?
“You think it’s going to work?” Ted asked, in what might have been a shout for the way it pierced the van.
“I don’t know. We have to give him a chance, though.” Beth responded with equal volume. “Richard is sticking his neck out for the rest of us.”
Damn, they are getting loud.
“We’re only in this mess because he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. What we need to do is go sit our asses down and wait for his buddies to roll in here. Then you and me can just get on out, let the professionals wrap this up.”
“You act like we haven’t talked about this, Ted. The witch could be gone if we just sit on our hands. Are you willing to do that?” The frustration in Beth’s voice was clear.
The beaked figure fluttered through his mind once more. A trail of feathers floated behind it.
Was that the witch?
Whatever it was, he couldn’t hold it. It faded from his mind’s eye along with the name and the walls. He licked his lips and opened his eyes. “Guys, I don’t think I can do it.”
The wight didn’t look at him; instead, it was leaning into the front seat and staring through the window, as if it had seen something.
“It didn’t work.” Richard leaned up and rubbed his hands together. He was warm now, maybe too warm. Clearly the van wasn’t the best location. “I guess I have to go outside.” The wight ignored him still, its head shifting slightly from side to side as if to focus.
Richard grunted and turned to grab the latch on the van, but found it impossible. His hand sifted through it and went straight through the door of the van. He lost himself in panic and fell through the van door, colliding with the ground. His head shot up to see the van door unopened.
He jolted up and saw Beth and Ted talking undisturbed. Richard started taking short, shallow breaths and looked at his own hands—they seemed pale compared to what they were before and the chill was gone.
I’m inside the void. The place between. I’m in The Outside.
Everything was pale. The words were no longer muffled by the van; the trees stretched impossibly high and at strange angles. Snow came down in small flakes and collected on the ground, despite this, he no longer felt a chill. He didn’t feel anything at all.
“There you are, little witch,” a voice said from up in the trees, behind him and in front of him all at once.
Richard struggled to his feet and shouted, “Who’s there? Tell me!”
It’s not supposed to be like this. I’m not supposed to be out of my body.
A black mass of charcoal feathers jumped from the trees and glided down to the ground, landing silently. It rose to stand as tall as a man, but it was no man at all. A large curved beak came from its face, and two small, beady, black eyes glared at Richard, with a third in the center of its forehead. It pulled in its long, black wings, even as more feathers shed from it and burned away when they hit the ground.
“I’m the herald, The Crooked King, The Walker between the here and the there.” Its clawed feet stretched out as it slowly closed the distance between them.
Richard stumbled back, putting another foot between them for each one the beast took. “You are the herald? For the plague witch?”
“I am,” it responded, and kept its slow prowl forward. “Are you surprised, little witch? Are you confused? I think you’re new here, little witch.” It squawked what might have been a laugh. “I don’t think you know what you’re doing.”
“Did you bring me here? What do you want?” Richard clenched his fists and tried to sound strong. He glanced once at Ted and Beth, still talking amongst themselves, unaware of the conflict.
“Why? Because it amuses me to do so.” It leapt into the air and flapped its wings only twice, gravity no constraint, before it came down ten feet on the other side of Richard. Mor
e feathers fluttered down, most sizzling away before they met the ground. “This age sees few that walk the planes or hunt. Few that offer challenge. Few that can play the game as did those of the old ages. What little we see are those that stumble upon this place. Long dead are the orders of the slayers that may have provided challenge, now only the likes of you, the few and accidental. Such a bore, this is. Do what you can for me, little witch, run for me. Run for me so that I may enjoy this a moment longer.” It stomped a single claw forward and fully spread its black wings, from tip to tip, farther than Richard’s height. “Run!”
The fear caught him, and Richard ran to the woods as fast as his legs could carry him. He shot one glance back to see The Crooked King leap mightily into the air and flap his powerful wings over Richard.
Oh God, oh God! Run faster, run faster!
Richard’s mind spun into a panic, unable to draw up any thoughts but run and faster.
Above, the herald squawked, a laugh that echoed through the world he was trapped in. It swept down like a bird of prey and cut across Richard’s shoulder before taking to the air again. Richard cried out and shot his hand to the wound, his fingers drew back, wet with bright red blood. Real blood.
That hurt! Oh my God! It can cut me here!
It came to a perch far above in the trees, which didn’t seem to move despite the size of the thing. “I’ve been watching you, little witch. I’ve been following you from here to there and here again. Such a curious thing you are, to have such power and to know such things. Do you know the words you speak, or do you mock them? Are you like a fool with fire?”
Richard clenched his hand around the wound. “I’m not a witch!” He yelled up. “I didn’t mean to be here! I didn’t mean to get into any of this!”
“And yet, here you are. You stir your finger into arts that you don’t know, failing as often as you succeed. You challenge a thing that is the scourge of men, a thing no longer chained to a mortal coil. You dance with it like your blood runs as red as a god’s. But I’ve seen your blood. I’ve tasted it, and I find it as bland and tasteless as every other man of this age.” It jumped to another branch, flapping its wings but once. “Perhaps you can have a purpose. Perhaps he’ll let me keep you, little witch. You are fun to chase and I enjoy your screams. Audacity is amusing in its own way. In time, you may find a way to serve.”
“I, uh...” He let the pain help him focus. “Maybe, sure, but I’ve never really been much for servitude.” He saw red slip down his arm and drip from his fingers; it fell to the snow but left no marks. He looked back to see that there were no footprints in the snow. This wasn’t his world. This was a different game, and one he didn’t know how to play.
Think, Richard. You’re not scrying. He pulled you in here somehow. Or stopped you here, or maybe this is the Mind Brace or Witch’s Dance. It doesn’t matter. You can’t win here. What can you do? You can get back. That’s all you can do. Black leaf and ephemeral salt can pull something out.
The cogs turned in his mind, drawing his thoughts to his satchel and the ingredients inside.
“Well I... Yeah maybe though? I mean, you seem pretty cool,” Richard said to the crow.
“Eh?” it said as its head cocked to one side.
He took several steps back. “What exactly would the servitude entail?” Richard raised his eyebrows to feign as much interest as possible.
“Nothing you would enjoy, I am sure, little witch. But your consideration is of little concern.” It leapt to a closer branch.
“Of course, of course.” He took two more steps back in the direction of the van. “That’s obvious. But isn’t it lonely, being stuck out here? Why are you called The Crooked King, anyway?”
“I am king of this domain, little witch. Ruler of where you walk.” There might have been some pride in its words.
“Oh yeah? And this place is lovely, obviously. I mean, seriously, I get the crooked part. That’s your beak, right?” Richard laughed nervously. “But really, are you a king of anything if you are a servant to the plague witch? Wouldn’t a better title be The Crooked Duke or something?”
“Fool!” In a blur, the crow leapt from the branch to the ground. “Your tongue lashes out at your betters! You will not need it to scream, so I will tear it from you!”
Richard didn’t wait. He turned to run, while the thing squawked behind him. He looked back over his shoulder to see it launch itself into the air.
“Oh shit, oh shit!” he swore to himself as he dashed through the ethereal world.
“Run!” It shrieked from above. “Run!”
Richard caught sight of the van again, Beth and Ted still casually talking to the side. “Beth!” Richard yelled, but she didn’t notice. He stumbled over his own feet and hit the ground face-first. He slid across the ground like it was ice, turning over on end and gliding across the surface, straight through the van. When he came to a stop just beneath the van, he sat up, his head pressing through the bottom, and gasped when he saw his own body.
The crow shot through the back end of the van, sticking its head through the doors and lashing its hooked talons out at Richard. The wight turned to them—its ears perked and its tongue licked out to taste the air. Its eyes turned to focus on the blood leaking from Richard’s shoulder.
Richard shoved the thought to the back of his mind and grasped for his bag, but his hands slid through it as easily as they did the van. “Oh no!”
“Was that your plan?” The crow stepped from the outside into the van, pulling itself in and using this world in ways Richard didn’t know were possible. “Is that black leaf and salt I smell? A pity. That would have been quite useful to you. You are excellently supplied. But I am the king of this domain, and you can use nothing here that I would not have you use.”
“Help me!” Richard yelled in desperation. The wight’s ears shifted.
Can it hear me? Maybe it can—it’s from The Outside, after all.
“Ah, the wight. Worry not for it. The master will have it bound again soon.”
“Wight!” Richard yelled again, causing it to snap its head and shake the van. “Black leaf and salt! Get the black leaf and salt!”
The crow’s eyes focused, curious for a moment. “What are you doing?”
“Get the friggin’ black leaf and salt!” Richard screamed as loud as he could. The wight shot to his satchel and began to sniff at the pouches.
“No!” The crow jumped forward and ripped at Richard with its claws.
The crow’s body was whole, and Richard grabbed at its wings, holding its claws back. “The black leaf! The salt!” He screamed again. The crow’s beak came down onto his head, digging into his scalp with a piercing blow. Richard screamed again, not sure if it had gotten through his skull.
Then he gasped in air, real air, just as the cold was on him once more. The wight’s hand was up, throwing the black leaf into the air. Richard’s eyes shot from side to side, dazed and confused. A ghastly hand yanked him from behind, smashing him against the back of the van and pulling him up until he cracked into the roof. “And the salt! And the salt!” He yelled again and again. He was free for a moment before another yank pulled him hard and the van’s back doors opened. He slammed into Ted.
“What the hell is going on, Richard?” Ted yelled from the ground.
“The salt, the salt!” Richard was dragged across the ground by something unseen. The wight stretched its long legs and arms from the van and hurled a handful of salt at Richard. It hit him and brought the crow into their world.
The monstrous crow, a disjointed mockery of man and bird, shrieked and tried to pull Richard up. It found the winds of the real world heavier than those of its domain and couldn’t get into the air. The wight leaped from the van and collided with the crow as Richard was thrown in the scuffle.
Richard bashed into the ground, but he laughed—the pain was no consequence to him. He laughed as it faltered, as it flailed against the wight.
You’re not the king here, crow. This
isn’t your world. This is ours.
The wight found no need to exert itself against the much weaker creature and its hollow bones. Instead, it wrapped its long fingers around an arm-wing and ripped it loose with ease, creating a gush of blood. The wight thrashed it against the ground with heavy blows.
Richard shook off the daze and stood up. “Hold it! Don’t kill it!” Richard shouted through squinting eyes. The wound on his head was bleeding as fast as he could rub it away. He rubbed the tip of his sleeve over his forehead, staining it red in the process.
The wight roared in anger, but obeyed. It turned and thumped the bird against the ground. Feathers fell off but no longer burned.
Richard turned to spit up a gob of blood onto the dirt. “Listen here!”
“No!” The herald chirped. “I am The Crooked King! I am The Lord of the Between! I won’t be held to your submission!”
“Oh yeah?” Ice water seemed to shoot into Richard’s veins and his fists clenched. “You’re about to become Lord of the Wight’s Lower Intestine if you don’t shut up and listen!” Richard paused and looked at Beth. “The lower intestine is the one before it becomes poo, right?” He turned back to the crow. “And you were only a duke anyway! A duke at best.”
“Shall I begin the feast?” An eager, fanged smile crept across the wight’s face.
“No!” The crow squawked. “Unhand me!”
The wight slid its large hand around the beak and pinched it shut.
Richard’s hand shook. He hadn’t been able to scry the witch and they were no closer to the end of this night. Instead, he had a head wound and several fewer components to work with. He was as close to death then as he had been at any other point in the night. This thing would have played with him, would have enjoyed enslaving him, or pulling pieces of him apart—and now he had the opportunity to do to it what it might have done to him. Anger growled inside of him.
“Richard, what is this?” Beth closed the distance, with Ted right behind her. “Is it the witch?”