The Never King

by James Abbott

  ‘It seems we’ll be able to look down on you for a night or two,’ Birgitta replied. ‘So, Helkor, what business does a priest of the Goddess have with two of the sisterhood?’

  ‘I will be blunt with you,’ he began. ‘We have experienced trouble in the village and I wondered if you could help.’

  Birgitta regarded him silently for a moment. ‘What kind of trouble?’

  ‘We have seen . . . events. A couple of deaths, even, which are related to such . . . events.’

  ‘What do you mean by “events”, precisely?’ Birgitta demanded. ‘A drunken party that got out of hand?’

  ‘Occurrences, I should say,’ the priest corrected. ‘Unnatural things have occurred in the village.’

  Birgitta gestured for the priest to continue.

  ‘It is hard to say this without sounding like a madman, but one month ago, in a house at the other end of the village, the walls began to . . . to bleed.’

  Elysia opened her mouth in shock, but when she saw Birgitta’s calm demeanour she composed herself.

  ‘As in,’ Birgitta said, ‘blood seeping through the walls? Or blood was merely seen on the walls?’

  ‘The former. Walls that were absent of any marking began to bleed. The property was used by one of the senior workers in the timber mill. He invited three other people – myself included – to witness the phenomenon for ourselves. And, by the Goddess, we can confirm it is true.’

  ‘You’re certain it was blood, though? Not some kind of strange rain funnelling through an old roof, or . . . ?’

  ‘It was blood, my lady,’ Priest Helkor said softly, glancing to the floorboards. ‘As sure as I am standing here.’

  ‘You mention occurrences, suggesting there were more than one. What else has happened?’

  ‘Two people have gone missing. Good men, hard workers, with families. There was no reason for either of them to vanish, but they did – a week apart. Just no sign of them.’

  ‘What else?’

  ‘You think these are not enough?’ the priest asked.

  ‘I think they represent ill news indeed, but I want to know as much as possible.’

  ‘Livestock has been left half-eaten. We thought it might have been wolves at first, but what creature consumes half a bull?’

  Birgitta closed her eyes and nodded.

  Eventually she said, ‘Show me this house of blood.’

  *

  Within minutes they were standing outside the property, with a chill wind at their backs and the priest holding aloft a flickering torch in front of the door. It was an old house, made of whitewashed stone. It was on the edge of the village and facing along the road down into the forest. At this time of night all that lay out there was darkness.

  ‘I haven’t been here for two days,’ Helkor said. ‘The owner is a simple elderly labourer at the mill. He’s moved in with relatives since the incident.’

  The priest explained that there were two rooms on the ground floor, and one large room above, with a small out-house behind and a garden filled with aromatic herbs. Elysia thought it pleasant, if a little eerie at this hour.

  Helkor eased open the door and peered through. The sisters followed him inside. The light of the torch barely touched the shadows, so Birgitta pulled out a white witchstone, muttered the words to activate it and placed the brightening gem in the centre of the room. Light began to pulse towards a dazzling state, until it mellowed, leaving no room at all for patches of darkness to lurk. The priest gasped at the act, but then was astonished at what the witchstone had illuminated.

  Elysia turned a full circle to see the rust-red colour of dried blood caked all across the walls and most of the ceiling. And within the dark surface were hundreds of words, in a jagged, harsh script.

  ‘It’s almost childlike writing.’ Elysia marvelled at how the lines seemed to fill every nook and cranny of the blood-covered walls, winding about each other in strange patterns. ‘It must have taken hours to complete.’

  ‘No child did this,’ Birgitta said. ‘An unsteady hand perhaps, an erratic hand more likely, but this language is old. Oh, by the source, these words are different.’

  ‘Do you recognize what any of it says?’

  ‘These words are not from our shores, little sister, and most of this is illegible to me. A few phrases I do understand, from books I thought ridiculous at the time, for they spoke of lands no one of this continent has seen in many a century. Here –’ she gestured to a place above a small wooden table – ‘it roughly translates as from the darkness beyond. Here it speaks of the importance of wisdom and knowledge. And here it says . . . well, not very nice things about the people of our land. Barbarians, it calls us. Simple creatures, or something very similar. This large bit on the ceiling could be translated as We are coming. Same here.’

  Helkor shifted his gaze from the walls to the sisters. ‘This is grave news. I swear that these words were not here previously.’

  ‘No, I suspect it’s rather difficult to write in wet blood, which is how it would have been when you saw it. When did you say the workers went missing?’

  ‘About two or three days prior to the event here,’ Helkor replied. ‘So that would be several days ago now. By the Goddess, you don’t think that this is their blood do you?’

  ‘I try not to make assumptions,’ Birgitta replied. ‘But I wouldn’t expect to see those men again any time soon.’

  ‘Who could do something like this?’ he asked.

  ‘Do you think it’s a wicked trick someone is playing?’ Elysia asked. ‘To scare the villagers?’

  ‘A good line of thought, little sister,’ Birgitta said. ‘I know King Mardonius is reaching into villages to purge elements of the Goddess. He is a clever sort, and these mind games wouldn’t be too much of a leap for him to scare away folk. But, why bother? Why not just send in some soldiers to knock a statue to the ground and torment the locals as he has done elsewhere?’

  ‘Surely you don’t think that would be any better?’ Helkor asked incredulously.

  ‘I’m not saying either of these things would be good,’ Birgitta said. ‘My point is that this is complex. Not only do we have the mystery of the walls bleeding, but we have the added sophistication of someone coming in here, writing on every available space, and in a script that is not from our land.’

  ‘So what are you saying?’ Helkor asked.

  ‘That I think your village could be beyond salvation. That this –’ she gestured to the walls – ‘is likely a warning from something beyond the everyday realm. Yes. Whatever did this has given you a warning. My advice is to get the villagers of Dweldor to move on from here.’

  ‘I cannot do that.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because Dweldor is their home,’ Helkor spluttered. ‘These are worrying times and food is scarce, but not here. We prosper. We endure. We are safe.’

  ‘That may well have been the case,’ Birgitta said. ‘But I’d put a good few gold coins on this village suffering something far worse than a shortage of food before long.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘This is merely my advice,’ Birgitta said dismissively. ‘You may wish to take counsel with the village elders. But I can only say what I think, based on my experiences of such matters. That is why you asked me, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, but what exactly do you propose I tell people? That a witch simply told us to leave—’

  Birgitta’s glare cut him short.

  The priest gave a sigh. ‘I apologize for the way I spoke, lady. This is most distressing for us.’

  ‘And I understand that,’ Birgitta replied.

  ‘I simply don’t comprehend what is doing this. The events are not enough to cause us to leave, are they?’

  Birgitta paced around the room, scrutinizing more areas of dried blood with scratched script. ‘A strange and foreign entity did this. The things that have happened to your village so far are possibly a prelude to something far worse. I believe that the creature – if indeed it h
as a form and isn’t some kind of peculiar manifestation – has targeted your village for some reason.’

  The priest opened his mouth without making a noise.

  ‘This room is filled with warnings. Most of the words I can understand are of a threatening nature. We are coming, it says. Over and over again. The word wisdom is used quite a bit. Whatever did this has made itself clear enough, and I have advised you the best I can. Now, Elysia and I need to sleep. It has been a long day for us and we must be on the road again early tomorrow.’

  *

  Elysia could not rid her mind of the sight of the room. It was not that it worried her – she had seen enough strange things in her time at Jarratox – but that it presented a puzzle that she could not yet figure out. Birgitta had made references to an era and country that was rarely spoken about.

  Just what was going on?

  They had returned to their room and sipped a little of the local fruit wine. Birgitta had not mentioned much else about the incident, and Elysia had not bothered her with too many questions. They were both tired. Candles burned low. The noise from the tavern had dimmed down to the last few scrapings of chairs, and the two were beginning to fall into slumber.

  Another call came: a gentle knock. Birgitta sighed a little. Elysia was the one to rise to the beckoning, urgent words.

  ‘Ladies, are you awake? Ladies?’

  She opened the door, casting low light onto the form of the bulky barwoman and the priest.

  ‘We have had an incident,’ Helkor uttered, without greeting or apology. His eyes twitched. ’There’s something out there now.’

  ‘By the bloody source,’ came Birgitta’s voice, ‘what is it now?’

  ‘A creature at the fringes of the forest . . . it has taken a child,’ the woman muttered.

  ‘The boy’s mother is in hysterics,’ Helkor added. ‘Please, can you help?’

  Elysia left the door ajar and stepped back into the room. She threw on her leather jerkin, which she had only moments before taken off, followed by her quiver and bow. Then she glanced at Birgitta, who was beaming at her.

  ‘This is the result of my education,’ she said, winking. ‘The other sisters would have held a council for several hours before deciding to do anything.’ Birgitta turned to the two at the door. ‘Give us two minutes, priest. I am dressed for sleep not for trekking in a dark forest. We’ll see you downstairs.’

  The man nodded solemnly, and the two villagers departed.

  The sisters joined them quickly, Elysia with her bow; Birgitta with the Staff of Shadows and a bag of witchstones. A group of five villagers and the barwoman greeted the sisters, and everyone moved outside into the dark street next to the temple. The villagers all had weapons – axes or swords. Someone lit a torch, but Elysia looked away to the steps of the temple, where a woman was being consoled by the priest. Helkor placed a hand on her shoulder, whispered something and descended to speak with the sisters.

  ‘Come this way,’ he urged, tugging his cloak around him.

  Everyone followed him through the main street towards the edges of the village on the side away from the river. He pointed to a tree whose trunk had claw marks in it. ‘This is where we last saw the child. The boy was originally taken from his home and was spotted here bleeding and screaming. By the Goddess, we came quickly but there was no sign of him. Only these markings by the tree.’

  One of the villagers held the torch towards the markings.

  ‘Would you mind moving the flames away for a moment?’ Birgitta asked.

  Grim-faced, the man did as she requested. From a pouch the older sister produced a red witchstone. She began to the Calorenda spell, for revealing the unseen, and the stone began to glow as it was burning.

  This light would be all a lay person would see, but Birgitta and Elysia were able to recognize patches of colour upon the ground where the boy had once been. The pools of orange and red vanished into the forest.

  ‘At least he was still alive at this point,’ Elysia said.

  ‘That may or may not be a blessing, little sister.’

  ‘What can you see?’ the priest called across.

  ‘Just tracks,’ Birgitta replied. ‘They won’t be discernible to you, but there are definitely signs of the boy having been here.’

  ‘Thank goodness.’

  Birgitta held aloft the stone and pointed it towards the east. Patches of colour had grown elongated, like long, bright brush-strokes made by a painter, indicating the child had been dragged through the trees. Alongside it were ordinary glowing tracks – of something like a tall man – but there was something distinctly unusual about the gait.

  ‘I do not know if the boy will be in a good state,’ Birgitta warned the others. ‘I do not want to raise your expectations.’

  The villagers silently followed the sisters through the trees. Elysia gripped her bow tightly and was ready to draw an arrow from her quiver. The puddles of heat showed up remarkably clearly, although after a good hour they had begun to be less distinct, as if the signs of life had been drained from the child.

  Presently Birgitta handed an arrow to Elysia. ‘If we see anything, use this first. It will cast a magical net on impact around whatever is doing this. I’d like to get a look at it before we do anything else.’

  ‘You think it’s close?’ Elysia took the arrow and gripped it in her right hand.

  ‘I do.’ Birgitta still examined the patches of yellowing light upon the ground, whilst Elysia turned to the hesitant villagers. She did not think they would put their weapons to good use. Behind them was a trail of bright light, their combined heat fierce in the glow of the witchstone.

  ‘Over there,’ Birgitta called. Now she pulled out a white witchstone and hurled it into the distance, casting a bright light all around them. The villagers shaded their eyes.

  A figure could be seen ahead. It was no savage-looking monster. Instead it looked like a human, except that it was taller, narrower, and with longer arms. It was so slender that it could almost be mistaken for a tree, and looked so brittle it might snap. The figure wore armour of a kind, a dark copper colour, although it was hard to see in this light. Its skin was ghostly pale.

  Birgitta nodded to Elysia, who nocked her arrow and watched the thing to see if it was going to move. She released the arrow and the thing darted to the right – and, acting upon instinct, Elysia willed the projectile to follow. It whipped through the air and clipped the creature’s helmet; a magical net exploded across its form, dragging it to the ground.

  ‘You.’ Birgitta pointed the priest. ‘The child is straight ahead. See to him immediately.’

  The villagers hurried towards where the witchstone had landed whilst Birgitta and Elysia rushed through the undergrowth towards their quarry.

  A wail came from the group and Elysia’s instincts told her that the child had been lost.

  The sisters quickly found the figure. It was writhing underneath the net and emitting a sharp hiss as static fizzed across its skin. Clad in an unusual armour, with intricate markings all across it, the figure would have stood much taller than Elysia. Its face was gaunt, its nose slender, and cat-like pupils regarded them fiercely. Birgitta tried speaking to the figure using all manner of words, many of which Elysia had never heard.

  Eventually one word appeared to make it look her way and change its manner.

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘It’s not important what I said,’ Birgitta mused, ‘but rather that the word was one from the same distant language that appeared on the bleeding walls.’

  ‘So this thing did it, then. This is who’s responsible for the strange events.’

  ‘I cannot be sure, little sister. It is certainly connected with them. But none of this sits well with me. I’m concerned that it’s not alone. I’m guessing it has strayed from its countrymen, if one can call them that, and finds itself lost in an unfamiliar land. Which is why it is hunting around this village. Feeding on whatever meat it comes across . . . That was a very
good shot by the way.’

  ‘I barely even realized what I was doing,’ Elysia replied.

  ‘Good. Instincts, you see. Can’t teach you that in books.’

  Suddenly the villagers came running over – one man arced his axe through the air to come striking down upon the trapped being. The others followed suit, trying to bludgeon the figure with cudgels or stab it with blades. The thing screamed horrifically under the torment, but Birgitta was having none of it. She held aloft the Staff of Shadows and called out a short spell. The villagers were cast in darkness and their confusion brought their rain of blows to an end.

  ‘You must wait!’ she snapped. ‘It is likely this figure killed the child, but we know little else about it. Where it came from. What it is doing here. And, most importantly, whether or not there are others of its ilk lurking in the shadows.’

  Elysia could see the villagers, but they could not see anything – not even the sisters. They pressed the air with open palms, seeking the limits of their vision, utterly blind to the world around them. The figure on the ground had stopped its aggressive response to being captured now and lay limp on the forest floor, still enveloped by the magical net.

  ‘This thing you have tried to kill in retaliation is a source of information. Think about that before you try to kill it.’ Birgitta reversed the darkness and brought the villagers back to their normal vision. They still stared fiercely at the sprawled being, and two men spat at it.

  Priest Helkor stepped towards the sisters. ‘I will attempt to restrain our people for now. But what do we do next?’

  ‘This is not our business. It is yours now. I doubt you’ll get support from King Mardonius’s troops, so look to others for guidance.’

  ‘What do we do with it?’ Helkor asked.

  ‘It’s up to you.’

  ‘Do we eventually kill it or let it live in a cell?’

  ‘Shall I decide what you should have for breakfast as well?’ Birgitta snapped. ‘You have a mind, priest. Use it.’

  Elysia smiled as the priest bowed and scuttled towards the other villagers, who had by now moved cautiously away from the sisters and were seeing to the remains of the young boy.