“Get some rest, we can talk again in the morning,” said Cerille. “Come by my house for breakfast.”
“What do you want me to do with it?” asked Vargus, gesturing at the beast’s head.
Cerille pursed her lips and he thought she was going to spit. “Bury it,” was all she said before she left in a hurry. He wondered if she’d been having nightmares about her fall into the crevasse.
With that, the crowd began to disperse, finishing off their drinks and ducking out the door in large numbers. After only a few minutes, the room was almost empty apart from a couple of tables occupied by old-timers speaking in loud voices.
Half asleep on his feet, Vargus sought his bed in the bunkhouse and was out almost as soon as his head touched the pillow. He didn’t even hear Lanny’s snores he was so far under, in a place far from dreams or nightmares.
Early the next morning, they visited the bathhouse and put on fresh clothes while their smoke- and bloodstained garments were left to dry in the sun. When they arrived at Cerille’s house, she answered the door before Vargus had a chance to knock.
Her modest home was tidy and bright with the curtains and windows thrown open. The village baker had been absent last night at the tavern, but his early morning work was sat on Cerille’s table, sliced and ready. Lanny smeared a huge dollop of butter on the warm bread and wolfed it down before Vargus had eaten half of his.
“It’s so good,” said Lanny with his mouth full. Vargus could only agree as the bread was still so fresh and tasty. Cerille poured them both a cup of tea which Lanny sniffed before guzzling with as much vigour as the bread. Once they’d eaten their fill of sliced bread and cheese, and the teapot was empty, Vargus helped Cerille tidy up.
“I’m sorry we didn’t come here first last night,” said Vargus after they were settled at the table again. “We were both so hungry.”
“Hungry,” echoed Lanny, eyeing the last slice of bread. Cerille slid the plate across the table, handing him a knife for the butter.
“That’s all right,” she said, surprising Vargus. He’d met other Elders who would have held a grudge at the slight. “It’s good, in a way. It saves me from having to tell the story fifty times over. Now they’ll spread it around by themselves.”
Every person in the village would know the whole story by nightfall. He wanted to be long gone from Morgan’s Creek before then. There was no reason to stay any more.
“We did find some other items,” said Vargus, placing the jewellery and the remaining belongings on the table between them. He’d managed to remove the severed finger and clean the ring of blood. This included the red ribbon and leather bracelet which he guessed had belonged to one of the missing teenagers. Cerille reached out to pick up the bracelet but then stopped, her hand hovering over it. “I thought you could return them to the families.”
“Were there any people?” she finally asked.
“No one was left alive. But there were pieces,” he said, wishing there was another way to describe it. Cerille snatched her hand back and continued to stare at the items on the table. “We thought it was better to burn what we found and say a prayer to the Maker.” One of Lanny eyelids twitched but that was the only outward sign that his old friend was listening. Thankfully, neither he nor the boy said anything about the little lie.
“I’ll see that the families are informed,” said Cerille, leaning back in her chair. Suddenly she didn’t seem quite so young any more. The weight of knowledge and keeping secrets was a terrible burden.
Even though the families wouldn’t be able to say goodbye to their loved ones, at least this would give them a sense of closure.
“What really happened?” asked Cerille, breaking the thoughtful silence that had settled on her kitchen. Lanny’s eyelid flickered again.
“What do you mean?” asked Vargus.
“I remember falling,” she said, rubbing her forehead. “And then I was in a shallow cave. Both of you were there. I could hear you talking, but the words are jumbled. I can almost make them out.” She strained to remember and Vargus tensed, willing her to forget.
“I carried you on my back,” said Lanny, distracting Cerille. She looked up and the strain eased from her face. She smiled at the boy, patting his hand with affection.
“Yes, you did. Thank you.”
“We’ll be moving on this morning,” said Vargus. He was keen to leave Morgan’s Creek and not return for a long time. Hopefully upon his next visit, the villagers would have forgotten all about him and his peculiar nephew.
“Lanny, why don’t you go and fetch the horses from the stables?” suggested Cerille. “I’m sure Finn the stable master will help you saddle them.”
Oblivious to the peculiar air of tension in the room, Lanny grinned and hurried out the door, leaving it swinging wide. He returned a moment later, wringing his hands. “Thank you for the bread. It was very tasty,” he said.
“You’re welcome,” replied Cerille.
With another quick grin he was off, remembering to close the door behind him this time.
“He’s a sweet boy,” said Cerille.
“Yes, he is.”
“When you first arrived, I felt that there was something peculiar about the pair of you. I just didn’t know what it was. Even now, after everything you’ve done for us, my heart is telling me one thing, and my gut something else.” Vargus was reminded again why, despite her age, the villagers had chosen her to be their Elder. “Who are you?” she finally asked.
“I am the Gath,” he said. There was a flicker of recognition behind her eyes which made him smile. “In every village and town in Seveldrom, an Elder is chosen to lead. And in every community, you will normally find an old sage with a long memory of times gone by. But even they do not know everything.”
“And you do?” asked Cerille.
Vargus laughed and shook his head. “No, but I’ve seen more than you can imagine and faced creatures far worse than a man-eating bear. If you ever need help again, if something unexplained happens, send word north via the Elders. One of them will know how to find me.”
It was another seed planted. One that might take root and help sustain him in the future. He had no idea if he would or could be the Gath for a long time, but it was unexpected events like these that gave him the best chance of survival.
Cerille was perfectly capable of solving most problems by herself. But one day, in the years to come, something would happen. Something Cerille couldn’t explain or understand and then she would remember. She’d remember the bear, the strange man-child and his uncle. And she’d remember the Gath.
Chapter 12
After leaving Morgan’s Creek, they spent the next month picking up work in villages across the south of Seveldrom. They only stayed in each settlement for a few days. Long enough to earn some money but not to cause any ripples. Lanny received a few stares and some laughter at his expense, but after so long they were both used to it.
There were a few moments of lucidity, when the boy faded into the background, but they never lasted for long. It seemed as if his old friend was happy to watch and wait. Perhaps in time he would grow tired of being a passenger and return to them. Perhaps.
Each night, Vargus listened carefully to the locals talking in taverns and ale-houses. Much to his relief, none of it was about the bear in Morgan’s Creek or the two of them. A few people were talking about what the Gath had done for the people of Elmsbrooke, but that was to be expected. Raiders had been a problem for a long time this far south, particularly for remote settlements that were far away from the King’s justice. People were grateful for what the Gath had done and it seemed certain they would call on him again to resolve similar problems in the future.
A week later, they arrived in Selby Chase, a large village with two churches and three taverns. There were plenty of visitors, so they didn’t stand out, but Lanny’s size and way of talking drew some attention from those they met.
For the next month, he and Lanny worked in the quar
ry or the forests, carrying stone and felling trees. As ever, people soon came to appreciate Lanny’s strength and exuberance. He never complained, was always polite and was stronger than any other man.
The village was a lot busier than any they’d visited in months and Vargus was keen to catch up on news from further afield. Merchants from the capital made the long trip this far south as Selby Chase had three iron mines, two timber mills and a quarry. It wouldn’t be long before it became a town as more people were flooding in all the time and building new homes.
As well as trade, the merchants brought news from abroad which Vargus filtered, sorting the wheat from the chaff.
The newly crowned King of Zecorria, Raeza, was already showing worrying signs of instability. In less than a month, he’d accused his wife of plotting to kill him and had her beheaded. He’d stabbed his cousin to death for singing too loudly and was threatening to go to war with both neighbouring countries. People were already calling him the Bloody King and thought him insane. But Vargus wondered if he really had lost his mind or if it was part of a devious scheme. It might be worth taking a trip to Yerskania, perhaps to Perizzi as the heart of the west, to keep a closer eye on developing events.
Another popular story was that the Grey Council at the Red Tower in Shael had abandoned their posts. Rumours claimed that they’d gone in search of their messiah from prophecy who would change the course of magic in the world forever. People wondered what it meant for children being born with magic in the future if the school was closed.
As well as listening to news from afar, Vargus paid close attention to stories from the village. After three weeks, he found what he was looking for and approached a woman named Ailsa. She’d been widowed three months ago when her husband had died in an accident in the quarry. With a loan for their newly built house, she was struggling to meet the weekly payments, even though she was working two jobs. Her debt had been purchased by a lender called Creen, who wanted her out. Despite offering a reasonable rate, no one wanted to rent a room in her house. Vargus suspected Creen was responsible but had no way to prove it.
Ailsa stared at Vargus and Lanny for a long time after he knocked on her door. “I’ve seen you both around. You’re working at the mill.”
“May we come in?” asked Vargus. “We can go out if you’d prefer?”
Ailsa was thin and pale with dark rings under her eyes from lack of sleep. He also wondered when she’d last had a decent meal. “Come in,” she said, holding the door wide.
“Don’t suppose you’re here to rent the room?” she asked.
“In a way,” said Vargus, waiting for her to sit down at the kitchen before he did. Lanny explored the room, staring at all of her belongings, but his arms were crossed over his chest. He’d learned not to touch delicate things as they often broke in his massive hands.
“This is my nephew, Lanny,” said Vargus. “He also works at the mill.” Lanny grinned at Ailsa and waved. A smile briefly touched her lips and she waved back, which Vargus took as a good sign. “I heard about your troubles and would like to help.”
“Why?” she asked, folding her arms over her chest.
“Because I need your help as well.”
Ailsa’s frown faded a little, but she was still suspicious. “My help with what?”
“My work often takes me north or even abroad for months at a time,” said Vargus, pointing at the sword on his back. “It’s dangerous and no place for someone like Lanny. He might look like a grown man, but he’s really just a boy. He needs someone who can look after him. Help him remember things when he forgets, like going to work, or to comb his hair.”
“And how would you help me?” she asked, although he was certain she knew what he was suggesting. One of the reasons he’d chosen Ailsa was that she worked as a bookkeeper for Remac, the owner of the largest mine, and Hekla, the owner of the mill. Her second job was serving drinks at nights in one of the taverns.
“Lanny, why don’t you show Ailsa how much money you made this week,” suggested Vargus.
The boy came to the table and put down his coin pouch. “This is what they gave me at the mill,” he said, opening it and dropping several coins onto the table.
Ailsa’s eyes widened in surprise. “So much?”
“Is it a lot?” asked Lanny, who didn’t understand the value of money. “I just kept chopping and carrying trees until they told me to stop.”
“He’s as strong as an ox, but gentle as a lamb,” said Vargus, scooping the coins up and putting them back in the pouch. “If you look after him and give him a good home, you’ll get all of his wages until your debt is paid.”
“You look tired,” said Lanny, inadvertently touching on her main problem. She couldn’t continue working such long hours in both jobs. It was already affecting her health.
“What happens when the house is mine?” she asked.
“Take whatever you need from his wages for rent, food, and put the rest aside. Give him a little for spending money every now and then, but only if he does his chores around the house.” Vargus give her a wink which Lanny missed.
“I can clean!” he protested. “And I know how to make my bed and peel potatoes, and chop firewood. I’m very good at chopping.”
“I’m sure you are,” said Ailsa, favouring him with a smile which had a remarkably calming effect on Lanny as he sat down. Vargus knew that he would dote on her as much as the last family who had given him shelter. Anyone who tried to hurt her would also be in for a rude and painful awakening.
“What do you say?” asked Vargus.
It didn’t take her long to decide. The moment she had smiled, he knew what her answer would be.
For the next week, they both lived with Ailsa while sorting out arrangements, but it was clear from the first day it was going to work out. Ailsa stopped serving drinks at night and started sleeping and eating again. After a few days, her pallor faded and she regained some of her good humour.
On his last day in the village, Vargus took Lanny on a walk into the forest. “I need you to promise to be good for Ailsa.”
“I will. She’s very nice. I like it when she smiles.”
“Me too.”
“It’s nice and quiet up here,” said Lanny, slapping his palm against one of the nearest trees. “Some days it’s too noisy down there. There are too many people.”
Vargus checked they were alone and then turned to face the boy. “You’ve been hiding for too long. It’s my fault. I thought you needed peace and quiet, so I always chose remote villages, but it’s kept you apart from the world.” The boy was still looking at him but Vargus suspected his old friend was listening.
“What do you mean?” he said and Vargus didn’t know who was asking him the question.
“Every week, merchants bring news from the outside world.”
“Bad news,” came the reply.
“Sometimes,” Vargus conceded. “But not always. This way, you’ll hear about what’s happening out there. A lot of changes are coming. I can feel them.”
It wasn’t his old power that told him, just instinct. It was his hope that, in time, the Maker would realise the worth of the races and see how much they’d changed. Then, and only then, would he return to the world.
He might claim they were coping fine without him. That the mortal races didn’t really need him to return. But no one alive remembered how it had been before. Every toothless old-timer sat in the corner of a tavern spoke about the good old days. How it had been a golden time in their youth when the world was a kinder and safer place. They didn’t know it, but there was an element of truth to that.
Vargus’s memory was much longer than theirs and he could compare the two.
Now there was an inherent thinness and brittle feeling to everything. It was as if stamping your foot, just a little too hard, might break through the surface of the ground to the hollow within. News from abroad travelled much further and faster than ever before, but all it seemed to do was bring misery as it was rare
ly good.
Worse was the swirling web of chaos that moved from one place to the next, stirring up conflict and bloodshed. It was random, could appear anywhere and at any time and seemed to be happening more often. The others dismissed it as growing pains of the races and they believe it was a transition that would eventually pass. Vargus hoped they were right but he had his doubts.
“You’re leaving, aren’t you?” said the boy, interrupting his reverie.
“Yes,” said Vargus, suddenly feeling very tired. “It’s time for me to go home.”
Chapter 13
As he travelled away from Selby Chase towards home, Vargus felt tension easing from his body. Part of him didn’t even realise how tense he’d been until he felt the knots in his shoulders and neck.
On the first night heading north, he stopped off at a village and soaked in a hot bath until the water turned cool. The water and quiet in the bathhouse worked some of the stiffness from his body. After a tasty meal, he slept peacefully without dreams and woke the next morning feeling refreshed.
For a little while, he was without responsibility. There was no mission for him as the Gath. No urgent missive to relocate Lanny and there had not been word from his extended family in some time. He suspected it was merely the calm before a storm, but he decided to enjoy the peace while it lasted.
Meandering on his way north, he stopped off at several villages which were some distance from the main roads. Each night in the taverns, he listened to see how far stories about the Gath had spread. By now most settlements had heard about him, and Vargus listened closely for any unexplained events that might warrant his attention. He discreetly met with a few Elders as well, making himself known to them, and explaining how best to contact him if there was ever a need. Despite those sometimes awkward and tense conversations, it was a pleasant journey.
Each day he spent in solitude, rarely speaking and merely listening to the land around him. Each night he blended in with the locals and soaked up the atmosphere of the communities.
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