by Ross Turner
Kaylm asked why, if it was all he wanted in the world and he missed it so, had Midnight not gone back to the mountains?
Once more, silence followed.
But this silence was shrouded with regret of all different kinds.
Finally, the old man’s voice sounded again, only this time it was filled with the deep roots of remorse.
He told them then a tale of winter.
But not just any old winter, for the harshest of the seasons was always at its worst high up amidst the clouds, where the air is thin and cold.
The winter he told them of was the coldest and the harshest, the darkest and the longest, and the cruellest and least forgiving he had ever known.
Snowstorms, whiteouts and blizzards swept through the peaks relentlessly, blanketing their world in fog and ice and hail and snow, threatening to never end.
As the old man Midnight spoke, the sound of his voice wove visions into the witch Marcii’s mind until she could virtually see and even feel the places he was describing.
With its high peaks and beautiful scenery and harsh seasons, the young Dougherty shivered visibly, as the mere memories of Midnight’s woes crept their way into her very soul.
Chapter Seven
“I was only young…” The old man admitted. “I know that. But I had known cold. I had known hunger. Better than most.”
He sighed deeply and Marcii felt his sorrow, though she wasn’t entirely sure how she understood it so intimately.
“But that winter…” He went on. “It was so fierce, so angry. It was nearly impossible to survive. We crammed two dozen people into a single shack, all huddled like sardines around the fire, freezing and starving…”
Marcii couldn’t imagine it.
“And even still, we only just managed to stay alive…”
“So what happened?” Kaylm questioned, somehow seeming to shatter the silence into a million pieces, even though Midnight’s words already filled the air.
“Marauders…” The old man replied, barely taking another breath, staring the young Evans square in the face. “Thieves, rapists, murderers…” He went on. “They descended upon our village, fleeing the storm…”
“Fleeing the storm?” Kaylm asked, confused. “Where did they come from?”
“From higher up in the mountains…” Midnight explained. “Those steep ridges and gullies are littered with caves and wasteland camps. Criminals hide there to escape the long arm of the law, of one kind or another. Most of them just want to be as far away from civilisation as possible…”
“Why didn’t they just stay in their caves?” Kaylm pressed further still. “Why not just ride out the storm?”
But Midnight sighed and shook his head. The night seemed to darken all around them, as if they were swiftly running out of time.
“It wasn’t enough…” The old man tried to explain. “This storm wasn’t like anything else I’ve ever seen…I can’t describe it…”
This time it was Marcii’s turn to cut in, for Midnight’s words carried with them now a hint of something that she herself had sensed recently, though she didn’t fully understand it.
“What do you mean?” She asked, looking into him with her luminous, yellow eyes, contrasted so against his black coals.
“I don’t know why…” The old man began, recalling something that undoubtedly he would never in a thousand years let slip from his memory. “But that storm wasn’t just set into motion by Mother Nature…” He described, almost musingly. “She remained with it the whole while. Instead of just releasing it like She usually would and letting it run its course, She drove it, forced it. She stirred it up into a frenzy and lashed it out in all directions…”
Marcii was mesmerised by his words.
She too knew they were running out of time and the look on Malorie’s face only confirmed her suspicions. But nevertheless, the young Dougherty simply couldn’t tear herself away from the old man’s words.
“There was no escape. They were desperate.” He went on. “They fled their caves and their camps and found their way to our village. We had nothing to offer them. We barely had anything ourselves…”
The old man’s blackened eyes grew heavier, if that were even possible, for they already looked as though they were so deeply set beneath his grey brows that they simply couldn’t take an ounce more weight of burden.
“Madness…” He breathed. “They brought only madness…”
Marcii didn’t speak, but then again she didn’t need to.
She held her breath in trepidation.
Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, Midnight revealed the dreadful truth that Marcii somehow already knew was coming.
“They slaughtered everyone in the village…”
He shuddered as he spoke.
“They wanted our clothes, our homes, our food…”
Shadows crept through Newmarket, unseen in the night.
Malorie and Midnight and even Marcii could sense them coming.
Soon they would be forced to leave.
But their time was not up just yet.
Marcii knew that the old man still had more he must tell them, and besides, she was supposed to wait for her cue.
She was beginning to comprehend these things now, even if she herself didn’t realise how.
“But even after they started killing people…” Midnight went on. “First just with their bare hands, choking the life out of them, and then later with tools they found that we used for gold hunting, they didn’t even take our clothes…”
“Why…?” Kaylm breathed, but Midnight did not have an answer for him.
“I don’t know.” He admitted. “Perhaps, although they were still clinging to life, the storm had already pushed them over the edge…”
“But they weren’t the only ones…” Marcii interjected, reading the words perfectly before they had even rolled off the old man’s tongue.
“No…” He admitted again, sighing once more. “My younger brother and I were forced to watch our parents and our sisters being murdered. There was absolutely nothing we could do. We were children. They descended on us so quickly. And they were so cruel. We knew we were next…”
“But you weren’t killed…” Marcii posed, swallowing heavily as she recalled how she had witnessed such a dreadful thing herself. “And neither was your brother…”
She didn’t know for certain, but that had been true of a lot of things of late: it didn’t necessarily mean she was wrong.
“No…” Midnight breathed, confirming the young Dougherty’s hunch. “He went berserk…”
“Berserk?” Kaylm questioned, frowning.
Even his older brother Malcolm, hiding outside yet even still, couldn’t tear himself from Midnight’s words, so thick with emotion.
“I’ll never forget it…I ran…I didn’t even think twice…” The old man crossed the kitchen on silent feet and sunk into a wooden chair beside the old, rickety kitchen table.
He rubbed his lined forehead heavily and breathed deeply.
“I knew I’d never go back. Yes, I ran from the storm, and yes, I ran from the murderers and the thieves. I feared for my life, as everybody did…”
“But that’s not why you won’t go back.” Marcii finished for him.
The old man nodded slowly, not seeming in the least bit surprised by her undeniably accurate realisations.
“I fled from my brother. His name is Alistair. But that day, when he turned on those people, he wasn’t my brother anymore. He was barely even human…”
“What happened?” Marcii questioned, pushing always for more, needing to hear the words for herself. She couldn’t just allow them to keep creeping over her, still with no idea where they were coming from.
“I don’t know what he became…” Midnight went on. “To say he was a monster, well, it wouldn’t be saying enough…I was terrified…”
Silence hung for a moment, but they all knew there was still more to be said.
Marcii only hoped
there was time enough for everything she needed to hear.
“He killed everyone. Friend and foe alike. I watched the whole thing by the light of the moon. I’ll never be able to forget it. His strength was unbelievable. He ripped people limb from limb. Everybody…”
“How…?” Kaylm breathed, but again, Midnight didn’t hold all the answers.
“I really don’t know…” He replied. “When he finally came to his senses, even though it was just for a moment, he blamed me for their deaths. Because I’d been a coward. Because I didn’t stand and fight with him. He thought if I’d fought with him, we could have saved our parents and sisters…”
“Could you?” Marcii questioned, perhaps a little abruptly, but the time for subtlety had surely passed.
“No.” The old man replied, and quite firmly at that. “They were already lost.”
“Then why?” Kaylm pressed again.
“He couldn’t see sense…” Midnight inevitably defended his brother.
“Couldn’t, or wouldn’t?” Marcii cut in.
Midnight sighed yet again.
“Either way…” He exhaled. “It doesn’t matter. He hates me more than ever, and now, after all these years, he’s finally caught up with me. I can’t run anymore. He’s been hunting me for so long. I’ve been running from him ever since the storm.”
“Has he ever found you?” Kaylm questioned.
“Almost, but not quite. Not until now…” Midnight confessed. “This is the first place I’ve ever settled for any great length of time. I’ve tried to settle before. Tried and failed.” His words were heavy with the weight of painful memories. “I needed a home. I couldn’t stay on the run forever. But now I’ve brought this on you all. On everybody in Newmarket…”
Midnight grew more distraught by the second and soon enough it seemed like it was all too much.
“This! All of this!” He exclaimed suddenly, throwing his wooden cane to the floor. “It’s all my fault! All the needless deaths! And Tyran!! I created Tyran!!”
But before any of them could respond, and even as Midnight’s guilt threatened to consume him, yet another sound ripped through the darkness of the night, sending shivers through the entire town.
The howl echoed for miles around, chilling the very air, signalling the looming peril of what would be the final Dreadhunt.
Chapter Eight
Malorie and Midnight glanced between each other for a moment with eyes all but unreadable. In the night the old man could see everything, but sight wasn’t the problem.
Vixen appeared from nowhere, as she always seemed to, materialising from the darkness like a shadow or a ghost. She moved silently through the forsaken house, making not the slightest whisper of a sound.
The young, abandoned orphan said not a word as she passed by Marcii and Kaylm, looking each of them in the eye in turn. Not a word was said, though Marcii knew somehow that the young girl was the cue she had been so patiently waiting for.
They were out of time.
When Vixen’s eyes met that of the witch Malorie, and of the old man Midnight, the three of them nodded in brief acknowledgement.
Though she knew time was short, all of a sudden, for some reason, Marcii didn’t care.
Midnight had given them at least some of the truth. She wasn’t leaving without the same from the orphan.
“Who are you!?” Marcii demanded furiously, feeling all of a sudden filled with fury.
Overwhelmed by everything Midnight had told them, the sudden appearance of Vixen threw yet even more intricate pieces of this complex puzzle to the surface, only muddying the waters further.
She couldn’t stand it.
“I know you’re not just some abandoned orphan!” She raged. “Tell me what you are!”
It wouldn’t have been too long ago that Marcii would have been horrified at herself for saying such hurtful things to a young, innocent girl.
But in all the time that had passed, short though it might have been, she had learned much.
Now she knew better.
Marcii was convinced that there was much more to Vixen than met the eye.
She was far from the harmless orphan she appeared to be.
She had to be.
“There’s no time…” Vixen started, but Marcii was having none of it.
“No!” The young Dougherty hissed through gritted teeth. “You always do this! This time I want to know!”
Though she tried desperately to control herself, Marcii’s frustration threatened to get the better of her and she struggled to keep her voice down.
Vixen always miraculously appeared at the most crucial of moments, and then disappeared just as abruptly.
Marcii knew the young orphan wasn’t here to harm her.
She had helped her, saved her even, and more than just once.
The trouble was, Marcii had absolutely no idea why Vixen kept showing up at all.
She had to know what was going on.
She had to know what she was up against.
“Marcii!” Vixen urged again. “There isn’t time!”
“Tell me!!” Marcii demanded, losing control and raising her voice higher than she should have done.
Another chorus of howls echoed out across Newmarket, this time much closer than before.
The sound reverberated around the town and up and down the narrow streets menacingly.
A cruel chill raced along Marcii’s spine at the sound.
But that was nothing compared to the shivers that danced over the old man Midnight’s skin, chilling him to the bone in the already freezing cold night.
Realising she’d lost her head, Marcii quickly apologised.
“I’m sorry…” She whispered, but no matter how low she kept her voice, there was no undoing the damage she’d done, nor the time she’d cost them.
Vixen had been right, she realised: now was not the time.
She’d let her emotions get the better of her.
But it was not the orphan girl who answered her whispered apology.
Instead, it was the old man.
His face turned a ghostly white, only emphasising further the black coals of his eyes in the darkness, and his voice seemed to hang upon a feeble thread as it quivered through the freezing air.
“They’re here…” Midnight whispered. “They’ve come for me…”
Chapter Nine
The square was pitch black and even as her eyes drew in the shapes and silhouettes of the tents and the market stalls all around them, Marcii could barely see a thing.
And, perhaps even more eerily, the howls had ceased.
Silence hung in the air all around them like a disease.
A sudden noise from the other side of the market square startled Marcii and she squatted down instinctively, keeping behind an overturned stall.
Midnight had been directly at her side when she’d crouched, yet he hadn’t moved a muscle.
“What is it?” She whispered to him through the night, assuming he knew there was no threat, for he had taken no action to conceal himself.
“Nothing…” Came his hushed reply. “Just a rat…”
“How do you know?” Marcii asked, slowly rising to stand by his side, keeping as close to him as she dared. Strangely enough his presence reassured her, regardless of the fact that for as long as she’d known him he’d been lying to her.
“It’s over there…” He replied simply, pointing one hand briefly off into the murky darkness that Marcii could make barely a few feet of.
“How did you…” She began, but Midnight had been expecting her question.
He cut her off to save her breath.
“I see everything.” He stated in a very matter of fact manner.
Marcii was beginning to get the impression that, not only had the old man kept up a very convincing façade for all of these years, but also that he’d hidden certain traits he possessed which would most certainly have attracted him some unwanted attention.
He still walked with
his cane, though clearly he did not need it. The young Dougherty imagined he kept it with him out of sheer habit than for any other reason.
They glanced around at the empty stalls, though both Marcii and Kaylm were convinced that the others could all see far more than they could.
A fierce wind whipped through the square and the sound of loose, flapping canvas was the only thing to break the dreadful, nervous silence that had come over them.
“There…” Midnight suddenly whispered, his voice barely even audible as his perfect, black eyes picked up the shadows and silhouettes of the monstrous pack skulking through the streets.
Their pace was a steady, purposeful lope and they were filled with terrifying eagerness.
Hard as she tried however, Marcii could not see a thing.
“There are too many…” Midnight’s voice sounded again. This time his words carried a tone of panic with them that hadn’t been there before.
“How many?” Came Malorie’s reply and her breath billowed out in great clouds of white steam that hovered for a moment before vanishing.
Clearly her eyes were nowhere near as sharp as the old man’s.
“At least a dozen…” He informed her. As the sound rolled off his tongue it was filled with fear.
Marcii was almost glad that she couldn’t see through the darkness in the way that Midnight could. Although, the more she thought on it, as she peered through the black night, she wasn’t sure if her blindness lessened her fear or amplified it.
Before the witch Malorie had time to reply however, for Marcii could sense her terrified hesitation also, Vixen rose gracefully and silently to her feet. Without so much as a word she slipped past the four of them and paced directly out into the centre of the market square.
“Vixen!” Kaylm hissed, darting forward instinctively to grab her and pull her back to safety.
But he didn’t quite make it to her, as Midnight’s unbelievably strong grasp pulled him back and pinned him still, covering his mouth and silencing him.
When Kaylm tried to struggle free Midnight’s hold only tightened, keeping him from saving the orphan.