Although Luras was no longer in the decrepit form of a Nighteye, he still stayed off the main roads to avoid contact with villagers. Instead, he journeyed primarily on small pathways used by hunters, shepherds¸ and others wishing to avoid the towns, villages, or any other unwanted surprises. The realms had not seen a Nigheye in generations. There were only tales from hunters seeing one briefly, which were easily dismissed. However, he knew that no one had seen one a Bourne, ever. The Bourne had long since passed due to the curse. They were Nighteyes now. Luras was the only Bourne in a thousand years. He was the first and only to walk upon the realms in true form since the youngest days of Ehlür. Luras took every opportunity to look upon his reflection in small pools of water along the path.
His face and body were not that different than an ordinary man of narrow build. The only difference was his silver hair and an overall hue to his skin. His pallor was the same as a man, but there almost seemed to be a slight radiance about him. It was subtle but others would surely recognize that something was different about him, even if they could not place it at first. The one aspect of his appearance that was directly noticeable was the soft blue glow from his eyes. It may take a villager a moment to see the slight radiance of his skin, but they would have no trouble seeing he was an Acolyte. His eyes exuded a soft glow that would be even more prevalent at night. He had the eyes of the Acolyte. There was no hiding it.
Luras kept the hood of his cloak pulled over his head. A few white hairs draped across his face and below his chin. He tucked them behind his ears but they refused to stay. He wore a wool shirt and cloth pants with some worn leather boots. He was neither dressed nor armed for confrontation. He would need to remedy this prior to entering the rocky lands of Kor. He had no idea how he would get these provisions, as he had no money. However, he did have food growing around him and a small canteen of water. He also had daylight and this was his favorite provision of all.
It was the last hours of the afternoon. Evening would soon pull the sun below the horizon. This was when Luras first began to notice steady trails of smoke. They bellowed upwards into a sky of deep red and purple. He began to look for high ground. He saw a massive rock in the distance. He ran to it and used the Evening Vines to climb up. He could feel its berries crushing under his grasp. The rock was just big enough for him to see over the trees. He saw thick wooden beams smoldering in the distance. They were what remained of the thatched roofed houses that made up a small village. It had been burned to the ground. He did not see any movement. The village seemed empty. However, if this was so, it was only recently abandoned or worse. Luras began to wonder if the same beasts had brought their carnage upon this village. He began to think of the school and the children being pulled from the dark of night by nightmarish beasts. He slid from the rock and quickly ran to the village.
It was obvious that this village was at one time a charming place tucked safely in the woods. Forestry and carpentry tools were outside some of the smoking buildings. The villagers most likely traveled a few times a year to neighboring townships to sell their goods. He would have liked to have seen this village and smelled the sawdust and cider mixing in the air. The homes were of white clay and wood. Their thatched roofs would have hung over the sides dripping straw and branches. There were three large apples trees growing in the center of town. The children probably played around them and then ate the fruit, while looking at the clouds. Two of them were charred while one was untouched by flame. This was a close knit village. They all would have known each other, families joining through marriage. Weddings and festivals were most likely a quaint but charming event. The village coming together to celebrate. However, all that was gone now. The village was in shambles. It had been burned to the ground. Luras saw debris in the road. It was charred black. He assumed it was furniture or people’s bags. They probably tried to run. Perhaps, a village watchman was able to give word to them beforehand. Some might have gotten away, but it was obvious that others did not. Bodies lay upon the dirt roads. Some were whole bodies contorted from the flames, others were simply pieces or chunks of flesh. They were riddled throughout the smoking village. Luras examined some of the bodies.
This is not from the same beasts.
The random pieces of flesh were not torn or ripped by claws. The cuts were straight and sharp.
Steel did this … an army with weapons.
Luras saw a somewhat intact building further down the road. It was the jailor’s house. The steel cage inside had kept the whole place from crumbling. The roof was not thatched like the others. There was an underlining of wood with metal joints. It was made to keep people in, but it also was able to keep the majority of the fire out. Some of building was gone but it would make a good place for Luras to shelter for the night. The scent of death lingering in the village could attract scavengers once the moon was up. He decided to look for supplies in the village and then he would sleep in the prisoner’s cell. It was not a key lock door but he could knot a rope around the bars to keep wolves or other beasts from getting in. It was safer than sleeping outdoors when a nearby village had cooked flesh littering the streets. No, it made sense for him to sleep at the jailor’s house. He would bury the bodies in the morning. He had no time for that at present. The sun was almost down.
Luras rummaged through the village for supplies. It did not matter, but he still went to lengths to not destroy any more of the village. It had seen its horror and deserved rest. The forest would eventually overtake what was left. It would give it refuge under blankets of green vines and grass. In ten or more years only the one apple tree would remain. The rest would be long covered in vines and shrubs. Luras had never been there before but he missed it all the same.
One of the dilapidated buildings had a large frame to it. Luras thought it might have been a town hall or inn of some sort. He walked over the foundation to see if any supplies might have survived the flames. This is where he found the corpses of the remaining villagers. There was at least thirty or more dead. They were in a heap behind the building. Their captors had little regard for the living or the dead. The fire had long gone out. They were charred but Luras could see immediately that the fire was not what killed them. They had clearly experienced terror in their final breaths.
They were skinned.
The villagers had been skinned and by hands clearly skilled at performing such actions.
Skin Slavers.
Luras quickly left to finish searching the rest of the village. The sun was going down. He did not think they would be back after sacking the village, but he would feel better in the safety of the jailor’s house all the same. He needed a weapon and thicker clothes. He had to find something … anything. Before he got back to the jailor’s house, Luras was able to find some leather riding boots. They were of a much better quality than the ones he had. He also found a tightly weaved cloak. It was such a deep green that it almost looked black. He did not find any better pants, but there was a leather vest that he took from a blacksmith’s hut. It was slightly large for his narrow frame, but wearing it over his wool shirt took away some of its bulk. He then tied a strip of leather around it to pull it snug to his body.
Luras had not thought to look through the jailor’s house until he returned. There were two crates with steel wrappings. They were key locked. He searched the house pulling out drawers and opening cabinets. They were all charred and burned. He rummaged through a desk and wall closet before finding a ring of keys. He fumbled through them but none of the keys worked. Instead, he began to chip away at the side of the wood with the largest key. The wood had been severely burned. Luras then tore two of the steel wrappings off. It was much easier than he had imagined. This made him momentarily worry about sleeping in the jailor’s house at all. Perhaps, it wasn’t as sturdy as he thought. The contents of both crates were bound in a rugged piece of boiled leather. He unrolled them upon the blackened floor. Luras felt a moment of relief. He should have searched here first. He found two sheathed swords, a hooke
d dagger, and a leather satchel. Inside the satchel was a worn leather bracer that had begun to crack. Luras thought it was probably used for archery. He also found a pair of padded gloves, and two strings for a bow. He was unable to find a bow. It must have burned in the fire. He packed the items in the satchel and carried the rest to the metal cage.
Luras used the boiled leather the swords were in to secure the door to the cage. He knotted one to the top of the cage door and one to the bottom. Scavengers feeding on the dead villagers would not be able to reach him. It would take a person to untie the knots or something very strong to pull the door from its hinges. Luras felt confident that only mindless beasts feeding at night would venture into a village riddled with charred corpses. He sat with his back to a far corner of the cell and pulled the hood of his cloak down. A thin breeze blew through the village and between the bars of the cage. Luras kept his weapons within reach. However, he fell asleep almost immediately. He did not hear the wolves or their fighting over flesh. Sleep overtook him.
Chapter 10
The Long Road
The gorgons had marched the prisoners for days. A trail of dust, sweat, and blood flowed behind them like a wake. The only food the prisoners received was at night. It was a gruelish white paste that tasted more of dirt than anything else. Some of the prisoners were unable to eat it. They were quickly overcome with starvation. The captives that fell from exhaustion or had finally given in to their wounds were trampled over by the herd of prisoners. The gorgons tossed the bodies into a large wheeled wagon like fallen debris. It was pulled by two gray, long haired oxen with matted fur. Finn and Nylah stayed close together. The prisoners were no longer bound. There was simply too many of them to rope together. Brigands of gorgons continually joined the larger mass with more prisoners. These gorgons were probably outriders raiding smaller villages. Finn decided that he and the others would be used as slave laborers or worse. It was getting more difficult for Finn to find a way of escaping with Nylah. There were so many gorgons. They were directly in the middle of a moving host of snake walkers. If they were able to leave the group of prisoners, Finn knew they would have no way of blending in with them. They would stick out as prisoners in any situation. Finn’s head ached, as he constantly scanned his surroundings. He did not want their chance of escape to pass them by.
The last three days were like a muddled dream to Finn. If it was a dream, he was unsure whether to wake or stay a sleeping captive. Finn treasured each moment he had with Nylah. Things as simple as the way she spoke and moved fascinated him. She had a wit about her as well. He had never seen anyone or anything that possessed his thoughts like she did. If he had to die, he knew of no other way he would rather approach his death. Her skin was the color of almond and vanilla. It was soft to the touch. Her skin retained its glow, even while they trekked through the dust and dirt. The bright green of her eyes radiated like an emerald on fire. She was simply the most elegantly beautiful person that Finn had ever seen. Finn did not think he could have imagined a more intelligent or beautiful woman. He would die to save her. Finn felt his life inconsequential to the magnitude of hers.
Finn was taken by how she persevered. They had been walking for so long. She was surrounded by creatures that could kill her at any moment, yet she concentrated on Finn. They would talk to each other in whispers. Their conversations had been random at best. She told him about the Emerald Coast where she grew up. She had two sisters; Marigold was the oldest while Lily was the youngest. They would play in the shallows together along the beach. When the tide was low, small pools of clear water would form in the dunes. Small fish would swim there and become stuck waiting for the tide to come back in. The girls would look at them and wade through the pools. Finn had never known that type of free life and he envied it. He would love to see the pools. Her family lived in a large stone house that overlooked the shoreline. She would fall asleep listening to the waves; the ocean would sing at night. Nylah had a pleasantness to her that calmed Finn. She had her wits about her at all times. Finn enjoyed talking with her.
“How much further must we walk?” asked Nylah.
“Well, we don’t want to arrive where they are taking us. The longer we walk, the more chances we have,” Finn replied.
“How could we ever escape this,” Nylah spoke almost to herself.
“I don’t know, but we will. Sometimes a few are better at watching than many. I’m starting to think that everyone here will most likely assume someone else is watching us. It is odd but I think we might stand a better chance with a large group that is occupied with other things … than a small group that is only occupied with us.”
Finn did not know how they would escape. He could not find the opening they needed. He knew they were intended for some type of slave labor. Why else would they take them? He knew that some of them were for food. He could tell by the faces of those that knew what he knew. They had a foreboding look about them. They seemed nervous to be on the outside of the captives. Instead, they stayed in the center and did not look at the gorgons. They were nothing more than a herd of cattle being moved along by the gorgons to their own slaughter. Some would work; some would be eaten. Finn had seen the gorgons pluck men and women alike out of the ranks in the evening hours. They would never return but the gorgons remained strong and of good stamina.
“I wonder where they are taking us?” said Nylah.
“White Rock,” a rough voice uttered from behind them. “They’re taking us to the ruins.”
The man was in his late forties. His skin wrapped loosely around his head. It was beginning to crack from the sun. Finn knew immediately that he was a former prisoner. The penal code for rape was burned into both his cheeks. They were long scarred over but the image remained. The stumbled skin of his neck had the number IX inked across it. He had raped nine women. His head had been shaved, but traces of hair now grew in patches across his scalp. His teeth were framed in black and purple gums. The man’s body was clearly malnourished, but it seemed to have grown accustomed to years of neglect and abuse. He looked at Nylah like a hungry wolf.
“Before it was ruins, White Rock was a temple,” said the man. His voice was scratchy and gruff. He eyed Nylah with a grin.
“What kind of temple?” asked Nylah.
“Nylah, this man is a convict. Leave us be,” Finn said to him.
“A dark temple … and we're all convicts now,” he said, keeping his eyes on Nylah.
“How do you know this?” she asked.
“My grandmum would tell tales about gorgons at White Rock. They would take you to an altar and open you from crotch to neck with a jagged blade. As your life came pouring out, they'd steal your soul,” he said, looking into her eyes.
“Enough,” warned Finn.
“Some say they put the souls into weapons … jewelry,” he spoke to Nylah.
“Don’t listen to him Nylah. He is trying to scare you,” said Finn.
“Of course, they’d say that gorgons were just fireside tales as well. However, here we walk among them. Could be that I’m wrong, Nylah. After me grandmum told me those stories, she and the rest would get drunk off forest ale. Then, they’d beat me until my teeth cracked … sometimes worse,” he said. The man smiled exposing his gnarled teeth and black gums.
Nylah began to sob. Finn kicked one of the man’s legs causing him to fall. The rest of the captives kept moving. The man had trouble getting back up. By the time he was up, Finn and Nylah were further up in the crowd of prisoners.
“Don’t listen to that man. We will survive this … we will,” Finn said. He took her hand.
“How are you so sure?”
“Because we’ve only just met,” Finn said, as he smiled at her. She smiled back.
Finn wiped her eyes with the sleeve of his shirt.
“You are very kind, Finn.”
It was not until late in the evening that the prisoners were allowed to rest. They all fell to the ground immediately. Nylah sat close to Finn. His presence was a
comfort to her. She had no idea how she would have dealt with this nightmare alone. She leaned in against Finn, resting her weight on him. She laid her head against his shoulder. Finn could smell her hair, feel it caress his face. He put his arm around her. The dust had dissipated with the lack of walking. A cool breeze wandered through the camp. Finn breathed in the clean air. He looked at Nylah leaning into his arm. The night was perfect if not for the evil dwelling within it.
“Finn,” Nylah whispered. She spoke almost to herself. “I don’t want to die.”
“You won’t. You won’t die … not from this,” Finn whispered. He turned her head to him and lightly kissed her forehead. Her skin was sweet and soft to the touch. “Imagine the campfire tale this will make someday. Nylah taken by the walking snakes only to escape her captures with wile and cunning. No one will believe it, yet here you sit … and there you will be.”
“Truly … aren’t we beyond escape?” she asked.
“I don’t think so. I think we will have a chance.”
“My cousin is probably dead.”
“Perhaps … but you don’t know that.”
“She’s not here.”
“We can go look once we’re gone from here.”
“I just want to go home. I want to be with my family. I should never have come.”
A Dark Tyranny Page 7