by H Waters
“That should buy us a little bit of time! Keep moving!” Scarlet yelled, handing the torch back to me. We continued to run. The tree line was clearly visible now; we were almost out of the forest.
A loud WHOOSH! came from my left. Something was running through the trees, and fast. Breaking the fire line, a massive Seeker bounded onto the trail, its black and white fur beautifully reflecting the dancing flames all around. It gave me a creepy look as it lumbered forward, kind of like it was smiling. I froze in panic. Lucy and Scarlet were far ahead by now, running farther and farther down the trail. The creature lunged at me, clearly seeing that I was panicked. Instinctively I stepped to the left, and as the Seeker flew by I stabbed the torch at it as hard as I could, luckily catching it in the right eye. With the torch broken and the Seeker howling in pain, clawing at his now-barbecued face, I took off down the trail after Scarlet and Lucy.
The trees flew by like a continuous blur of brown, until suddenly there were no more trees to be seen. The forest had ended. The dead leaves and fire gave way to hills and grass; now nothing lit my way but the dim moon. The dirt path was more rocks than dirt, likely because we were getting closer to the mountains. Without the cover of the trees I could now clearly see the Seekers — four large black wolves, with solid, even darker black eyes. The largest one had hints of white in its fur, and where its black, beady right eye should have been was a large, blistering, gooey hole, left behind from the torch. The Seekers were smashing into each other, fighting over who got to be the first one to tear into my flesh.
Just keep moving, I thought to myself. Lucy was still trying her hardest to keep ahead of the Seekers. My foot slammed into something, leaving the bones in my lower leg feeling like they were cracked in half. I tumbled to the ground, desperately trying to use my hands to catch myself so I did not smash my head in. Just behind me was a massive rock embedded into the ground. “Stupid, Echo you should have seen that!” I screamed out loud to myself.
Struggling to get to my feet and trying to ignore the pain, I yelled “Keep going Lucy!” Lucy kept running, looking back every once in a while. I could no longer see Scarlet; she must have made it to the inn. Getting back onto my feet I was able to run only a couple more meters before collapsing again. I was too exhausted and my foot hurt too badly. I drew my sword, the Seekers howling with delight, looking straight at me. “This is it, this is where it ends,” I said out loud, through tears. “At least I will be with Dallas.”
“Not yet, Keybearer,” said a calm voice from behind me. I looked behind me, towards the inn, trying to locate the source of the mysterious voice. A few feet behind me, standing tall, was a man dressed in chain mail with a white surcoat bearing a large red cross on it and fastened at the waist by a leather belt. He wore a metal helmet just like the statues back in Kata. The Seekers stopped and began smelling the air, as if something had changed. They begin to let out low growls instead of their almost laugh-like howls. Instead of hitting each other and being clumsy, they began to work as a pack trying to surround the armor-clad man.
“Who are you? I asked, confused.
“Alaric is the name,” the man said as he pulled a huge sword off his back. The blade was a reflective black color like the one I was holding.
The larger Seeker was pacing behind the pack, as if it was a general giving orders. Alaric stepped cautiously, not letting the Seekers get behind him. The large Seeker let out a grunt, the three others listened and charged. Two faked and veered to the sides just before reaching Alaric.
The middle one leaped higher than I thought was possible for any creature so large. Alaric ran under the leaping creature and swung his sword above him. I closed my eyes and screamed. My eyes opened, and the Seeker who had just jumped at Alaric was standing directly in front of me. I panicked, scooting backwards as fast as I could, screaming.
“Calm yourself,” Alaric laughed. “Your friend did warn me your heart was far from that of a warrior.”
His voice sounded deep but raspy coming through the metal helmet he wore. The Seeker did not move except for the chaotic twitching of his eyes. Then it began to slowly split in half. Organs and black blood poured out. Its back leg began to violently kick. Crying, I swung my sword and began hacking apart the half that was moving.
“It’s dead,” Alaric said as he swung around with his sword extended, cleanly decapitating the second charging Seeker.
“But … but it was moving,” I screamed.
“When things die they twitch,” Alaric laughed. “It’s just nerves.”
“Why are you laughing? We are going to die!”
“No harm will come to come to you,” he responded.
The third Seeker ran at Alaric and jumped just like the others did before. Alaric swung his great sword, but unlike the previous two this Seeker dove to the ground, avoiding Alaric’s attack and barreling into his legs. They rolled and wrestled on the ground while the largest Seeker howled from afar. Alaric’s sword was out of reach. He forced his way on top of the Seeker and started punching it in the head with his metal gauntlets.
He drove his right hand down onto the panicking creature’s skull, following with his left. He smashed his fists into the Seeker’s skull, one after the other, screaming as if the Seeker had personally offended him. I forced myself to my feet and walked over to him.
“It’s dead,” I said in the same way he had told me.
He slammed both fists down. “It appears you are right, Keybearer,” Alaric said in an uneasy voice, almost like he was just realizing what he’d been doing. The Seeker’s head was unrecognizable, just a pile of torn flesh and bloody goo. Alaric stood up, his surcoat dripping black with the Seekers’ demented blood. The sharp creases in his gauntlet had small pieces of flesh wedged in them. This man went from a shiny armor-clad hero to a gritty psychopath uncomfortably fast.
The large Seeker let off a deafening screech, then fled into the woods.
Alaric bent down and grabbed his sword. “Go to the Inn, we have much to discuss,” Alaric demanded. I nodded, unable to speak, a little bit terrified and impressed by what I had just witnessed.
The Inn was just an old wooden building with cobblestone as its base. The only source of light was a few dimly lit lamps staggered around the outside of the building. The door had a red cross painted on it. When I opened the door the emptiness of night gave way to drunk men singing, yelling and slamming on tables.
It was a large hall with long wooden tables. Hanging lanterns lit the room. At the back on a small stage there was a band playing old folk music.
“Hey! Come sit over here!” Scarlet hollered at me from across the room. She was sitting at the bar with a large mug of beer.
I limped over covered in blood and dirt. Pulling up a stool next to Scarlet I asked, “Where is my dog?”
“Over there making fools of the drunks,” she laughed. Over on the other side of the hall Lucy was running around the tables, drunk men stumbling after her trying to catch her.
“Why are they chasing her?” I asked, quite concerned.
“Well, as you can see, there is currently not a large female presence here,” Scarlet said. Looking around I could see what she meant. The only other females were the bar wenches. “So to stop them from trying to woo me with stories of how brave and macho they are, I told them whoever catches the dog gets to give me a kiss,” she added.
Crash! One of the men slipped turning a corner, flew into a stack of kegs against the wall and was knocked out cold. “By the looks of it the only thing they’re going to be kissing is the floor,” I laughed.
The door behind the bar opened up and a tall, muscular man carrying a crate of empty beer mugs came through. “And what would you like to drink, keybearer?” the man smiled. He had dark brown hair that hung halfway down his neck, an uncomfortably white smile and a well-trimmed beard.
“Alaric?” I asked, surprised.
“In the flesh,” he replied, stacking mugs on the shelves behind the bar.
“
Why do you keep calling me the Keybearer?” I asked.
“Your friend tells me you have the key,” he replied. “Do you not?” he added, his voice low and not nearly as cheery as before.
“Well, I do. I mean I did — it’s in my bag, but I left my bag in the forest when we were getting chased by the Seekers.”
Alaric turned around to face the bar, stabbing a large knife into the wooden countertop just centimeters from my hand. “If you do not bear the key, you are of no use and you shall die where you stand,” he said in a low, raspy voice. A few of the men around me drew their swords.
“No! Please, I’ll go find it, I swear, I’m sorry,” I yelled, trying to hold back tears.
Scarlet looked at Alaric, very unimpressed. He put his knife away and the men broke out in laughter, putting their swords back in their sheaths.
“Why would I save you just to kill you, young Keybearer!” Alaric laughed. He slammed my bag onto the table. “I pursued Lycaon deep into the forest, but he was far too quick. That coward!” he yelled, slamming his fist on the bar. “Nonetheless I did find your supplies.”
I rummaged through my bag to ensure the key was still there. “Why would you pursue a beast like that? It was fleeing; you won.”
“If what your friend told me is truth, Lycaon will surely scurry back to Gorelock and tell him of your location. Also, that creature deserves nothing but death. It has assisted Gorelock for far too long, hunting down my brothers,” he said, with sadness in his voice. Alaric pointed to a large painting of a hill on the wall. At the base of the hill were several Saints with their swords at the ready. Atop the hill was Lycaon, surrounded by the bloody bodies of deceased human infants and bones. “That creature has a neverending hunger for human children,” Alaric added.
I looked at Scarlet with fear and disgust in my eyes. “I think I will have that drink now, Alaric,” I said. Alaric smiled and poured a large mug of beer.
VIII
“Where did you get this drink from?” I asked Alaric, handing him my empty mug.
“We brew all of our ale right here in house! It is the only brewery that has not been burned to the ground,” he replied with great pride in his voice. “Well, as far as I know. Would you like another, young Keybearer?”
“Absolutely!” I excitedly replied.
“We have no money,” Scarlet mumbled to me.
“Ah, no worries Black Blood, it is on me tonight,” Alaric offered.
I lost my breath and spat foam all over the bar. “How do you know that?” I asked.
“Know what?” replied Alaric.
“That she was a Black Blood!” I yelled.
The loud singing, laughing and fighting suddenly stopped. All the men turned to look at the bar, some with their hands ready to draw their weapons.
Alaric laughed. “We are just exchanging war stories about the vile Black Bloods! No need to be so tense!” The rest of the men laughed along, going back to drinking and fighting.
“Watch your tongue around here, little Keybearer,” Alaric said in a low voice. “Most people don’t have fond memories of your friend and her past. Of course I’m the only one old enough to recognize her, but she explained the situation so she gets to stay alive.”
“You couldn’t kill me if you tried, Alaric,” Scarlet laughed. Alaric smiled at her, and his eyes looked truly happy, almost like he was genuinely pleased to see her. The way they talked was like old friends. How could two people so opposite and driven to kill each other just all at once start chatting over a drink like it was just another Friday night?
As the night went on the music slowed, and people slipped up the stairs to their rooms. A few of the men too drunk to stand slept on tables or benches, and some even slumped in the corners. Alaric cleaned the last of the mugs and set them away on the shelves. Scarlet and I moved to an empty table, one of the only ones without beer, sleeping men, blood or vomit on it. The chairs were much comfier then the bar stools, the seats and backs covered in a thick red felt.
Alaric brought over a bottle with no label on it and three glasses. The liquid in the bottle was a murky brown color and very thin, with no foam like the ales we’d had. “What is that?” I asked.
“Whisky, it is far too late for ale,” Alaric responded with a smile.
“Do you drink like this every night?” Scarlet asked in shock.
“Only from Monday till Sunday,” Alaric joked. “We Saints have quite the taste for alcohol, it helps numb the pain that comes with living so long.”
“I guess if you’re immortal what’s the harm?” I said.
“We are not immortal,” Alaric stated. “We still age, just at a much slower rate than you.”
The talking stopped for a few minutes, while Alaric listened to the snoring of the drunken men, making sure everyone was sufficiently unconscious. He then stuttered for a minute but then blurted out, “What has been running through my mind for decades now is, why would someone ever consent to letting something like Grekal or Gorelock take control? Why did you do it?” Alaric looked at Scarlet, pouring three glasses of whisky, one filled right to the top.
Scarlet let out a depressed sigh, grabbing a glass of whisky. She took a sip. “They slaughtered my village looking for human hosts capable enough to summon the rest of the Devil’s Legion and begin their conquest to ‘cleanse’ the world. Only two boys and I were capable, so everyone else was killed including my family. The two boys were eager to join — they were convinced by Gorelock’s rants of how they could stand alongside him, rulers of a new world. Those boys became what are now called Snarl and Gout. I was promised that I could have my family back, once the world was cleansed of course.”
A tear fell from Scarlet’s eye, soaking into the old wooden table as she shoved her glass over to Alaric. He poured her some more whisky; this time the glass was a little fuller. “They made it seem like it would be glorious, that we were going to help create some kind of paradise. After I merged with Grekal, I was able to keep it together for a few short months until I lost control. I could only see what was going on, I couldn’t speak or move for myself,” she said through tears.
I grabbed her hand. “It’s alright, we can hear the rest of this story later. We should get some sleep, probably a shower too.”
“I guess you’re right,” Scarlet replied.
Alaric chugged the remaining whisky in his cup, then slammed it down onto the table.
“Breakfast is at sunrise, then we will head to the mountain pass your map speaks of,” Alaric said. He got out of his chair and stumbled to the bar, grabbing a large board, a jug of ink, and a brush. On the board he wrote Gorelock is coming. Take what you can carry, stay at own risk. Alaric nailed it to a post facing the stairs to the rooms so people would be sure to see it.
“Alright, off you go now, young Keybearer, take your worn-out friend to bed. It’s room seven just at the top of the stairs,” Alaric said, handing me a small bronze key.
The stairs creaked as we walked to our room, taking a quick left to number seven. The key fit nicely, and I pushed open the door, expecting cots with old wood frames, an old metal bath and possibly rats. Instead we received a warm welcome from two maids who were just finishing up preparing the room. There were two large beds with gold frames and posts that reached the ceilings, covered with fine blankets. The floors looked to be marble; the walls were covered in strange paintings depicting the Saints doing various heroic tasks.
The maids smiled, and one of them said, “Oh, you girls must be pretty lucky. He usually reserves this room for his brothers who frequent the inn.”
“Well, they haven’t been here for quite some time,” the other one added.
Rolling her eyes at her fellow maid, the first one continued, “The showers are to your right. We will be out of your hair shortly.”
We opened the wooden door to our right, revealing a large tiled shower, a ceramic sink with gold taps, and a toilet. “You go first,” I told Scarlet with a smile.
Scarlet nodded,
but then quickly asked, “Where is the mutt?”
“Oh shit! My dog!” I yelled. I ran out the door, almost falling down the stairs.
“Ah, you, I was wondering when you would remember the mutt,” Alaric laughed. “She’s very good at fetch. I used to have a mutt once,” he added much more softly than usual.
“What happened to it?” I asked curiously.
He grabbed a bone and threw it for Lucy. “Dogs don’t typically live for centuries,” he answered, smiling at Lucy as she bounded around.
“Sorry.”
“No need to be sorry. Does this dog mean a lot to you?” he asked, taking a long sip out of a murky bottle.
“She’s all I have — well, until I find my son,” I said sadly.
“Children, they are magical little things aren’t they? I wish I could’ve had a child,” Alaric said, throwing another old ham bone for Lucy.
“You still could? You look pretty young and I’m sure you’re a hit with the ladies,” I joked.
“I don’t feel young,” Alaric said. “Living for two thousand years sure takes a toll on your sanity.”
“Are you all that old?” I blurted out.
“No, I am the third oldest — well, oldest of the living, I guess. Some are much younger. Your Black Blood is pretty old if I remember correctly. Anyway, your room is just over there. You should get some sleep, young Keybearer.”
I nodded and wished him a good night; he just smiled sadly and stared out of the window. I called Lucy and went back to my room. As soon as we were in the room Lucy jumped onto a bed. “Well, I guess that one is ours,” I laughed.
Scarlet was still in the shower, so I toured all the painting on the walls. They were all pretty similar. Some pictured the Saints battling giant beasts, carrying their wounded and standing heroically over large fields with scattered bodies. Near the back of the room above a large window there was one painting that stood out from the rest: instead of depicting violence and death, it displayed all of the Saints, including the Prophet, around a large wooden table. The table was covered in full mugs of beer, a cooked pig and several other delicious-looking dishes. It was the only painting that showed them smiling or showing any glimpse of happiness.