Testing

by S A Maus

  Omer was intent on reaching Shalim as soon as they could, to see what the Masters made of their strange contract, so he was surprised when Tahr suddenly stopped and threw up a hand as they were passing along the town limits.

  “We should sleep here,” Tahr said.

  “Why?” Omer asked, confused.

  Tahr pointed up at the quickly darkening sky. Eastward, lightning was playing across the horizon. “Do you really want to try the Crack with that coming down on you?” he asked.

  “No, I suppose not” Omer relented. “I don’t think Helwits will want us staying in his inn, though.”

  Tahr pursed his lips. He nodded. “True. I suppose we could camp in the forest. There are tarps behind Tihm’s bakery that keeps their firewood dry. I do not imagine he will be angry if we borrow one, so long as we return it after the storm.”

  They agreed and went to the bakery at the town edge, lingering a moment to enjoy the permanent smell of baked goods that wafted ever from the windows, and gathered one of the loose tarps from the rear. The bakery was as empty as the streets around it, everyone had gone home to brave out the storm. Omer wondered, briefly, if Tihm would be sore with them sneaking within and taking a loaf of bread, or maybe a pastry, but he did not get to dwell on it as Tahr disappeared without a word through the back door and arrived a moment later with a handful of goods.

  “What?” he said when he saw Omer’s disapproving frown. “I left money for it. More than they cost, even.”

  They took their abducted goods east, out into the woods where the trees were thickest, being less apple and more pine and oak. They took shelter underneath a fallen trunk, casting the tarp overhead in as best a tent as it could muster, and there spent a cold, miserable night without a fire and with rain seeping down behind them. Omer fell asleep during that night, the first night he had slept in some time, and though his Tested body was not yet to the point of severe fatigue, he was still grateful for the reprieve.

  He was woken by Tahr nudging him out of his slumber. The rain was still falling, though it was much lesser now than it had been during the night, and the sky was gray and gloomy. Morning had come, though the clouds were not willing to let it break through just yet.

  It was not, however, for better weather that Tahr had woken him. Standing before them was Benahia, wrapped in a shawl and thick coat, and still wearing the Hunter-garb dress Omer had seen her with weeks prior.

  Omer stood when he saw her and stepped out from under their beleaguered tent. “Miss Benahia?” he said.

  “I saw you last night through my window, though I did not come out for the storm,” Benahia said.

  “And why have you come now?” Omer wondered.

  “I… I think I am being haunted by an evil creature, Master Hunter,” she answered. “When you were here last, the day after we spoke in the graveyard, I went out to pick some apples for supper that eve. On my return, I passed by the graveyard once more, as is my habit, and I saw someone standing in the midst of it. I thought it only you, at first, for you had been there when I last went through, or perhaps it was a late goer to pay respects; but as I looked, they turned and beheld me, and… Master Hunter, I swear by all that is true, it was my beloved.”

  Omer felt a sudden knot grow in his stomach. “You saw Gaul?” he said slowly.

  “I saw his ghost, sir, or some evil in his form. I know I did. I saw even the scar upon his cheek, the one he hides with his beard; except he had no hair and he was shaven entirely. I tried to find you, to tell you of his appearance, but you had gone already.” A frantic look took Benahia then. She looked pleadingly up at him. “And I have seen him again, sir. Last night, not long after you passed and deep amidst the storm. He came to my window and saw me, and I him.”

  She backed away and buried her face in her hands. “Please, Master, please end it. I cannot bear to see his face. I will go mad if I am not free of this. It is a torment, to know him dead but see him still.”

  Tahr stepped around them then and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Have no fear, lass, we will see to it.” He looked to Omer as he spoke, worry drawn over his face. “Why don’t you take us to your home, yes? We will look about and see what can be done for it all.”

  Benahia drew back and began to nod her head, though she did not speak. She inhaled deeply, gathered herself, and then led them through the rain of dawn back to Appledor. A few of the citizens were out and wandering, and all eyed them with wondering glances that turned to frowns at the sight of the Hunters. The story of Helwits’ unfortunate break-in was now common knowledge. Helwits was out as well. The glare he placed on them was so fierce Omer felt the need to check his cloak and make sure it was not burned through, but the squat innkeeper said nothing as they made their way to Benahia’s family home on the northern end of town. It was a simple home. Four rooms, the largest being the common, and only two windows in the front and single in her own bedroom looking out onto the forest. Omer walked inside with Benahia and sat her down to gather her wits while Tahr looked about.

  Tahr was gone only a minute before he returned, stepping slowly through the front door, as if he were trying to keep Benahia unaware of his presence. It did not work, however, and she raised her head immediately.

  “Was it him, Master?” she pleaded. “I feel I am going mad.”

  Tahr scrunched his face, an odd look on so large a man, and began to rub his neck. He looked to be weighing something in his mind, but whatever it was he finally dropped his hand and waved at them. “Come with me,” he said. They did so, following him outside and around the house until they were in front of the window.

  No sooner did they step near that place than Benahia let out a soft, shuddering gasp. Omer looked down. There were boot prints in the mud, not heavy but clear. Someone had certainly been standing at the window, and for some time. Omer bent low and traced his finger along the outline. He huffed. “These are the tracks of a Man,” he said. Then he looked to Benahia. “How sure are you of what you saw?”

  “I am sure of nothing, Master Hunter, only that it looked like Gaul,” she said firmly.

  Omer stood up. His head began to ache with the strain of all the strange occurrences. His thoughts were becoming slippery, as if they could not quite latch on to what they were being told to entertain. He did not want to admit what lie before him, but the weight of evidence was falling against them. Gaul, or someone bearing his resemblance very closely, had returned, somehow. There were Malphic that could mask themselves in such forms, but Omer saw no signs of such creatures. The simplest explanation was that Gaul was there, or a man bearing his image, but that could not be, for to believe would be to claim Gaul had not only cheated death, but refused to return to Shalim as well. He would be Rogue, the worst of offenses beneath the Hunter Star. Omer looked to Tahr. The huge Hunter appeared to be thinking the same, for he seemed to tense as they stood by the prints.

  “Is he truly returned?” Benahia asked, breaking them out of their silent talk. “Please, I must know. I must know if he is back.”

  “There is certainly something strange here, lass, but we must not jump to conclusions,” Tahr said softly. “There are things in the world which take forms of the loved and the lost, and they prey on the grieving. I do not know what this is, but I do think it something. We will not see you come to harm. Is there a place beyond the village you could go to for a time? Only long enough to chase away whatever specter this is. Family in another city, perhaps?”

  “You wish me to leave my father and mother?” Benahia said, bewildered.

  “No, only leave for a time,” Tahr said. “I do not think you in danger, but it is better to be safe. This could be something foul trying to trick you, and we are not able to stay for protection. We must return to our home and deal with other matters. It may be some time before other Hunters can come and look deeper into this. Perhaps a family vacation is in order.”

  Benahia leaned back against her home. She looked as if she had been slapped without warning. After a
moment she said, “My grandfather lives in Nun. He would take us, though it is a long way. For how long? My home is here and I have no desire to leave it.”

  “A month, and we will find you aid for the journey,” Tahr said, though Omer knew he was merely guessing. No Hunters would be returning to Appledor to put down a monster. Whatever stood beyond Benahia’s window that night was entirely Man.

  Benahia did not speak thereafter. She assented silently and the Hunters helped her gather her wits and explain the situation to her parents. It took a long bout of convincing, but eventually, with the weight of the Hunters behind her, Benahia was able to push her family into leaving for a short while. With a final warning not to linger and to stay away from any specters that looked like Gaul, the Hunters left them to their preparations.

  They broke out of Appledor at a brisk walk, doing their best to appear as if nothing was out of the ordinary, but as soon as they had passed the final home and met the tree line of the orchards they broke into a sprint. The rain had fallen to a patter and the clouds above the mountains were thin and bright. The storm was over. An easterly wind was on them, warm and welcoming.

  Hours passed. The trees fled into hills and the hills into the long slope that led into the Crack. By late afternoon the Hunters were standing at the thin gap. They had not spoken the entire way. Omer was not sure he wanted to, so fraught were his thoughts, but Tahr stopped him there and sat on a boulder beside the pass. His eyes were hard and his mouth was pulled tight in a frown.

  “I do not like this at all,” he said grimly. “Everything is circumstance, but the answers are growing few. Do you think it possible? Has he really returned from the grave?”

  “It should not be so,” Omer said. He slumped down on the earth beside Tahr. “I can make no sense of it. Even if he were not dead, why would he not return to Shalim? He is En’shen, he knows the penalties of becoming Rogue. And what of his parents? Certainly Gaul did not do that. Even the maddest Man will not so flip his bearing, and Gaul was as gentle as any I have met. I think something greater is afoot, something we have not yet seen.” He sighed. “I have to believe it is something else. I must.”

  “So a good friend does,” Tahr said. “I’ll not ask you to think otherwise, but we must endure the thought, at least. Perhaps he has gone mad, or lost his senses and remembers nothing of himself. Who can say? But…,” he trailed off.

  “We could not sense him,” Omer said. “That is my gripping hope. He was Tested, we should at least have known if he was near. Out in the wild I can dismiss, the lands are huge and easy to be lost in, but if Benahia spoke truly, then he was less than a hundred meters away last night. Even could we not feel his spirit, we ought at least to have noticed his passing.”

  “Unless he was hiding,” Tahr said idly, then caught himself, “but we ought still have felt his mind. En’shen are hidden from spying magic, but we are not invisible.”

  Silence fell. They each weighed their thoughts on the matter. Tahr’s were darker, of ghosts and misdeed, but Omer’s were more hopeful, and he refused to believe anything but the grave buried deep below Shalim.

  “Do you think Gaul is connected to those strange bandits?” Tahr finally broke the quiet.

  “I hope not,” Omer said. “The more we encounter on this return, the more I worry for why they did not kill me when they had me bested.”

  “I can think of one reason,” Tahr said.

  “As can I,” Omer snapped. “It was not Gaul, though, that I am certain. Even if he might hide from us in the wild, he could not hide right in front of me. I do not know what to make of it all. I can only think and wonder and worry. If Gaul has returned… then he is Rogue, and that is the scariest mystery of all this. I could not bear to hunt down my old friend.”

  Tahr placed a hand on Omer’s shoulder and tapped it lightly. “Not you, friend. Even the cruelest Master would not send you on that contract.”

  “But I would ask,” Omer said. “I would ask because I must know why.”

  “Then I would go with you,” Tahr said. “Wherever that path leads.”

  Omer smiled in thanks but said no more.

  ***

  They rose and entered the pass, feeling a weighty silence on each of them. For the better part of the day they went on without a word, only the last patter of rain to keep them company. As evening came on, the clouds lifted, giving way to bright sunlight that dropped the pass into deep shadow. Somewhere in the mountains high birds began to sing and call to each other, and far away the mountain goats brayed. Night fell and for a brief time the moon drifted above them, though it was quickly hidden beyond the mountain walls.

  It was early morning when they came to Oreeon, walking out into the hillside they had left behind weeks prior. They ran from there until the hills became full of high grass, slowing them to a brisk walk as they fought the wrapping tendrils that seemed to always be moving, even when the wind was still. Every now and then Omer would look back towards the land behind, wondering if he would see figures cloaked in black and red following, but not once did he spy anything stranger than a wandering deer. He felt certain they had left their odd stalkers behind. Oreeon’s high grass might hide following feet, but anyone low enough to disappear into the gray and green and blue sea would be moving far too slowly to keep up. Perhaps the strangers had learned all they needed to learn of the Hunters, or perhaps they had never been their prey at all. Omer could only wonder.

  Five days passed. They made better time on the return. Omer was used to his new talents now, feeling the strength of his Tested bones renewing without rest, and his keen eyes picking out pitfalls and snares long before his feet might test them. They passed up and onto the mountainside of the Hyrgeled without trouble and a few hours later they were standing outside Shalim, dusk hanging heavy in a fine mist that shrouded the fortress.

  “Now, to find Azod,” Tahr said.

  ***

  After a brief stop to their own chambers to relieve their packs and change into fresh clothes, the two Hunters went about looking for Master Azod, Omer with the torn book in hand. A passing novice pointed them into the Mastery, where Azod had apparently been for the better part of a week, wrapped up in another shadowy contract that he would not speak of to others.

  They hurried down into the Mastery to find Azod in the midst of a conversation with Master Taillus, who had returned recently from a trip to Elmedov. Azod waved them in and beckoned to the couch, but did not speak to them as he was wrapped in his talk.

  When they were seated Taillus continued where he had left off. “They called themselves Yglbreth’s Arm,” he continued. “If the records are correct, they date back to before the Romedun, perhaps even to Mankind’s birth.”

  “Does Iphilia know?” Azod asked.

  “She has heard the name but knows little of the cult,” Taillus answered. “There was some confusion on her part, at first. Apparently, Yglbreth is the name of something called a Deep Lord within the realm of Abysus. I do not think it the same creature, though.”

  “Abysus?” Omer said without meaning. Azod fixed a hard stare on him, but Taillus seemed eager to answer.

  “Yes, the world of waters,” Taillus said. “You have heard of it, I am sure, but I do not blame you forgetting. We have little to do with the other worlds. Though, that may be changing.”

  “It may, or it may be nothing at all,” Azod said. “What do Men make of this Deep Lord? Should Shalim be wary?

  “It is an old god,” Taillus said, “the kind Men worshipped in our barbaric wanderings. You would be hard-pressed to find any who know of them outside of these halls, and few even here. Dead religion. Or recently resurrected, depending on who we ask.”

  Azod cleared his throat. “Well and good,” he said, “but without more reasonable proof there is nothing to be done. Send a few novices on it. See what can be found, but do not trouble the land. We do not need panic.”

  “So I shall,” Taillus bowed. Then he took a seat on the couch, even as Azod bade Omer
and Tahr to rise and replace him.

  “You have been gone a while, Omer,” Azod said. “Much has happened since you left, but nothing that cannot wait for a tale. What did you find of our strange ghost out in dreadful Timmelan?”

  The two Hunters told their tale then, sparing no detail so far as they could remember. Azod and Taillus sat with faces as still as stone for the entirety, and though Omer thought many of his discoveries were worthy of at least a raised eyebrow, they offered no hint that a surprise had found its way in. During their talk, Omer produced both the Hunter emblem and the torn book, which he placed on the table, though Azod did not react to them. When at last they were finished, Azod stood and began to pace about the room. Taillus sat with his chin upon his fingers, staring into the floor as he pieced together the mystery.

  Then, without warning, Azod left, simply continuing on his pacing and right out the door. Omer and Tahr stared after him with wide eyes, wondering where he had gone, but Taillus seemed to take no notice, and so they sat down beside him.

  The time whittled by in silence. Finally, Azod returned and with him was the Master Smith of Shalim, Koen. She was a hard lady, chiseled by years of working a hammer and forge, with features so sharp they might have cut an unwary passerby. She was still wearing a welder’s mask atop her head and large gloves about her hand. Tahr coughed and sat a bit straighter when she entered.

  “This is the emblem,” Azod said, grabbing it from his desk and handing it to Koen. She turned it over once, seemed to spy something that both Omer and Tahr had missed in their own inspection, and then handed it back to Azod.

  “Ai, right ya,” she said, her accent scraping across the room. She was from Eskalon, a place of old languages and older superstitions, and she had never quite distanced herself from her home while in Shalim. “That’s the right met a’Gaul, aright. Sixth notch abo’it, me own tap. Bit tipped on ale for att’un.” She winked down at Omer, who was still trying to piece together what she had said.