by Ross Turner
“Will you be alright!?” Marcii called, concerned, having to practically shout above the wailing screeches of the elements.
Reaper clambered up and out from the entrance to the cave as Marcii looked on frightfully. After a moment however her apprehension was replaced with sheer awe and all her worries faded away.
He pushed off from the ground like a great, monstrous bear, rising up onto two feet and standing steadfast against the cruel, driving winds.
But he did not stand like a bear: hunched forward and slightly off balance.
No.
Instead he stood taller, and straighter, and broader, and infinitely more human than anything Marcii could possibly imagine.
He turned back to her and glanced down the entrance to the cave, seemingly so far below now, smiling warmly at Marcii even in the face of the freezing cold.
His arms raised and his hands spoke just as perfectly as they always seemed to, for it was surely not Marcii’s doing that she understood him so easily, but undoubtedly his.
Dancing their final message before he vanished into the blackness, his enormous hands assured the young Dougherty there was no need for her to worry, for he felt not the cold, just as he needed not to sleep. He promised that she would see him again very soon.
And with those final words he was gone, replaced by the black of the night that engulfed everything it touched.
Chapter Eight
The wind had been screaming for hours and it was only getting worse. The rain had started too. It was coming down sideways and bore brutally into anything it could find.
But Kaylm didn’t care.
He might not have been a dozen feet tall, almost as wide and immune to the cold, but his anger and his indifference made up for all of that tenfold as he trudged through the streets.
Tyran’s hunting parties had been out most of the night but had started returning soon after the weather turned so vile. Kaylm had declined to join them. He had not voiced his refusal too loudly however, for he knew it wouldn’t take much for him to find himself at the end of a rope.
Any support for Marcii, or refusal to hunt her, would have undoubtedly resulted in yet another conviction of conspiracy.
He couldn’t afford that.
Not now.
Not if he was going to help her.
That’s why he was out so late, braving such dire weather.
He was looking for a weakness in Tyran’s troops. A chink in their armour. Anything that he could exploit to help slow down the hunt for Marcii. He had to help her in any way he could.
Though of course he wanted to aid her, really, deep down, Kaylm wanted to find her. He was lost without his young Dougherty, and more than once he’d found himself sat alone behind the vines that covered the inlet in the church walls, waist deep in lonesome thought, pining for his missing friend.
The news of the terrifying demon that Marcii had summoned to attack the hunting party had spread through Newmarket like wildfire.
He didn’t believe it, naturally.
She wasn’t going around consorting with demons and witches, if there even were such things.
The whole idea was simply ludicrous.
Suddenly, through the almost impenetrable wall of rain that filled the air, Kaylm spotted three figures scurrying through the night. He dove down a narrow, putrid alleyway, disappearing out of sight right at the last second.
The figures did not see him, but as they hurried past he heard the heavy jingle of their armour and smelled the stench of oil and sweat hanging behind them.
Enforcers.
The temptation to follow them and bury a knife between their shoulder blades was enticing to say the least. But, hungry for revenge though Kaylm might have been, for he was only human after all, he was no fool. He knew that although he might have brought down one of them, perhaps even two if he was lucky, he wouldn’t be able to take all three.
And besides, there were so many of them now, for Tyran was bringing more and more in seemingly by the hour, that any kind of revolt would last all of but a few moments.
His wealth must have been endless and for a moment Kaylm envied the cruel man. Not for his money, but instead for his position.
A man with that much authority could do so much good in the world, and here he was squandering it for the sake of power and control.
It made Kaylm sick to the stomach.
Grunting slightly as he rose to his feet, the determined Kaylm Evans pressed on again and out into the night, off to see if he could sabotage yet another storeroom. So far two of Tyran’s food stores had been mysteriously left with their doors slightly ajar, allowing all manner of vermin and cats and dogs and even hungry townsfolk to gain access to wealth of food within.
An army cannot hunt on an empty stomach, after all.
That was Kaylm’s thinking at least.
Disappointingly, it seemed not to be making too much of a difference. Nonetheless, he pressed on, knowing he had to do something.
But he knew that wouldn’t last. He was sharp enough to realise that soon he would have to do something drastic.
He had to find Marcii, and he would have to do so before Tyran’s men did, or anyone else in Newmarket for that matter.
They all longed for the witch’s blood to flow thickly through the streets.
Freezing cold water ran freely down his face and his clothes were soaked through.
He didn’t know how many more hours it would be until sunrise. Probably not too many, he prayed.
Sighing and pulling his cloak more tightly around himself, out of force of habit more than anything else, for it made no difference whatsoever, Kaylm continued through the dark, lonely streets.
His mind swam with thoughts of Marcii Dougherty, and all manner of insane and ludicrous plans to stop Tyran and to save her.
Certainly every idea and notion was a guaranteed death sentence.
But Kaylm was getting to the point where he didn’t care about the consequences.
He only cared about Marcii.
Just knowing she was okay would be worth it.
And so, with that heavy, burdensome thought firmly set in mind, Kaylm made his decision, knowing that one way or another he absolutely had to do something.
He didn’t know how, but he would find her.
If there was such a beast as Tyran’s men had described, he would kill it and rescue her and then they would run away together, just like they’d always talked about.
Kaylm sighed deeply and his shoulders slumped, the cold and the exhaustion finally breaking down his barriers.
It all just felt like wishful thinking.
Above all else, he just hoped she was still alive.
Chapter Nine
Marcii found dry firewood at the back of Reaper’s cave where the rainfall could not reach and where Reaper’s warmth still hung amidst the stone. Starting with smaller pieces of kindling and building up to larger chunks of wood, the young Dougherty stoked the fire back to life until it crackled and spat and roared.
Because the entrance to the cave sloped downwards from the forest above, the wide mouth acted like a chimney, funnelling the smoke upward and out into the damp air.
She could hear the wind and the rain outside still, sweeping the smoke off into the vast sky above.
It was disconcerting to listen to and, though Reaper had assured her that she didn’t need to worry, Marcii frequently glanced in the direction of the cave entrance. Every so often she even paced up to the mouth to see if she could see him returning.
The rain was too thick to see very much at all and the storm had grown so fierce that Marcii daren’t even poke her head out.
She had to admit, Reaper had been right. She was very glad he’d convinced her to remain.
Her stomach growled and rumbled more and more desperately by the minute. She returned hastily to keep stoking and preparing the fire. She knew somehow innately that Reaper would keep to his word and that it wouldn’t be long before he returned.
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br /> Sure enough, after what felt like only a few more moments, a looming shadow appeared in the cave entrance.
Reaper slipped down from the forest above and dropped to all fours with practiced grace. He kept one hand off the floor, carrying several limp, swaying forms in his enormous grasp.
Water dripped from his fur and ran freely down his face, but it seemed not to bother him in the slightest. Even before she could see him Marcii could have sworn she felt the heat radiating off of Reaper as he approached.
“Are you okay?” The young Dougherty asked immediately, rising to her feet and stepping forward, her movements almost even involuntary.
Reaper dropped what looked to be a deer and a sheep beside the fire and lowered himself to the floor.
He gestured with his hands and his eyes that he was fine and thanked her for her concern.
Pulling the deer towards himself he looked approvingly at Marcii’s fire. She smiled as he complimented her on her work and watched as he began stripping the carcass.
“Thank you.” She replied. “Can I help?”
Reaper set to work expertly preparing their meal and motioned with his eyes towards the sheep. Marcii stepped around the fire to retrieve it.
All of a sudden, as she reached down to grasp it, she realised that it wasn’t a catch at all, but instead sheepskin. And not only that, Marcii saw as she inspected it more closely, it wasn’t raw and roughly hewn off a carcass as she’d expected.
Though it was wringing wet, it was not fresh off the sheep at all. It was perfectly cut, well cured, and the pelt was in pristine condition.
“How did you…?” Marcii began, looking up at Reaper in surprise. She knew the expense of such things and couldn’t quite believe what she was holding. Their family had never been wealthy enough to know such luxuries.
Reaper looked across to her and made a string of small gestures with one hand. He told her that he knew of a farmer on the outskirts of Newmarket who cured and tanned his sheepskins into fine pelts. He was very proficient at his work and often hung them in his barn to drain and dry.
Reaper explained that whilst he could obtain a sheep and skin it, he did not have the materials to properly treat it so that Marcii could use it. And even if he had, she wouldn’t have been able to leave the cave until it was finished, for the weather was growing too cold.
It would quite simply have taken too long, he concluded silently.
“You stole it?” Marcii asked, sounding perhaps more shocked than she should have been.
Reaper gestured with his hands again, stating only that it was either that or she freeze to death.
Marcii supposed that answer was reasonable enough.
“I’m sorry. Thank you.” She offered, backtracking and withdrawing her shock. Reaper nodded his head in reply.
Marcii laid the pelt on a raised, outstretched section of the wall to dry and turned back to the meal Reaper was preparing.
When the meat was cooked through it was tender and almost fell off the bone before Marcii could eat it. She devoured it ravenously, realising all of a sudden exactly how hungry she was, stopping only every now and then between mouthfuls to breathe.
Reaper ate too, though he seemed not to be anywhere near as ravenous as Marcii was. Everything she did not eat, bones and all, he crunched almost negligently, as if he hadn’t really been hungry in the slightest. Marcii imagined it was just another one of those things that he didn’t really require, but she didn’t think on it all that hard, for she was too focused on her own food.
It was only after her belly was full and stopped grumbling for more that Marcii’s overactive mind once again kicked into gear.
She realised suddenly, as she wiped her mouth clean, that there was one question, perhaps most obviously of all, which she had completely neglected to even think of. As she drew breath and turned to Reaper, he looked knowingly across at her by the flickering firelight.
She could see that he was expecting it.
“Why did you save me?” Marcii asked quietly. Her words still echoed all around the wide cavern, mixing with the sound of the crackling fire.
Reaper seemed to think on her query for a moment. He gazed into the dancing heat of the flames so deeply that his coal eyes burned bright orange and red and yellow.
He raised his hands to speak, but Marcii saw almost all that he was going to say in his eyes alone.
The gentle creature told her it would not have been right to let those men kill her. He said he couldn’t imagine any situation where it would be right for armed men to kill a defenceless young girl.
“They think I’m a witch.” Marcii explained. “Something has been killing people in the night in Newmarket. They think I helped Malorie summon evil spirits and demons to murder people.”
Reaper looked pensive for a minute.
Finally, twisting his hand with a flick of his enormous wrist, he said he supposed that now they thought he was responsible.
Marcii went white, but she could not lie to him.
“Those men in the forest will have told Tyran about you.” She admitted. “Tyran is the Mayor of Newmarket now. He’s the one leading the hunt for the witches. I don’t think he’ll let anyone, or anything, stand in his way…”
Again, Reaper did not reply immediately.
At the mention of the hunt for the witches he remained perfectly still and looked so deeply saddened that Marcii felt guilty for what she’d told him. She’d had little choice in the matter though, for she was only speaking the truth.
“When you found me…” Marcii went on, her voice little more than a whisper creeping delicately around the cave. “I’d only just escaped from Newmarket…”
Her eyes pooled deeply and Reaper looked on, expressionless and still.
“Before I escaped, I watched Tyran burn my family alive…” Now that she spoke the words Marcii felt hollow and empty inside, as if she wanted the pain to come, but it was nowhere to be found.
She took a deep, shuddering breath.
“I saw them hang people…” She continued. “Claiming it was because they were witches. They tortured Malorie and then drowned her in the river…”
Reaper saw the empty pain in Marcii’s eyes and for a moment they just held each other’s gaze. By the flickering firelight the young Dougherty could see the understanding in the black coals of Reaper’s face, telling her without even the slightest movement that none of this was her fault.
Looking back, he could see the loss she felt, and indeed he did understand it, for he had experienced it himself.
Marcii fell suddenly into the enormous creature’s arms and shuddered terribly. He cocooned her in his grasp as gently as he could manage. She clutched at his thick, shaggy fur and felt his warmth encase her. Unable to cry, for she felt so overwhelmed, Marcii just lay there for a few minutes, trying desperately to catch her breath.
Eventually, once she had settled, though she did not move, Marcii spoke again. She breathed her words through Reaper’s fur, for her head was buried deep in his enormous chest and her eyes were closed.
“I was going to Ravenhead.” She told him. “When you found me, I was going west.” Silence followed and there was nothing but the sound of the popping fire and the screeching wind for a few minutes.
However, little did Marcii know that Reaper’s thoughts were screaming at the mention of the abandoned town.
He remained motionless and silent, as he always did, but his mind cried out in terrible anguish as the memory of dreadful loss flooded through his vast body.
Ravenhead was perhaps the only human settlement he did indeed know well, for though he was not responsible for the attacks in Newmarket, Marcii’s words had brought back feelings and memories he had never again wished to experience.
It was abandoned for a reason.
Chapter Ten
Over the following weeks Reaper taught Marcii the ways of the forests and the plains and indeed of the wilderness itself.
During the day they rested in th
e sanctuary of Reaper’s cave. Well, that is to say Marcii slept, whilst Reaper sat. He could remain entirely motionless for hours and hours on end it seemed, with or without Marcii curled up on his lap.
It was only during the darkest hours of the night that they ventured out for fear of being found by one of Tyran’s many hunting parties.
The air was so bitterly cold now winter had fully taken hold that Marcii daren’t even venture to the mouth of the cave without wearing the sheepskin pelt Reaper had retrieved for her. It was, by no stretch of the imagination, an absolute godsend. Without it she surely would have succumbed to frostbite or pneumonia weeks ago.
The winds raked across the fields and around the sloping hills and though they did not yet carry snow with them, the screeching squalls were icy and bitter and cruel.
Marcii often thought of Ravenhead, though of course she didn’t know the pain that it caused Reaper, for he did not disclose those memories to her.
She wanted to leave, to get away from Newmarket for good. Most importantly though, she wanted Reaper to come with her.
But he warned her that, for now at least, it was too dangerous to travel so far.
Although that was, admittedly, only part of the reason.
He imagined the time would eventually come when they would have no choice but to leave.
Fortunately, that time was not yet nigh.
Nonetheless, Tyran had many men combing the hillsides. Even when Reaper and Marcii were out for barely a few hours, every night they came far too close to being found.
It was surely only by some miracle that they had not yet been discovered, for every time they somehow managed to find cover to allow the hunting parties to pass. The young Dougherty often found herself mere feet away from Tyran’s troops as they skulked around in the darkness.
“How do you always see them?” Marcii whispered to Reaper one night, just as they were crossing back through the forest and towards the cave with their spoils.