by Donovan, Rob
In truth, Longcombe was not far off a town, but just lacked the population. Mayor Pinkleton set himself the primary objective of trying to attract more people to the village. He had erected two gatehouses at either end of the village and saw to it these were guarded at all times. His aim here was to give the village an impression of importance. Nevertheless, despite his tendency to take his role too seriously and fixate on the most mundane issues, Mayor Pinkleton was much loved throughout the village.
The mayor raised his hand a second time and the crowd gradually grew silent. As far as Rhact could tell, the whole of the village was in attendance to see the witch. Mothers jiggled their babies on their arms trying to hush them, whilst several villagers brought boxes to stand on for a better view. Although it was morning, the temperature was already rising and the smell of sweat hung in the air, mixing with the sense of nervousness that people were feeling.
Mayor Pinkleton would not be happy that so many people were standing on the village green. Surrounding the green were the commercial buildings that were the backbone of the community: Henry Cauldrop’s blacksmith shop and Cordon Fertuop’s mill were the two largest buildings and easily provided most of the trade; opposite these stood a dilapidated wooden building that used to house a carpenter and the Green Stag Inn.
Rhact eyed the empty building longingly. It had not been a carpenter’s since Keelo Brom had retired four years ago and his two apprentices had left Longcombe to find work in the cities. He had designs to take over the building himself, however, as Kiana repeatedly pointed out to him, Longcombe did not have any visitors as it was, so owning a large shop to sell fancy candles would be a waste of time.
Rhact knew she was right, but he also knew he was better than your average candle maker and dreamed of owning a far larger shop than the cramped space he occupied now. Most of the time he was forced to travel to Compton to sell his sticks.
Interspersed amongst these were various smaller shops: cordwainers, woodworkers, fletchers, etcetera, and market stalls that mostly sold food grown in the nearby fields or carders and dyers that worked on clothes made in the villagers’ own homes. Rhact noticed that some people who could not cram themselves onto the Green hung from every window overlooking the stage in anticipation of what the mayor had to say.
Rhact stood toward the back of the crowd on a box he was forced to go back and fetch upon seeing the sheer volume of people that had amassed already. He caught sight of Kiana who was next to Janna and was talking to Mertyn’s wife Tyra. As if sensing his gaze, she turned and looked up at him and scowled. She was obviously not impressed with how long he’d taken to get ready.
Rhact had already heard several fantastical stories detailing the witch's past exploits and how powerful she was. He was particularly amused to listen to two elder men tell a young boy the witch had once turned a man’s skin inside out for merely looking at her the wrong way. The men spared no detail as the boy’s eyes grew wide open with fear. Rhact sighed and turned his attention to the mayor as he cleared his throat.
“People of Longcombe, I have been mayor of this village for five years. During that time, I have never experienced such a heavy heart as I have today. As a mayor, you want to inspire your people to greatness, my aim has always to put Longcombe on the map, to make others in Frindoth know of our community and all it can offer. To—”
“Get on with it,” cried an onlooker.
“Yeah, cut the crap, Pinky,” shouted another.
Anger flashed in the mayor’s eyes. He steadied himself and continued, “No doubt you have all heard the news. I can confirm that the rumours are true. This year, the Ritual of the Stones will directly impact us.” Despite everyone being fully aware of this, people still gasped as the mayor confirmed it. A steady murmur grew amongst the crowd until Mayor Pinkleton once again signalled for silence. “You are all aware of the Law. Whoever is selected must proceed to Lilyon before the solstice. It is their duty to Frindoth, The Gloom must be appeased.”
Angry protests began immediately.
“What has Frindoth ever done for Longcombe?”
“Why should we sacrifice one of our own?”
“The Gloom will never find us here, the people of Frindoth can’t even find us!” Despite the gravity of the situation the last outburst was greeted with a ripple of laughter and caused Mayor Pinkleton to clench his fists. Most of the villagers shook their heads at the comments. They all knew that when it came down to it, there was nothing they could do to get out of doing their duty. Even if they intended to disobey the Law, the witch was there to accompany them back to Lilyon.
Rhact noticed the crowd had begun to part towards the front of the stage. One by one, men and women who were facing the stage were tapped on the shoulder. They turned, their faces registered surprise and then they made way. A small cloaked figure walked through the parted crowd. The green cloak the figure wore was unremarkable, and certainly nothing about it distinguished the figure from the other villagers’ attire, but Rhact knew instantly it was the witch from the way she strode through the crowd with an assured confidence.
As she walked up the steps to the stage, she lifted the cloak from around her ankles, a simple motion to prevent her tripping that somehow came across as dramatic. Mayor Pinkleton hastily vacated the stage. Rhact figured the mayor had already spent more than enough time in the witch’s presence.
The witch reached the centre of the stage and turned to face the crowd. The silence that engulfed the village was oppressing, even the Mistdrop, the icy river that ran through Longcombe, seemed to be muted. The witch raised her hands to her hood to throw it back and then lowered them, thinking better of it. This single action filled Rhact with dread. Suddenly he could well believe the stories he had heard of her. This woman considered herself too powerful and too important to waste her time revealing herself to the whole village. Rather than coming across as arrogant, it served to increase the mystique surrounding her. When she spoke she did not waste time with pleasantries.
“The Ritual has begun. The location of the stones has been revealed to the Order, and we know who has been chosen to come to Lilyon. By dawn the day after tomorrow, you will know who you are. There will be no need to report to me, you can say your good-byes or you can sneak off quietly, it makes no difference.
“Rest assured, though, I will be watching you. I will know if you deviate from your destiny. If you haven’t set off by dusk four days hence, I will come for you.”
She paused. Up until this moment the hood had been covering the majority of her face, and the villagers could only make out a mouth, two full lips mesmerising everyone with the rich tone of her voice. Now she raised her head and although the shadow cast from the hood still covered her face, two brilliant green eyes were visible. “You really don’t want that to happen.”
Rhact did not doubt the warning for a second. He didn’t believe anyone else would either. His body was rigid. She addressed everyone, but Rhact felt she had reached into his soul and personally sent him the message. He wondered if the other villagers felt the same.
A hand went up tentatively. The witch gave a slight nod to acknowledge the villager had her attention. Rhact was not too surprised to see it was Andre Hollington. He was showing no sign of his exploits from the night before. Rhact thought he was the only man in Longcombe who had enough courage to address the witch directly, although there was a slight waver in his voice when he began talking.
“How will we know if we are selected?” he said.
“You will know,” the witch said. “The stones will find you.”
“Stones?”
“Yes, stones,” the witch’s reply contained an amused tone to it. “There are three of you.”
Taking advantage of the stunned silence that followed her revelation, the witch departed from the stage. Rhact’s mind was racing. To the best of his knowledge, never had there been more than one person selected from the same village, town or city. Now three had been selected from Longcombe? What could
that mean? Was it just ill-fated luck, or was there something more significant going on? The uneasy feeling crept into his mind again. Something was wrong, very wrong. He needed to speak with Kiana and Mertyn.
The majority of the crowd began to disperse, lost in their own thoughts and keen to get back home. There were still a few pockets of people that remained sombrely discussing the witch. He spied Kiana and his stomach dropped. Standing beside her and talking very closely in her ear was Maxhunt. Rhact hesitated, debating whether or not to approach her.
Kiana looked at him nervously. She still spoke to Maxhunt and was truly sorry for what she had done to him, but she was also aware how uneasy it made Rhact. He was not the jealous type, but he was conscious that Kiana used to love Maxhunt and was going to marry him.
It was this that was causing him to hesitate. He did not want to come across as attempting to prevent them conversing, as if he couldn’t handle Maxhunt talking with his wife.
In the end it was Maxhunt who made the decision for him. He saw Rhact and left Kiana’s side, sauntering towards Rhact. What had Kiana seen in him? His long ginger hair was tied messily into a ponytail, his face was covered in uneven stubble and his teeth were yellow. He was taller and more muscular than Rhact, but he did not carry himself well and always appeared to be sneaking somewhere when he walked. As the two of them passed each other, Maxhunt grabbed Rhact’s arm and drew him close to his mouth. Rhact could smell ale on his breath.
“When you are chosen, your wife will come back to me,” he said. Rhact looked at him, trying desperately to control the fury he felt. “It will be just like old times, you know, when she used to scream my name so loud the town used to wake.”
Rhact shrugged off Maxhunt’s hand.
“I remember the old times as Kiana leaving a down and out serf to be with me. Guess you have to alter your memories to please you, Maxhunt. After all, they are all you’ve got.”
For a moment Rhact thought Maxhunt was going to swing at him, instead a terrible smirk appeared on his face.
“We’ll see,” he said before strolling off. Rhact shrugged and joined Kiana.
“I see he has forgiven you then,” she said, attempting a weak smile.
Later that night, Rhact and Kiana sat together, Kiana on her rocking chair and Rhact at the table. Both Janna and Jensen were in bed. They were discussing this morning’s meeting. The fact there were three people selected from Longcombe was not a good sign. Although neither of them could fathom what it could possibly mean.
The mood of the villagers had shifted throughout the day, from trepidation and uncertainty, to one of resolve. The villagers prepared themselves for the news that it could be their loved ones selected. Banbury Wilmot had declared free drinks at the Green Stag Tavern, but although many of the villagers had gone back to the bar, no one was in the mood to take full advantage of his offer. Rhact and Kiana had returned home after only a few. They had insisted Jensen stay in that night. Their son did not protest much; like most of the town, he was too preoccupied with the impending doom that would befall some of them.
The next day was largely the same. Rhact and Mertyn ventured out for something to do more than anything. Longcombe was like a ghost town. The few villagers that were out and about tried too hard at laughing and false joviality. Even Mr Hollington was alone in the Green Stag.
“I’ve never seen the town like this,” Mertyn said as they returned after staying for just the one drink.
“No. The whole place is in shock. Kiana will not be parted from the kids’ sides.”
“Tyra’s the same. I keep telling her the odds of it being us are so small but ...”
Rhact squeezed his friend’s arm as he tailed off. They both knew that the odds were now significantly larger than they had been the other night.
“If the worst happens—” Rhact began.
“Don’t.”
“If the worst happens, I will be there for you and your family, you know that.”
Rhact watched his friend’s bottom lip wobble. Of the two of them, Mertyn had always been the more emotional one. Mertyn brushed a tear from his eye with the back of his hand.
“Same for me and yours,” Mertyn could not look at Rhact as he said it. “Moons this is stupid. Nothing has happened yet.”
It was the “yet” that Rhact was concerned about.
The worst happened later that night. Rhact and Kiana had sent the kids to bed and were seated with a glass of wine. A knock on the front door interrupted their conversation.
“I can’t be dealing with anyone right now, Rhact,” Kiana whispered.
He motioned for her to be silent. The knocking came again. He looked over at the lantern that sat on the mantelpiece; it was too late to put it out now. When the person knocked for the third time, he grew curious. He left his chair and crouched towards the window. He risked a glance but was unable to see a thing.
Suddenly the door flung open to reveal Jon Holdsworth. Jon was the biggest man in town by a long way. He was only half a foot shorter than the perimeter wall and had the muscular build to match his frame. He was nicknamed Jon Slow due to his simple nature. It was a slightly harsh nickname as he was no less intelligent than the average man, it was his deep voice and the fact he slurred his words when he spoke that gave him his moniker.
Tonight, however, Jon Slow was clearly not himself. His eyes had rolled into his sockets so that only the white was visible. His chest was bare and he wore only a black pair of ragged pants. He walked into the room in an awkward fashion, his legs jerking as if in spasm. Kiana instantly recoiled, folding her legs up underneath her body and putting her fist in her mouth to prevent a scream. Instinctively, Rhact got to his feet and stood between Kiana and Jon Slow.
“Chivalrous, but ultimately futile,” Jon said. “If I wanted to harm your wife, she would be dead already. May I come in?” It was Jon’s voice but the slur was gone.
“You’re not Jon, are you?” he said.
“How perceptive of you.”
“Then who are you?”
“Some call me the witch. My real name is Marybeth.”
Rhact hesitated and then stood aside. He pointed to the chair he had been sitting in. Jon took it; he moved in a sort of shuffle, one leg stumbling in front of the other, as if the real Jon Slow was fighting the witch’s possession every step he took. When seated, he looked at Rhact expectantly, as if Rhact had asked him to be here.
“Can you hear me in there, Jon?” he said, feeling woefully inadequate.
“No he can’t. Don’t worry, he will be fine. He will just wake up with a headache and a little memory loss.”
Rhact looked at Kiana. It was clear she had no idea what to do either. Her fist was still in her mouth. He wished she would take it out. It was the most bizarre thing to hear Jon’s voice but know he wasn’t talking to him. Not being able to think of anything to say, he remained silent and took a seat opposite the possessed body. She can only be here for one reason, he thought. She has given a stone to Jon and is going to give it to me. A shiver ran up his spine. As if reading his thoughts, the witch finally spoke.
“I have made camp in the woods outside the village. It is to the west of here,” she said.
“Do you need anything?” Rhact asked, not knowing what else to say.
He immediately chastised himself. What could a woman that has the power to posses someone the size of Jon Slow possibly need that he could provide? The witch ignored the question, though.
“Tomorrow night you must come and see me – but it must be before dawn. I will be camped to the west just outside the perimeter wall. I know you, Rhact Oberon. I know the way you think. You will wrestle with your conscience and explore every possibility. Eventually, you will come to the conclusion that what you believe is the only solution. That solution will then lead you to think that you can’t come and see me, but you must, Rhact Oberon, you must.”
“What are you talking about, what will I have to decide? Are you telling me that my family is in
danger? I want to know!” Rhact could detect the fear in his voice. Had he been chosen?
“Just remember to come and see me.”
“Why? Why can’t you come and see me in person?” Rhact said.
“Rhact!” Kiana said, obviously appalled at the suggestion. The witch also chose to ignore the slight.
“You have to make your own decisions. You have to come to your own conclusions.”
“But I don’t even know what I am supposed to be deciding!” he cried, although he had a strong idea; he just didn’t want to acknowledge it. As if confirming his thoughts, Janna started screaming. Kiana jumped up immediately and ran from the room. Rhact began to follow and then paused at the door to look back at Jon Slow. The whites of Jon Slow’s eyes were no longer visible, instead Rhact could see the unmistakable piercing green eyes of the witch.
“Remember to come and see me,” Jon repeated.
Kiana called to him from upstairs causing Rhact to be momentarily distracted. When he looked back, Jon was looking around the room blinking rapidly with a confused expression on his face.
Chapter 5
The Marshes of Night obtained its name because it was said to be the only place in Frindoth the sun never touched. No one could explain the phenomenon, as the surrounding areas all experienced normal daylight. The Marshes of Night were just a black spot on the land, as if the sun itself forgot to illuminate the land there, or was too afraid. Bizarrely, vegetation continued to flourish in the Marshes regardless of the rules of nature.