A March of Woe

by Aaron Bunce

  Tadd chewed on his thumb, quietly nodding. Folkvar watched the old man, evidently waiting to see what he would say, before chiming in with his support.

  “I agree–” Dennah said, settling down before the fire, but Tadd cut her off.

  “We have three horses, and no food for empty bellies. The boy and I have naught but blankets and stolen furs to keep us warm and winter has only set in. T’will get darker and colder with each passing sunset, and my bones tell me more snow is coming. With well-rested, well-fed horses the Silma pass will take a fortnight. Will it be safe to travel after dark? What will we eat? How do we stay warm? And, if we ride double, even with the smallest of us riding together, our passage will be even slower,” Tadd said, quietly, the host of questions drifting between them.

  Roman met the old man’s gaze and didn’t look away. Tadd knew better than any how difficult the passage would be. Unfortunately, he didn’t have answers for any of the wagon driver’s questions.

  “We can just go. Scavenge supplies on the way,” Folkvar proposed.

  “Dennah and I snuck out the window of our room at Marna’s tavern. Right now, they don’t know we are gone. We will sneak back into town before the sun rises, gather as many supplies as we can, and return. We load up the horses and pick our way through the woods heading northwest. We don’t need to take the road at all. The Amelda will lead us all the way to Lake Mynus. They don’t know the river valley like I do,” Roman replied, gaining confidence as the plan took shape in his head. He looked to Dennah, but she wouldn’t look away from the fire. When she spoke, her voice wavered.

  “I don’t want to go back there…” she mumbled, hugging her knees closer to her body.

  “There are roadside inns north of here…Lakeside, Hunter’s Ridge, and not to mention Heart’s Point on the southern tip of Lake Mynus. We could get food, furs, and oats for the horses there,” Folkvar chimed in, watching Dennah out of the corner of his eye.

  Tadd shook his head before the young man even finished speaking. “Lakeside is three days steady ride from here in good weather, and Hunter’s Ridge, further. If we’re push these horses cross country, we need oats, grain, water, and–”

  “That barn was filled with people…all dead – a whole town of people, rotten, shrunken…dead. They…he, that monster, killed all of them! If we go back, the same will happen to us. We should be running away right now and figure out the rest when we are safely away from here,” Dennah spat.

  “I can sneak into town. I mean, they never saw me when I was watching the barn,” Folkvar offered.

  “No!” Dennah snapped, fiercely, but almost instantly softened. “No one can tend the animals as well as you, Folkvar.”

  “None of you should have to go back there,” Roman cut in definitively, ending the debate. The haunting vision of the winter barn filled his mind, despite his best efforts to banish it outright. This was larger than Bardstown. If DaeGeroth could silence a roadside town, then what would happen when he decided to march north? Would he enslave and consume every small community he came across, gathering strength and an army? Denoril would end up like Garon’s farm – a wasteland of death, filled with slaves.

  “I am the one he wants,” Roman said, crouching down by the fire and telling the others his plan. They listened, quietly. Dennah tried to cut in, to argue several times, but he wouldn’t let her. They sat in silence for a time when he had finished, none outwardly in favor of his idea, but not possessing any alternatives either.

  Night fell quickly, covering the battered old watchtower in a blanket of cold and dark. Tadd and Folkvar curled up in their blankets and furs, falling asleep quickly. Dennah sat before the fire, picking at the hot embers with a stick, her gaze glassy and distant. Roman wanted to see what she saw, to stand by her side as she fought her internal battle, but he knew there were somethings people had to do on their own. He lay down next to her, his eyes closed, listening.

  Roman dozed off, his sleep once again carrying him to that strange meadow, the sky alight with odd ripples of blue-green light. Tusk was there, a glowing dog sitting a quiet vigil, protecting him from whatever monsters might bubble forth out of his dreams

  He meandered through the dream world, keenly aware of another being. It hovered far off in the distance, shining like a beacon fire. Was it the Nym the Crow spoke of? He contemplated this for a time, until a massive, slow presence slid beneath him. Roman dropped to his knees and held his hands just over the snow. He didn’t need to brush the snow aside to see it. The creature’s light illuminated the snow, until the ground shone with bright, shifting colors in all directions.

  The spirit took notice of him, its consciousness as deep and complicated as the briny ocean. Roman reached out to it, the goliath retreating for a moment. He could feel its fear and confusion. It had not encountered one like him before – one still possessing a sense of self, but more than that, mortality. The spirit pulled closer after a short time, growing confident that he did not mean it harm. It pushed all the way up to the ground, testing the boundary separating them.

  Roman felt the nudge, both in his dream world, and inside his body. The spirit was immense and powerful, but where the Ifrit was full of ire and malice, this spirit simply felt curious, almost lazy in its movements and considerations. It was ancient – the remnant of a being beyond the oldest of his people’s legends.

  Tusk growled as the massive spirit nudged the barrier again. He sat upright, driven awake, and took a deep breath. His hand subconsciously clutched to his stomach, and the pulsing cold knot deep inside.

  Roman didn’t know how long he had been sleeping, but Dennah now slumbered on a bedroll next to him, and the sky was still black with night beyond the window. Moving deliberately and quietly, he bundled up, and tiptoed his way around the maze of bodies. He considered the door for a moment before ascending the stairs and climbing out through a hole in the structure’s exterior.

  He dropped into the snow, giving his eyes a few moments to adjust. Roman found their tracks and navigated his way back down the bluff, slipping several times on the slick rocks, but slowed, using the birch saplings for support. He was supposed to wake Dennah before he left, but he knew better. She would insist on going with him, despite her fears. Now she could help Tadd and Folkvar. Roman would slip into town, gather their supplies, and meet up with them again north of town, on the river trail.

  The moon, full and bright in its cycle, slipped behind the clouds when he jumped down on the other side, the forest dissolving into black all around him. Roman stifled a stab of panic, instead urging Tusk forth, the dog eager and waiting.

  “I need your eyes,” he whispered, picking his way forward. “Same tracks…same route back.”

  Tusk growled his understanding and set off. Roman followed slowly, cursing the darkness until the moon finally reappeared, allowing them to double their pace.

  With Tusk guiding, they made good time, reaching the winter barn in short order. He tromped north into the trees, thankfully putting the burnt structure to his back. Roman felt strange sneaking back into town. His instincts told him he was moving towards danger, that the town, despite looking and feeling as it always had, had been emptied of both friends and safety. In and out, he told himself.

  Bardstown looked quiet as he looped around towards Marna’s, the town dark save for a few, solitary glowing lanterns. Tusk loped around the tavern and stood by the window to their room, his white fur almost indistinguishable in the gloom. Roman pulled open the window and crawled through, his snow-laden boots catching and sending him toppling ungainly to the floor.

  He froze, listening. The tavern sounded quiet, save for the hearth crackling and popping. Roman quietly stood, shrugged his knapsack off and hastily dumped the basket of smoked and dried goods inside. He dropped the empty basket to the table and stood, turning to the fire.

  The fire. Warm, yellow flames filled the small hearth. It should have burned down to coals long ago. The rocking chair creaked in the far corner, the shadows h
eavy and concealing.

  “Who’s there?” Roman asked, challenging the darkness.

  Pale hands appeared suddenly, a person rising from the chair and moving into the firelight. Alina’s curly brown hair framed her face, her pale brown eyes boring into him unblinkingly. She stepped forward smoothly, covering half the distance between them in a single step.

  “Alina, I didn’t see you there,” he said, some of the fear melting away with recognition.

  “Yes, Roman. I came to your room in the night to make sure you were comfortable. To ensure you had everything you needed…and yet, you weren’t here. Why weren’t you here, Roman? And where is your friend?” she asked, the soft, pleasing lines of her face gone, the flickering fire drawing her in sharp contrasts.

  He shifted uneasily, searching the young woman’s eyes. The warmth from the previous day was gone. Was it all just an act? he wondered.

  “I went for a walk…to think on your father’s…DaeGeroth’s proposal. The fresh air helps me sort out my thoughts,” he lied. He could tell that she didn’t buy it.

  “You’re a horrible liar, Roman,” Alina said, stepping forward again.

  Roman snuck a quick glance towards the open window. Tusk waited just outside, hiding in the snow. He managed a single step towards the opening before the window snapped shut hard. He glanced back at Alina, the young woman’s hand held out before her.

  “That is new,” she said, astonished. “I could make mugs wiggle a little, but this…” Roman watched her uneasily. He’d seen her move in the woods outside town. She was faster and stronger than any fighter he’d ever seen, and evidently that was just the beginning. Had DaeGeroth granted her some sort of magical ability?

  “Where is your friend, is she still out there? Why did you crawl out the window? And why did you shove that food into your pack? It looks suspiciously like you are going somewhere,” Alina asked.

  “Yes,” Roman nodded. “I need to go with her. Dennah is from the Burroughs, but her caravan is likely due to arrive in Silma any time now. I will help her north, and come back right after. Once she is safely with the caravan, that is. If she doesn’t return, they will brand her a deserter. That would bring shame down onto her whole family, not to mention the fact that she was pledged. They would throw her father into a cell, and Dennah couldn’t live with herself if that happened.”

  Alina’s face relaxed a bit, and a moment later, she smiled.

  “That is the Roman I remember – a dedicated friend. Come, we will tell father. He will need to know of this right away,” she said, and swept past him, closing the window before opening the door.

  “But…” Roman stammered, hesitating for a moment at the window.

  “Come,” she said again, hooking his arm and pulling him out the door.

  Roman reluctantly followed her through the tavern, and out into the cold morning. It was still dark, the first hints of dawn kissing the eastern sky. A large shadow appeared in the street before Frenin’s large home, DaeGeroth holding out his arms in welcome.

  “Roman. I trust you found rest. Were you comfortable,” the Nym asked, his wide smile looking horribly out of place on Garon’s face.

  “Yes, thank you,” Roman said, his hand worrying over the pommel of his sword.

  “Father, he says ‘no’,” Alina said, stepping in, “and the girl is gone.”

  “Is this true, Roman?” DaeGeroth asked, his dazzling green eyes turning to him.

  Roman suddenly felt like a tiny bug, watching a boot as it hovered over him, wondering if it would squash him. His thoughts floundered, his words sticking in his throat. He told himself that it wasn’t Garon. That there was a monster living inside the man’s skin – a horrible, insatiable monster, but he struggled to look past the face.

  “A pity…I hoped that you would see the wisdom of our friendship,” DaeGeroth said, before turning and nodding towards Alina. “Follow me,” he said and turned.

  Alina pulled him forward. Her expression was still friendly, yet her hand closed like crushing stone around his arm. DaeGeroth led them down the road and stopped before Berg’s smithy. The large man stood under the lean-to roof, working the bellows to feed the fire.

  “We know that you snuck out of your room last night. I let you leave,” DaeGeroth said, ambling up the stairs to join the smith.

  Snow crunched behind them. Roman turned to find people streaming out of the buildings and congregating around them. He spotted Lucilla and Noble, and behind them, Marna and Bale, along with the folk from her tavern the day before. The people crowded in, pressing him towards the stairs to the lean-to and sealing him off from the street.

  “I was not lying when I told you that I needed you, Roman,” DaeGeroth said, bending over Berg’s crafting table. “Your world, your time, your age, as some would call it, is ending. What happens to your people now is difficult to predict.” Berg worked next to him, tapping with a small hammer and chisel.

  “Do they know about the winter barn?” Roman asked, standing at the bottom of the stairs and looking up. “Do they know about the bodies you have hidden there? Have you told them what you’ve done to the rest of their town…to Greta, and the people in the orchard!?” He looked to Alina, and then the crowd. They didn’t respond. Alina shifted, however, her eyes flitting from Roman back up to her father.

  DaeGeroth chuckled, his laugh cold. “They know what they need to know – that life requires sacrifice, and the strong do not inherit, but take. I took life from the weak and suffering in this town, and in return, gave it to those more worthy. Look around you, Roman. They, like you, are strong now, only now they aren’t burdened by doubt or insecurity. I have freed them.

  A horse nickered up the lane as a group appeared in the gloom.

  “Oh, perfect. I was hoping they would join us soon,” DaeGeroth said, gesturing towards the approaching horses.

  Roman felt anger flush over him as the horses approached. Tadd rode on General, while Dennah and Folkvar sat atop the other horses. Two spindly, gaunt-faced young men led the group along. His lip curled in recognition. Arrin and Devlin.

  “You don’t see everything, Roman,” DaeGeroth said, straightening as Berg lifted something from the forge, the metal glowing an angry red in the darkness. “I offered you a place at my side out of respect. We have always granted special favor to those that recognize power and rightly bend before it. To be named faceless is an honor above all honors, but to accept the mantle willingly is an elevation second to none. The faceless are bound, flesh and Nym tethered as one, stripping away your weakness, and imbuing you with the strength of my will. The faceless are an extension of the Nym, flawed flesh reborn of purpose.”

  Movement caught his eye in the tree line just past the lean-to. Dark forms moved in the trees, their eyes reflecting back the glow of the forge. He turned and looked past the crowd. More shadows crowded in, emerging from between buildings. They crouched and swayed, their bodies seemingly always in motion. Roman caught glimpses of splotchy fur and mottle flesh, black, sharp claws, and mouths full of glistening teeth.

  Recognition dawned on him, the horror sinking in. Gnarls were in Bardstown. How did he not know? He should have run and never looked back, just as Dennah wanted.

  The crowd suddenly pressed in behind Roman, their hands latching onto his arms and moving him forward. He struggled, grasping for the sword, but there were too many of them. They forced him up the stairs, just as Berg picked up a pair of tongs and fished the glowing metal back out of the fire. Once over the top step, the hands forced Roman down, his knees banging hard against the cold wood. A multitude of hands wrestled him still.

  “By masking you, I make you a part of me. I claim your strength and unusual gift as my own,” DaeGeroth said, turning towards him. He towered over even Berg, his back stooped to fit under the lean-to roof. His pale, handsome face split into a wide smile as he grasped his shirt suddenly, tearing it open, exposing his broad, strong chest.

  The pale flesh rippled and moved, as if somethi
ng bubbled, or seethed just beneath the surface. A heartbeat later the pale skin beneath his sternum ripped open, a sharp, black stinger emerging. Berg stepped in right behind him, the glowing metal mask held ready.

  “Berg, no!” Roman said, looking to the burly blacksmith, but there was no recognition in the man’s eyes, or compassion.

  “And now, I embrace you,” DaeGeroth whispered, his eyes suddenly glowing like sun-bathed emeralds. Roman pulled and thrashed, the crowd lifting him up to his feet. DaeGeroth stepped forward, the wooden planks groaning beneath his bulk.

  “I respectfully decline,” Roman said, fire leaping forth from his hands just as Tusk exploded into motion, surging from the dark trees in a full gallop. He jumped onto a gnarl’s back, claws digging into flesh and finding purchase, before launching himself up and into the lean-to, jaws snapping, into Berg. The smith cried out, staggering forward under the weight, running into DaeGeroth, the red-hot mask tumbling to the ground.

  Roman pushed the fire forth and kicked, catching DaeGeroth in the midsection. He kicked off hard, the momentum carrying him and the crowd tumbling down the stairs.

  Flames leapt and surged, singeing cloth and flesh as they tumbled backwards in a heap of arms and legs. Roman rolled free, fire and snow meeting in an angry clash, steam and smoke surrounding his body like a living cloak.

  He pushed off the ground, sliding the sword free from its scabbard in one smooth motion. A man, his clothes smoking and face burned, lunged at him, his hands raking the air.

  Roman pivoted and moved to strike, but changed his mind and ran the pommel into his face, dropping him in a heap. Tusk bounded off the lean-to, landing amidst DaeGeroth’s enslaved townsfolk as they tried to stand, scattering them back to the ground.