Now that they were talking about magical things, Alfric considered the strange room he thought he'd seen last night. He still wasn't sure whether it was something his mind had created, but Gos seemed to know things, and now was the perfect time to ask with Velmit gone.
"Something strange happened last night," Alfric said, stopping as Velmit's footsteps drew near.
"What are you two conspiring about?" he said. "Bradir and Radbod should be back by now. I'm going to look for something to eat."
"You go on," Gos said. "I'll wait here with the lad."
"You'll miss out," Velmit said, but he was already halfway gone.
"Urd," Gos said out of nowhere.
Alfric glanced up and gave Gos a questioning glance.
Gos's face darkened. "Urd's the name of the town we ran through last night. Doesn't matter now, does it? Urd's gone. We killed them all. Every last one of 'em."
"Not all of them," Alfric whispered. He remembered the bar maiden's confused face when he had spared her. "I left one there. When I . . . When I controlled my body." Speaking it aloud made it seem at once crazier and more real. He had controlled the wraith. Otherwise, it would never have left the bar maiden alive, let alone hidden her from the other skinwalkers. "The wraith was still there, but it couldn't control me. Somehow, I took over."
"How is that possible?" Gos asked. "I've tried so many times. You aren't a mage, are you?"
"No." Alfric felt a strange curdling in his stomach and realized it was hope. Reason came and squashed it. "I'm not sure if this actually happened. I've heard stories of people whose minds are broken after experience terrible things. Their minds can create events that never happened."
"Don't doubt what you experienced," Gos said. "Tell me what happened."
Emboldened, Alfric continued. "I went to this strange place. A room with an orb in its center. I then passed through a doorway made of liquid metal, and then into a library of sorts. I found a silver scepter on one of the shelves. As soon as I touched it, I was back in my body, able to control it. The wraith was still there, but it was distant. Like I normally am."
"That's impossible . . ."
"You don't believe me?"
"I believe you," Gos said. "I just don't understand how you were able to get to the reliquary."
"Reliquary?"
"I assume that was where you went. It was meant to be sealed off from humans. There is a world between ours and the many others. It is a path to those worlds. Typically, it has been called the other-realm, or by its more ancient name, Taerentym."
"The reliquary is in Ta . . ."—Alfric paused, unable to wrap his tongue around the word Gos had used—"the other-realm?"
Gos shook his head. "No, it's in our world. Taerentym exists alongside our own world, as it does with the thousands of other worlds. Every world has a shadow, and that shadow is Taerentym. You were capable of entering there, and, for some reason, your spirit was taken to the reliquary."
"I'd never seen a place like it. It was entirely gray, and my senses were strange. They felt somehow dulled but also enhanced."
"That wasn't the reliquary's doing, but Taerentym's. Your senses are not the same because it is your spirit and not your body that ventures there. How can you see without eyes or smell without a nose?"
Alfric tried to follow, but he had trouble understanding it all. "How did I get there?'
"I do not know. Did you encounter anything else there?" Gos seemed to have a hidden intention, though Alfric couldn't determine what it was.
"I've told you everything."
"You didn't meet the Sentinel of Kranak-Ur?"
"No," Alfric said, but then he remembered something he hadn't told Gos. "Something yelled with a deep voice, and I heard thunder, like the stomping of a giant, just before I touched the scepter."
"Then you are fortunate. Had you faced the Sentinel, you would never have returned." The seriousness of Gos's tone made Alfric glad he hadn't seen the Sentinel.
Alfric lifted his head and smelled the air. There was still no trace of Velmit. He wanted to know more about these things. "The reliquary held rows and rows of peculiar objects. Orbs, like the one atop Tyme's Hill. Living creatures kept within cages. And the scepter."
"They are magical relics deemed too powerful for mortals to possess. The scepter must be a compulsion device of some kind. With it, the wraith was rendered powerless, and your spirit regained control of your body. Still, I cannot understand how you were able to enter Taerentym without a scrying crystal." This mystery seemed to enliven Gos.
All traces his illness vanished as he paced around the campfire. He took out a silver locket from his bag, the only item he still possessed from before the turn. He curled the locket around his fingers in thought, slipped it back into his bag, and turned to Alfric.
"I remember fragments of something I read in a history of the First Priest's Empire. Urd was mentioned. But, I'm afraid this illness does more than make my body weak. My mind is frail—nothing like it once was when I was a scholar in Lamworth. Lamworth's scholars would find your experience fascinating. I suppose they'd find us all fascinating."
"You've been to Lamworth?" Alfric asked. The more Gos spoke, the more it seemed he was something quite different to how he appeared to the bandits. Perhaps they thought bookishness a weakness. Alfric saw it as a strength. While the bandits might have no qualms about killing the innocent to feed, Gos was more powerful.
Gos smiled proudly. "I've even met King Beorhtel on a number of occasions. He's everything you might expect and more. If he could hear about what you've experienced, I'm sure he'd have his best mages study it." Gos stoked the fire. "I think you should go to Lamworth. I could have a message sent to one of the mages. Barne is friend of mine. If he only knew what happened to you, that you entered the reliquary, he would readily help us. Whatever power you hold could be capable of stopping the wraiths—permanently."
"I don't know." Alfric lowered his voice, though he caught no scent or sound of the others. The plan seemed bound to fail. He'd be turned away from Wostreheim in the same manner he'd been turned away from Eosorheim when he'd encountered an invisible wall. Not only that, but there was the matter of Bradir and the others. "And what will happen when the pack finds me? They'll kill me."
"If you leave now, you only need to evade them for a short while. Once night falls, they'll go toward the beacon. And if you can control the monster, you can go in the opposite direction."
"I don't know if I can do it again . . ."
"Sure you can. You've done it before." Gos spoke with a confidence Alfric didn't feel. "I'll keep the others off your trail. They might think me old and weak, but I have a few tricks." Gos tapped his bag.
"You're not coming?"
Gos shook his head. "I can't control my wraith. It'll be dangerous when nightfall comes. I might draw the others to you. I've got to do something good. It's always the evil playing over in my mind. I haven't been able to control the hunger like you. I've even enjoyed it."
Alfric didn't want to endanger Gos, but there wasn't another way.
A scent came on the wind, the familiar musk of skinwalkers. There was more than one, so it couldn't be Velmit. It had to be Bradir, Radbod, and Olsten.
"They're back," Gos said, confirming Alfric's thoughts. "Sit. I'll find a way for you to leave before nightfall."
Radbod and Bradir entered the clearing, each with a sack slung over their shoulders. They were both naked save for breeches and cloaks. Fur covered their bodies, and they stood greater than seven feet tall. A strange combination of wolf and human, their appearance portended what Alfric would become.
"You'll love what we got today," Radbod said as he threw his sack down and sat on a log.
Alfric turned his face up at the blood pooling beneath the sack.
"Still not eating?" Radbod said. "Fine. More for me." He reached for the sack. Alfric stepped on it, even as Radbod pulled against it.
Alfric clenched his teeth. "How many?"
"What are you playing at?"
"How many did you kill?"
"Enough," Bradir said. "We lost Olsten today. Two soldiers attacked us. They were wearing green cloaks, so it's likely they were once part of the old Aernheim militia back when the bandits were organized under Winhurst's king. Good fighters, the both of them. Thing is, they've organized a group to hunt skinwalkers. From now on, we stick together. No more resting during the day. We move toward the beacon. Sooner we get there, the sooner we'll have Eosor's protection."
These hunters were likely to be the same ones the man Velmit had killed earlier had spoken about. The ones Bradir had fought must have spooked him. Bradir had always been so confident in the pack's safety. And now they had a reason to get rid of Gos—he was too slow.
Radbod sniffed, and his head swiveled to Alfric. "You know something about these hunters, don't you? I can smell a man on you, and I know for sure you didn't do no killing."
Alfric cursed their enhanced senses. "Velmit killed a hunter earlier. He spoke of them."
"Fancy not mentioning that," Velmit said as he strolled into the clearing.
Alfric had been too concerned with the arrival of Radbod and Bradir to smell him on the wind or hear the padding of his feet.
Velmit sat beside Alfric. "I'm starting to question your loyalties."
"You know where I stand. I'll not kill."
Velmit grinned. Stringy bits of flesh stuck to bloodstained teeth. Whoever he'd found that afternoon hadn't died well.
Bradir rummaged through his sack. "I think you'll like this." He tossed Alfric a book.
Alfric ran his hands over the leather cover, feeling the embossed lettering. It carried a perfumed scent that filled Alfric's mind with fields of daffodils. Thumbing through the pages, he saw elaborate sketches of various trees, shrubs, and flowers. Halfway through the book, the rest of the pages were blank. It was nothing special, but it was a book. He didn't care for plants, but by Enlil, he'd learn every name and every description of each plant. Anything to maintain his humanity longer.
He looked up at Bradir. "Thank you."
"Ah, it's nothing. Not like it's any good to me. Figured you liked books. You had to be something fancy coming from Indham. You the son of a priest?"
Alfric didn't answer. He was too unsettled by the sudden act of kindness. How many times had Alfric considered killing Bradir while he slept? He had never had the courage, and he doubted his conscience would allow him to do such a thing, but he still thought about it.
"Well, ain't this a beautiful sight," Radbod said with a sarcastic smile. "Next thing you know, we'll be holding hands and singing ballads."
Alfric narrowed his eyes at Radbod. Although goodness might still reside in Bradir, there was none in Radbod.
"Did you bring back something for me?" Velmit said with a hopeful glance. It surprised Alfric how much his countenance changed around Bradir. Where Velmit had been confident and snarky around Gos and Alfric, he was cowardly around the pack leader.
"I don't know that I like giving stuff to this lot," Radbod said. "They didn't do any of the stealing. And they certainly didn't do any of the killing."
The book in Alfric's hand became cold to the touch. In his excitement, he had forgotten how they had gotten it. Murder. And not just any kind of murder—the most brutal. The skinwalkers fed only on the living.
Although the touch of the book made Alfric sick, he couldn't just toss it away, wasting whatever knowledge resided within its pages. He slipped the book inside his tattered bag.
"Golden Boy will get the thirst soon enough," Bradir said. "Then he'll join us for the kill."
"The little git doesn't deserve anything until he does." Radbod swore, heaved the bloody pack over his shoulder, and sauntered off, leaving a line of blood in the dirt.
"Didn't get me anything," Velmit muttered to himself. "Selfish bastards."
"I didn't forget about you," Bradir said. He approached Velmit and whispered into his ear. Although Alfric strained to hear, he couldn't understand any of it. Bradir purposefully kept him from hearing. Alfric decided he didn't care to know what they planned to do to innocent people. Better he not know than try to save them and fail.
Alfric paused, realizing how broken he'd become in a single week. Before he'd been possessed, he would have leaped at defending the innocent. What might Fryda say if she could see him now?
He could go to Lamworth as Gos had suggested. The mages there might be able to stop the wraiths once and for all. He would leave first thing in the morning.
"Looks like night's growing longer with every day," Gos said, looking out at the sun as it chased down the horizon. "Dark magic lurks within Aernheim."
"Time seems to have crept up on us," Bradir said as he approached the fire. "We were hoping to have something dealt with." His gaze flicked to Gos for barely a moment, Alfric almost missing it. "But that will have to wait till tomorrow."
Auburn light blanketed the clearing. Cicadas clicked a chorus that ushered in the change.
Alfric's head jerked aside. The dark presence made itself known. He struggled against the mental wall as it sectioned him off, stealing control of his body. He tried in earnest to go back to the reliquary, but nothing happened. The wraith cackled inside his mind.
Invisible fingers pulled at his cheeks, tearing them backward until all his teeth were exposed. One by one, his fangs elongated until they were the size of daggers. His nose tugged and pulled until it resembled a snout. Every change brought excruciating pain. He bellowed and roared along with the others. He clutched at his chest and tore off his cloak. Free from the foolish trappings of humans.
In a moment, the change was complete. Around Alfric were four other skinwalkers. Bradir was the largest, Radbod the next closest in size. Velmit had the longest claws, almost like swords. Gos's fur was gray and mangy, his eyes rheumy from sickness.
The five monsters crashed through the forest. Brown tree trunks and green shrubbery flashed before them, all shrouded in a haze of red. They barked and yipped at one another, an excitement that had been brewing all day ready to be unleashed upon the unwitting town.
Alfric could only watch as he tore through the first house. The fletcher lay atop his wife as Alfric entered the bedroom. His face white with fear, he watched as Alfric grabbed his wife. The woman screamed, and the skinwalker tore out her heart. He held it aloft as the fletcher grabbed a sword. Alfric tasted the sweet dew of a human heart. When the fletcher attacked, Alfric disemboweled him before the blade could complete its swing.
The skinwalker didn't feed upon the fletcher's entrails. Satiating the hunger paled before the desire to hunt.
Alfric had never seen the wraith so impassioned. Then something touched his mind, and Alfric realized what the wraith was doing—this was payback for taking over in Urd. The wraith was punishing him.
Attempt after attempt to reach the other-realm and the reliquary failed. Soon, Alfric had to calm himself for fear of going mad. The carnage grew around him, the ecstasy of the hunt forcing itself upon him. He hated it, but he enjoyed living vicariously through the wraith. How much longer would he be able to remain hostile toward it?
No, he had controlled it once before. He could do it again. Just not tonight. He had saved that bar maiden in Urd. Clinging to the memory of that woman's face, he watched as the wraiths destroyed the village, killing every last person.
The chief lay beside his blind wife in the mud outside their granary home. Fire wilted the vines that had crept up the stonework, and the windows revealed a roaring furnace inside.
The wraith cackled inside Alfric’s mind. Like the blood it drank for sustenance, Alfric’s despair exhilarated it.
The garrdforged sword rested in the palm of the chief’s limp hand. Such a weapon should have been capable of stopping the skinwalkers. Even had he slain one of the pack, he would have become skinwalker.
The beacon illuminated the eastern sky. Entranced, the wraiths moved toward it as one, growing closer to their inevit
able destination. When dawn's light came, Alfric shuddered and returned to his mostly human form. After the night's exertion, he doubted he would wake at all. But as he drifted to sleep, his naked body cushioned by the leafy undergrowth, he resolved to flee the pack and go to Lamworth.
8
Jaruman
Jaruman stood in the cellar at the bottom of The Flaming Monkey, pulling his beard in frustration. Someone had locked the door to the stairway from the outside. He was trapped in the darkness, alleviated only by the sliver of light sneaking through the crack beneath the door.
From the hunger he'd awoken with, he'd been unconscious for at least a few days. A jug of water and a loaf of bread beside him had helped. At least the presence of food and drink meant someone would retrieve him, whenever that might be.
His mind was a blur and his memory hazy. The last he remembered was Peoh and Hiroc carrying him from Idmaer's Spire. Fryda had been there with them, her concerned face flooding his vision for those moments when he was conscious.
He banged on the door and called out, "Open up!"
I'm going to kill someone when I get out of here.
He couldn't work out why they'd put him down here to recover and not in his bedroom. Not only that but they'd locked him up.
The lock on the inside was unbolted. Jaruman had installed the lock just in case he needed somewhere to hide should things go sour. It had been a precaution during the time of tension between Durwin and Idmaer, on the slight chance fighting broke out. The first people to suffer would be the foreigners, and although well-liked, Jaruman was clearly not of southern stock. Unfortunately, he'd never gotten around to creating an exit in the cellar. Durwin had died before that, and the threat of revolt had dissolved.
Jaruman closed his eyes and centered himself. The Madukai technique of intentionally emptying one's lungs and filling them again helped calm him. It also made him conscious of his heart shooting blood through his veins with its every pump. Concentrating as he exhaled, his body warmed until steam drifted from his skin.
The Dragon Soul (Vagrant Souls Book 2) Page 5