Path of Ruin

by Tim Paulson

  “That is most definitely not the case,” the baroness said, her eyes blazing. “You will tell me who it was.”

  Vex seemed to resist, his sharp teeth grating together. “...Sybile,” he said at last, as if the word had been torn from his throat.

  The baroness raised an eyebrow. “But who-”

  “It's his sister,” Henri had stepped forward. “I was there. He was trying to contact her.” Henri sighed, his eyes dropping to the floor. “He said she might be able to help Adem.”

  The baroness seemed surprised. “Is this true? Can the boy be cured?”

  The ghoul wizard shrugged. “Sybile said it may be possible. We lost contact however, which is what I want to discuss.”

  The baroness paused for a moment. “Here,” she said, placing a hand on Vex's exposed neck.

  To Mia it seemed like nothing had happened but Vex grinned, nodded his thanks and proceeded to draw with his thin gray fingers in the air. There was a hissing noise as all the pieces of his garments flew from every part of the room and joined, mending completely.

  Now instead of dark tatters he was clad in smooth black garments, a black cloak, a wide brimmed black hat and a deep purple scarf that covered the majority of his ghoul's sharp toothed grin. Both of his arms were wrapped in bandages all the way to the fingers as if shielding the skin from something, perhaps sunlight itself.

  “What can be done about my son?” Henri said.

  Mia agreed. Poor Adem had been through enough, surely there must be some way to save him.

  “What do you think?” Vex said. “Look around you blacksmith. Do you see the emuq kagal? We can't just conjure it back together. It was one of a kind!”

  The baroness's eyes scanned the crowd of them one by one. Aaron, Mia, Liam, Celia.

  “Where's Giselle?”

  Chapter 17

  "The sea is like a lover. Boundless in her beauty and mystery, terrifying in her rage.”

  -Marco Benario, Captain of the Pyrolian frigate Aventura Dorada, 1619

  Several hours had passed since Liam and Celia had left to follow the other group of people they'd spied from across the road. Giselle was starting to get worried. She did not relish the idea of spending the night in the wild, with only six children and a weaselman for company.

  However, she had to admit that the smell of the boiling stew was intoxicating. It kept wafting over to where Giselle sat with the children, distracting her from the story she was supposed to be telling.

  While Giselle had spent the majority of that time handling the children, the weaselman had busied himself building up a fire and making a sweet smelling stew he called popkosh. The fish for it had come from the last of their stores but the package of red papita spice had been produced from his person.

  The creature must have procured back at the village somehow. They'd picked him up in her father's dungeon with nothing yet now he had knives and belts with pouches filled with all kinds of things, most of them for cooking it seemed. Giselle had the feeling most, if not all of it had been stolen.

  “When can we eat?” Meera, the slightly smaller but far more talkative of the lion children, said.

  “Soon,” she said. She hoped so anyway.

  Meera frowned, folding her furry arms in a huff. “That's what you said before.”

  “And it's still true.” It was a non answer and she felt a little bad about it. Still, you had to do that with children. They would exhaust you with questions if you let them and sometimes it was best to signal that more questions wouldn't help.

  “What happened next?” asked Remmy as he adjusted his seat in the thick dry grass. Giselle had been forced to spend significant time beating that grass flat so the children had some where comfortable to sit away from the road. It was a less traveled road, that was easy to see, but it was prudent to be safe, as Aaron often said.

  Off in the distance a sewing bird with an orange and red spotted breast perched upon a single branch of a thorn bush. Giselle watched as it picked at the feathers at the end of its wings and realized that she had no idea which story she'd been telling or where in it she'd been. Celia had often made light of her forgetfulness.

  Celia. She hoped the girl had found Aaron. If anyone could do it, it would be her.

  What had happened had been her fault after all. She'd been foolish enough to lure him into those trees. Celia said there was no way she could have known but that wasn't entirely true. The story of the tree soldiers was a favorite of little Shon's.

  It told of a traveler and his wife and daughter who sought firewood in a haunted forest. The tree soldiers were enraged by the father's ax and captured him. They might have taken him away except the mother traded her daughter to the trees for the return of her husband.

  A truly odd story and a terrible choice to be forced to make. There were actually several endings she'd heard as well. In one the little girl becomes a tree soldier, in another the trees kill the mother for being heartless and return the father, but Giselle's favorite to tell was the one where the little girl passes into a new world and becomes something new and powerful. That was not Shon's favorite however because he liked the thought of having trees take away his sister.

  “I'm sorry,” she told them. “I forgot which story I was telling.”

  “The gilly mud boy!” Min said with an exasperated sigh. “You were telling us that one!”

  Ah yes. The little boy who found a stone in the river that made him a mud runner. But where was she?

  “And... uh...”

  Min Glared. “His mom's gonna cook him!”

  “Of course. How silly of me!” Giselle said, trying her best to remain cheerful even though her poor husband had been snatched out of her arms by a fifteen foot tall living tree. Because of her. Tears welled in her eyes.

  “Lady!” Min said, a stern expression hardening her features.

  Giselle wiped at the tears with the edge of her traveling cloak.

  “Of course... So... So then she placed him in the pan and fried him up with some Kerits and leeks and ate him.”

  “NO!” shouted Min, Remmy and Meera together.

  “That's not how it goes?” Giselle said with a coy smile, or the best approximation she could manage.

  “No!” Meera said with a hot glare and a clawed finger pointing directly at Giselle, warning her not to do it wrong again, or else.

  There was a tap on her shoulder that made her jump.

  It was the weaselman. How could a creature of such size be so incredibly quiet? It was unnerving! Clearly the stories were not wrong.

  “Yes?”

  “I am smell something from up wind. I think perhaps a herb I can use in popkosh,” he said.

  “You're adding something else? Isn't it done?”

  He shrugged, “Flavor is not yet perfect. I want make very good for you... so you-”

  He stopped, stood up straight and sniffed the air. “Something is wrong.”

  A knife flew through the air and buried itself in the weaselman's back. He let out a hoarse cry and clawed at it.

  The children cried out in terror.

  There was a loud crack from Giselle's right and blood sprayed from his chest, painting ribbons of red across her clothes. Piotr's eyes rolled and he dropped to the ground with a solid thud. Behind him stood Benny the bard.

  Min screamed.

  “Don't run!” shrieked Benny in his high pitched voice as he raised a second pistol and pointed it directly at Giselle's chest.

  “Benny! Why!?” she said. The children were crying now, Min was hysterical. Giselle reached for her hand.

  “There is no why,” Benny said, eyes wild with glee. “I have to. I have to.”

  “Benny stop! Cease this!” she said, knowing he wouldn't, that he'd already gone too far.

  Then the second gun went off.

  Giselle saw the flash, heard the crack of the report and smelled the burning smoke of veil powder.

  There was something warm on her chest. Breath wouldn't come. She
couldn't scream. The world began to spin around her. She was falling.

  Benny knelt beside her, putting his face right next to hers. His lips touched her ear.

  “Hello my sweet. Did you miss me?”

  “No,” she breathed, coughing, tasting blood. She reached for him. He might hurt the children. He had to be stopped.

  “Sssh,” Benny whispered, a finger to his lips. “Don't waste your precious blood pawing at me. You've only got so much you know. You can't go dying on me before you and I have our fun! It's true that a bard such as myself is not unused to the affections of the... shall we say... underutilized women of the many towns and villages I frequent. However you,” He touched her nose tenderly with a single finger. “You're something special. I'm going to enjoy you.”

  Meera had appeared at the corner of her vision. Giselle wanted to tell her and all the others to run away, to flee, but she couldn't form the words. She felt cold and so very tired.

  She blinked once, slowly. It seemed like only a moment but now Benny was singing something.

  Giselle wanted to turn her head to see what was happening but her neck wouldn't obey. Above her soft fluffy clouds drifted past, uncaring, like ships in the sky sailing a great blue ocean, leaving her adrift in the waves, to sink and die.

  No!

  She couldn't just lie here. She couldn't give up. She had to do something. It hurt so much to move, like a hundred burning knives twisting inside her at once, but she clenched her jaw, willing her eyes to stay open and her arms to move. She gripped the grass with her fingers.

  Somehow this time, despite the feeling of ice inside her veins, it worked and she pulled herself up to her elbows.

  Benny had taken the log she'd been using as a seat. He had a lyre that he was strumming casually. The children were gone, as if they'd never been there.

  Good God what had he done to them? Please lord, in both of your holy ways, please protect the children!

  Benny the bard sat and strummed, then he tuned a string, then strummed again.

  “Stop,” she coughed. Blood ran from the corner of her mouth. It was all she could taste, like nails in her mouth.

  “Oh good! You'll be awake enough to hear me sing. I'm so happy!” Benny said with a crazed grin. “We're about to have a song! Don't you want a song?”

  “Where are the children? What have... you done.”

  He ignored her, strummed his lyre one last time and began to sing.

  “On this fine eve with skies oh so red,

  soon you will bleed until you are dead.

  My fingers will play on the soft of your skin,

  which my blade will caress from without and within.

  If you look my way wrongly I'll cut out your eyes,

  and I swear I'll not muffle even one of your cries.”

  “You're mad!” she hissed at him.

  Benny laughed, ignoring her. “Isn't that a good one? It's just simple couplets but I tell you, those ones are always a hit. They're easy to sing along with, that's why. Would you like to hear another?”

  Giselle knew she ought to say yes and buy some time for someone to come but she was loathe to hear another murderous ballad. If only she could keep him singing long enough, maybe Celia and Liam would return with Aaron. They would make Benny pay.

  “Yes.”

  One of the children whimpered quietly from somewhere in the bushes, drawing Benny's attention. It sounded like Min.

  “You shut your trap little one. What did I tell you after I killed your older sister? Don't go telling on old Benny! But you did and they were gonna hang me too. Oh yes they were, they wanted it kept all quiet so the murdering bard didn't get into the print sheets... Don't you worry.” he said. “I haven't forgotten you! Oh no! No No No!” He paused to cackle raucously. “When I'm done with my sweet Lady Halett here... I'll find you. I promise.”

  So he hadn't found them, they were alive. Thank goodness!

  “A song! Please,” Giselle said, coughing more red that ran down her chin. “The salting song...”

  “Oh! The salting song is it?” Benny said, clearly happy she'd remembered one of his tunes. A mischievous grin played across his lips. “That's a long one. Quite long indeed! You wouldn't be hoping to stall me for a bit would you? Perhaps until your friends return? Hmmm?”

  Giselle's heart sank.

  “You look worried. Don't my darling! I plan to take my time, oh yes I do. You're wrong to think anyone will come. I saw them go into those haunted pines. The killer's wood, that's what folks in the know call it, and I know, you know?” He chuckled, clearly pleased with himself. “None who go in come out again. Didn't you see the road?”

  She couldn't reply, her mouth wouldn't work and her head felt heavy again, but she did look toward the road. It was the same one they'd traveled down from the standing stones, overgrown with weeds, barely more than a path. Were it not for the two distinct ruts made by the occasional tinker's cart, it might be mistaken for a game trail.

  “No one travels this way. I know, it's one of my favorite quiet roads to avoid unnecessary attention. You'd think a bard would want attention and of course you'd be right. Most of the time. But not now,” he said, sliding a long dagger from his belt.

  “Lately I've been... eh... paying my debts to the dark ones too often, people have started talking. Like that little one hiding in the grass who talks too much.” He spat on the ground, his face full of rage.

  “But not again. Not ever again. Not after I find you!” he yelled, spittle frothing on his lips.

  Then, inexplicably, Benny laughed maniacally and looked Giselle right in the eyes, his face deadly serious.

  “You don't look well. You've lost your color!” He reached forward and dabbed his fingers in her blood which he used to draw two circles on her cheeks. “Much better!”

  He then stood up and stalked along her body, slowly, his eyes looking her up and down as he went, like a chef selecting the perfect cut of venison for the evening's roast.

  “It's time my sweet, my delicious doting dove. It's time for you and I to become very, very close,” Benny whispered as he squatted down beside her, winked, and raised his dagger.

  At that moment Pioter the weaselman leaped from the brush, a throwing knife still stuck solidly in the center of his back and a large wet red stain on the front of his leather jerkin.

  Despite all his injuries, he charged, tackling the bard to the ground. They landed in a snarling grunting heap on the other side of the log.

  Children gasped from the bushes.

  Giselle could hold herself up no longer and collapsed again into the blood soaked grass. She heard the two of them struggling. The bard cried out once, then twice. Had he been stabbed? Mortally wounded?

  All she could do was hope, which she did until she heard Benny grunt and then, hauntingly, he laughed. It was a full throat-ed wide mouthed guffaw and it turned her very soul to ice.

  Out of the corner of her eye she saw him rise up and stab the poor weaselman over and over again. The sound of metal piercing leather and flesh repeated several times until Benny finally paused, panting and stood.

  He was covered in a thick coating of blood with red splatters all over his face yet still, he smiled.

  “Now... Where were we?”

  Giselle wondered if this, truly was the end. Then, incredibly, Pioter rose again behind the bard and smacked him in the back of the head with a rock. It made a solid thunk and Benny's eyes unfocused.

  Benny groaned and fell over. The knife slipped from his fingers, dropping into the grass with a thump.

  “God! I hate those stupid songs you make bard!” Piotr said as he coughed up blood. There was blood all over the weaselman's shirt. It looked like he'd been stabbed at least ten times.

  “Oh Pioter! I'm so sorry!” Giselle said.

  “Don't worry. It's just a scratch... eh?” His ears perked up. “I must go... I'm sorry,” he said and stumbled off into the brush.

  What in the world could be coming now?r />
  She blinked and then there were three dark figures standing over her. They looked like Celia and one of those horrible walking trees and... and mother?

  She had to be dead. They were coming to collect her for whatever lay beyond. It made her sad, she'd wanted to do so much, to help people and she'd never had the chance. Then she wondered why Aaron wasn't with them. Was he still alive? She couldn't die and leave him alone, not now.

  “My God! What's happened!” Celia said.

  Giselle's world went down a cloudy tunnel into the dark.

  * * *

  Henri smiled as his son cavorted happily in the bubbly suds that filled the conspicuously white tub. He'd asked about it when Vex showed it to him but the wizard had just laughed and remarked that a black tub would never look clean.

  Regardless, the tub, though most brilliantly white, still fit with the decor. The feet were tentacles rather than claws and its entire surface sported that same skeletal texture.

  “Can you spare a moment blacksmith?” Vex said from outside the doorway.

  “I'm in the middle of something here.”

  Adem was laughing his head off as he played with a set of baubles shaped like creatures they'd found in a container next to the tub.

  “Let Daniel help him finish up. We've some visitors, more than expected, and I was hoping you could... assist.”

  Henri considered. Oddly, it didn't concern him to leave his son in the care of Daniel. He found it hard to dislike the skull headed creature. Despite its horrific appearance it was gentle and kind and had shown nothing but good will.

  “Alright,” he said, rising from his knees beside the tub. “Only give him a few minutes more, I don't want him shriveling up. Please also make sure he keeps that amulet around his neck. He's tried to take it off twice.”

  Daniel nodded.

  “Don't worry about clothing for the boy. We have some,” Vex said as Henri followed him down the hall.

  “Let me guess, it's black?”

  “Some of it is gray,” Vex replied.

  “Too many visitors?” he said as he followed the black wizard. The ghoul's foot steps were so smooth he seemed to levitate down the hall.