Chapter 2

Tythos stood at the edge of Mr Sagget’s property, flexing the fingers of his black hand, hesitant to step over the line. He could see the farmer’s neat log house from where he stood. Smoke rose from the chimney and the house looked well kept in a way he had never managed with his own. Mr Sagget had a way with the land and with building that remained elusive for Tythos, even after a decade of trying. A sharp pain in his chest accompanied a dull ache in his arm, indicating he had pushed himself by manifesting the sword and the claw so soon after reclaiming the hand. He didn’t know what would happen when he stepped over the line onto mr Sagget’s land.

The nightmare wasn’t able to cross this boundary, and was once again sharing a body with him. If he stepped over the line and it was ripped from him, the result could be fatal. Clouds had rolled in, turning the sky gray, casting the valley into an unseasonal gloom. The wind held a bite of cold, and a spitting snowfall begun, the sharp flakes of ice promising more to come.

The crisp smell of the storm mingled with whisps of woodsmoke, reminding Tythos of a home long ago and far away.

“Are you going to kill them?” Asked the nightmare.

“Kill them?” Tythos looked around. He didn’t see anyone nearby. “What are you talking about?” His mind had been on the past, and the people of the north, who made their home in the frozen lands.

“I’m talking about the fact you bound us to a group of halfwits, intent on dragging is halfway across the world and throwing us in hell.”

“It’s not hell.”

“May as well be. You did a good job leaving the interpretation of how you help them vague. It’s my firm belief the best way to do this, would be to kill them as soon as possible, saving them from the agony of living. The dead are better off than the living, and better still are those who have yet to be born.” The nightmare said this last with the air of quoting some ancient wisdom.

Tythos shook his head and massaged his sore arm with his good hand. “You know I don’t buy into that crap.”

“Buy in? Oh, so life is but a game, and we play the hand we’re dealt?”

Tythos grunted, “Sigrun should be able to hear you talk. She accused me of spouting nonsense.”

“That would be delicious, you’re a lousy conversationalist.”

“You can forget about that.”

“You’re no fun. So what’s your idea of helping, hmm? You’re not actually going to go back, are you? I think it would be a lark, but I know how you feel on the subject.”

“I’m gonna go with them, and make sure we never reach Thonos Gap.”

“That sounds like the sort of promise a young lover makes: ‘Oh! I’ll never let you go! Never!” The nightmare scoffed. “Please. Just kill them and get it over with. I thought I got you over this angsty self-righteous stuff years ago. I’m going on a walk. I’m hungry.”

Tythos felt a tug on his will and the black hand began to manifest into an object. Stunned by the absurdity of it, he watched it happen without setting his will against it. The black hand had never manifested without his will before.

The hand became liquid black and poured itself into the figure of the nightmare. It filled out and formed into the tall humanoid figure, connected to Tythos’s arm by one of its own arms. Tythos looked down, incredulous. It looked like they were holding hands.

“Now what, asshole?” Tythos glared at the black figure. “I’m not walking around like this.”

“Now you step over the line, and we see if it’s a line I still can’t cross.”

Tythos looked down at the clear edge of the property. Where he stood, the dirt was cracked and parched. The dust on top, that hadn’t blown away, was thin and powdery. On this side of the property line, nothing grew. On the other side, it was like another world. The ground was carpeted with lush grass, insects and small creatures roaming among the blades. The trees were thriving, and even the stones were green with moss. On his first visit to this property, the nightmare had stalked beside Tythos to meet the neighbors.

They had encountered Mr Sagget. The man had grey hair and a slight stoop, causing him to look like one of the gnarled oaks that grew around the valley, knobby in the joints, with hard lines in rough skin. The man looked straight at the nightmare as they approached and spoke,

“By my name and my master, I cast you out! You are bound to never return!”

The air shimmered with authority, then the nightmare shot backwards, as if swept away by a strong wind. From that moment, Tythos decided he liked this man. He would visit often, enjoying the peace that came from being away from the nightmare’s presence. They would speak of farming and the weather, and sometimes Mr Sagget would share his opinion about something. Tythos never asked why this man— here on the back end of nowhere— held enough authority to banish the nightmare, or how he knew it was there. For his part, Mr Sagget never asked Tythos about his past, or brought up his own. At some point in the last decade, they had become friends. That friendship was the only thing Tythos had of value now.

Tythos’s reverie was broken by the dark thought, that the only thing he seemed to be able to do consistently, was leave behind everything he had that was of any value. Tythos stepped across the line, curious if this would kill him. He wasn’t sure he minded if it did. If the Pact of Shadows was broken, he couldn’t think of a reason he had to be alive. What he was sure about, was that he wasn’t leaving the valley without saying goodbye to Mr Sagget.

As he stepped across the line, a painful sensation passed over him, a sharp static current, like stepping beneath an icy waterfall, or like life returning to a limb that had lost feeling. As the sensation reached his hand, he again felt a pressure on his will, hot and sharp. In his focus, he let go of it, as if burned. Tythos and the nightmare took a step back from each other. They were no longer joined at the wrist.

The nightmare looked at Tythos, its own eyes wide in evident surprise.

“Tally-ho Watson!” The nightmare shouted. “The game is afoot!” The creature then bounded away.

Tythos watched it go for a moment. “Who the fuck is Watson?”

***

The wind whipped the now thick snowfall as Tythos stepped onto the porch of the log house. With the wind and the snow, the chill had turned into a bitter, biting cold. The clouds overhead roiled and flashed with lightning, dark and heavy. Tythos couldn’t see the sun anymore. The storm had shut the valley in, like closing the lid on a box.

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Tythos pushed open the door to the house and stepped inside, announcing himself as he shut out the storm. The smell of pipe smoke led him through the gloom as his eyes adjusted. Mr Sagget sat by the fireplace, smoking a pipe and watching the fire. Tythos pulled up a wooden chair and sat beside him. The wind howled outside, but by some trick of the chimney’s construction, the fire burned without guttering. Tythos shook his head at this simple marvel. When he’d tried to fix his own chimney so he could have a fire on a windy day, his “fix” made it so the chimney would no longer draw. Tythos had never lived in a house before being exiled to this valley, and he found caring for one a difficult and foreign task.

Thinking of his arrival in the valley made Tythos feel anxious to leave, and trying to sit still felt onerous. He stood and looked at Mr Sagget, trying to find words to say, but failing.

“Strange weather for this time of year,” Mr Sagget raised one gray eyebrow, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Yeah,” Tythos drew out the word, wondering how much the man knew. He hadn’t considered the impact a late snow could have on the farmers in the valley. He had only been thinking of killing the snakes. “This storm gonna hurt your crop?”

Mr Sagget shook his head and blew a smoke ring. The firelight played over it as it traveled, then it seemed to vanish as it passed into shadow. “I read the signs,” he said around his pipe. “I knew there’d be a late snow this year.”

“How could you possibly have…” Tythos trailed off, shaking his head. “Listen, I gotta go on a trip. I don’t know how long it’ll take, or if I’ll be coming back.”

Mr Sagget nodded, as if this was news he already knew. Tythos couldn’t tell if the man had read that in the signs too, or if he affected a knowing demeanor on the rare occasion he was surprised by something.

“I know the Gladwell’s have been struggling,” Tythos continued. “I want them to have my seed and my pigs. That should put them ahead a little.”

“Why you telling me?” Mr Sagget studied Tythos’s face. “Why don’t you go tell them yourself?”

“You know why,” Tythos shifted, and tried to resist the urge to begin pacing.

“They may not take it like you think.”

“Anything they know comes from me, they’ll throw away. My name’s anathema to them.”

“That’s a big word. I know you believe you’re a curse—“

“That’s because I am. The only thing I’ve ever done reliably, is kill everything around me.”

Mr Sagget watched him for the time it took to blow two smoke rings. “I’ve watched you, you know,” he said. “Watching their kids grow like you wish they was yours. Doing small things to help them, when they wasn’t looking.” He sighed and tapped out his pipe. “I’ll take care of it for you.”

Tythos nodded. “Thank you, Mr Sagget.”

“How many times I gotta tell you, call me John.”

“You tell me again when I see you next,” Tythos looked down at his black hand. After the nightmare had run off, it had faded and was little more than a suggestion of a hand at the end of his arm. It looked more like an outline, than something real. Like smoke in shadows.

“I’ll do that,” Mr Sagget said. “You watch yourself. Signs say there’s trouble brewing.”

Tythos nodded. Not sure what else to say, he walked back out into the storm, to meet the party he’d be traveling with on the road.

***

With the wind, the cold was bracing. After shouldering his way through it for several hundred steps, Tythos began to adjust to it, heat coming from his core and warming his limbs with movement. It felt good. His skin stung and the cold licked at him like a flame, burning with its touch before his internal heat washed it away. He took a deep breath, and his lungs ached with the bitter cold. He smiled and breathed out a plume that began to form ice in his beard. A tall dark figure fell in step beside him as he walked.

“You look like a yak,” said the nightmare. “Your mustache all full of ice like that. It’s like a frozen booger you never wiped away.” It pointed with a long black claw. “You might just want to— right there, you have a little…”

“Thought you were going for a walk,” said Tythos.

“I was, I mean, I did— are you really not going to wipe that away? It’s bothering me, hanging there like that.”

“So why are you back?”

“You’re just going to ignore it? Fine. See if I ever tell you when you have something on your face. Barbarian.”

Tythos cleared his throat. The nightmare sighed.

“I found something to eat, so now I’m back. Also, I can’t leave. We seem to still be bound together. I got about two miles out and found the limit of our tether.”

“How are we still bound? You have the hand now, and you separated from my will— I can’t even feel your presence.”

“Yes… well, that may be a little part of why I’m back so soon. I need you to take back the hand. Sooner rather than later— if you don’t mind— it’s beginning to pull me apart.”

Tythos glanced over at the nightmare. It did look less substantial than he was used to. He could see through its black form and tendrils of smoke were tearing away from it with the wind. He watched as one was pulled free by a gust and blew away. Tythos stopped walking.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t just let you blow away.”

The creature pointed at Tythos’s chest. “You’re looking less than substantial yourself. What happens to me, still happens to you.”

Tythos held up his hand of flesh. The nightmare was right. He could see through his hand now. He shrugged and looked at the creature.

“Not good enough,” he said. “The world would be better off without both of us.” He woudln’t say so aloud, but blowing away in a storm of his own making might be the most fitting end he could think of. He wondered if this would destroy his soul, and prevent him from having to answer to the Hall. Not having to face his ancestors and atone forever for his failure would be a better end than he could hope for. With that thought, oblivion sounded rather nice.

“You may no longer be bound to stay in this valley and on this world, but I recall you recently bound us to accompany some fool on a journey. You can’t let us blow away. Now open up your will and let me come back— this stings!”

Tythos narrowed his eyes at the nightmare. He could feel that it was right. The authority had already begun to pull apart his will and force him to accept the nightmare’s presence. If he let it force him to act he’d suffer damage. Someone bound by authority and trying to resist, could become a mindless slave to their oath. It would hollow them out, destroying their will, leaving them dead inside. Their mind and body still functioned, but with no will, they would only do what they were told. This was true to such an extreme, that someone so broken could be sat at a feast, and they would sit unmoving until they died, unless told to eat and drink. The exceptions were those whose oaths required them to care for themselves. Even if short lived, it was a fate worse than death.

Tythos opened his will and allowed the nightmare to slither back in. He could feel the spiritual pressure of it, moving and squirming around inside of him, until it coiled up in its usual spot. His hand gained substance, becoming more solid, and the nightmare’s presence returned to his mind.

“Wait,” the nightmare said in his thoughts. “You were enjoying that? What the hell is wrong with you? Why would you enjoy the feeling of being slowly obliterated?”

“That’s not a conversation we’re having.” The creature had access to his mind, but it could only read his emotions, not his thoughts. It spoke in his mind, but he had to speak aloud for it to hear.

Now that the snow was no longer blowing through him, Tythos headed for the road to wait for the party. As he got moving, Tythos noticed he felt good. Like he’d had several days of rest and some good meals.

“What did you do while you were… out?” Tythos asked. He hadn’t been that separated from the creature since they’d first bonded. He remembered what it had been before he’d bonded it. “Did you eat someone?”

“It was no one you wouldn’t have let me eat if you had been there.”

“You ate someone?”

Tythos froze mid-step. The nightmare had not been real enough to affect a person since he had lost the hand. And now it had walked off into the valley— his valley— without him. He felt a chill that had nothing to do with the cold.

“Who was it?”

“Nobody, really.”

“WHO,” Tythos began shouting. “DID, YOU, EAT?”

He could feel the creature sulk.

“There’s no need to be rude. He was wearing the king’s colors.”

So it wasn’t a farmer. That was good.

“One of Endelmyer’s men? You know that’ll bring shit down on the valley. The farmers will be blamed if a man goes missing in the valley.”

He could not let the creature pull away and wander free again. He had nearly forgotten why he had given up the hand in the first place.

“No. Not one of his. Wrong livery. Looked like a scout from the actual army; reminded me of the good ole days.”

“The king’s army?” This could be worse than one of Endelmyer’s men going missing. “What reason would the king have to send men this far south?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“You don’t need to say that every time you get an idea. Spit it out.”

“You’re the reason why. They’re either here to escort you, or to kill you.”

***