“I had figured as much,” Jynge said, “I do not like the feel of this place. It is nothing like how I was told it would be.” She stepped away from the group and made for one of the other fortifications. Leaning her head close to the stone, she gazed out into the darkening sky above the wooded stretches of hill and wood. From what she could see through the small portal, only a fragment of the great fog bank could be seen, though it drew her attention like a signal fire.
“What were you told?” Dákk asked, following her to the window.
“High Ridge was reported to be an outcrop of sorts, much like its original purpose,” she explained, her eyes fixed on the lands outside the tower, “The taint of evil was to be but a shadow upon the horizon. Not a shadow that permeates this place like a foul mist. As I had planned it, the need for these masks would not even begin until we were to set out from this watchtower. I fear a spread of the blight, or some other dark design. If not a spread, then a vile presence nearby.” She paused for some while, then turned from the wall with a sigh and returned to where the others stood. “I cannot begin the ritual of placing the brand here tonight, for I am very weary and I doubt that I stay awake throughout its duration. If it pleases you, I would have our supper soon, and then be off to sleep, soon after. I will sleep late into the morning if I can manage it and I am not roused. The ritual will likely take all night, so I hope you understand my desire for all the rest I can manage until then.”
It was a quick business to get a camp set up for the night. After returning to the ground and gathering their things, everyone was busy with getting supper started and proper beds settled. The mare and jack were brought inside, relieved of their packs, fed, and tied to a loop of stone near the stairs. To the surprise of most, Jynge was actually the most involved in the whole process, and although it was technically Handor’s turn to get the pot of soup made and heated, she offered to tend to it in his place. A small fire easily sparked to life when the dry and broken wood from the staircase was placed within a makeshift circle near the center of the ground floor.
By the time the soup was done, the fire was their primary source of light, for night had fallen and all light had disappeared from the lands. Ever since climbing down from the upper level, the moods of all had been set on edge by Jynge’s words, and the warm soup did little to aid them. The rangers and Troíde went to sit outside the tower to eat their meals, but Jynge urged them to remain inside while their masks were removed. “The air inside is stale and foul, but not as much as outside,” she reasoned, “There is only the slightest difference in what I feel come to my senses, but ill omens weigh heavily upon me when the cover of the tower is not above.” The others grumbled at this, but no arguments were made, for each ranger had had his fair share of experiences in blighted lands. Although they knew even moreso than she that the risks were largely equal inside or out, even a small amount of protection would help.
By the time they were finished, Jynge was already at work laying out her blanket upon a bed of broken wood. She went about her duties, paying the others no heed, and in her haste, she dropped her things many times. Her hands shook, and when anyone asked her if she would like their aid, she quickly turned to decline in an anxious tone.
“She is merely nervous,” Troíde reasoned in a whisper, though she did not wish to admit to herself that her answer was given half out of exasperation, “Convent life doesn’t give much in the way of traveling through country, and she just needs her rest.”
“I hope you are right,” Handor grumbled, “Were I not so kind, I would have given her a reminder of whose effort it is by that she is even here at all.”
“Now now,” Górin said lazily, “None of that. It has been a long path for some, and a difficult one for others, but we are only at our first checkpoint. She said that she would likely stay late in her sleep, so let us use what time we have tomorrow to make the stay here more pleasant. With an early start, we might have time to hunt, tomorrow.”
This seemed to cause Handor to reconcile. “Actually, that is all the better, the way I see it.” He grinned darkly. “I saw the movement of those roe again just before we entered this tower. It appears that they’ve made their homes not far from here, perhaps two or three miles north. If all goes well, we shall be eating well in the upcoming days.”
The conversation waned, and one by one, the other members departed from their places around the fire. Quietly, so as to not awaken the witch and bear any sharp words, they retreated to where their blankets had been laid, and settled themselves down to sleep within the darkening chamber. A few more logs were placed upon the fire as the last set out for sleep, and soon, only the occasional crackling of cindering wood sounded out through the tower. Even that gave way to silence as the night went on, and by a dark midnight, sleep had come to most.
Long into the night, the fire had reduced to glowing embers, and though the cracklings came seldom, they were sharp and clear. More often came a new sound, though it was so distant and muffled to rouse any from their sleep. A shrill call, a ravenous howling, a hunter’s warning. Over and over it rang out through the land, like a bitter wind that bled through trees in the night.
Dákk could not find the path to sleep for long, remaining in idle drowsiness, but when the distant noises began to echo through the doorway of the tower, he was suddenly pulled back into full wakefulness. At first, he thought it was simply a dark idle fancy his nervous mind had created, but when the croaking call rang out again, he shuddered and held his breath. It was unlike any other beast’s call he had heard before. Broken and bleating, the call sounded more akin to a man attempting to imitate the call of some wounded beast, but such was only the most vague of comparisons Dákk could make. It was no man, that was for certain.
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The calling went on twice more before ceasing for a time. By the time that had ended, Dákk had risen from where he had been laying and carefully stepped over to the doorway. On the threshold, the origin of the sound was much clearer, though still nowhere near conclusive. Somewhere to the south was its source, though it echoed many times. Of its distance, he estimated perhaps four or five miles. While he felt little hesitation in creeping about the perimeter of the watchtower, given the distance of the call, he still kept himself in a low crouch, moving near-silently and making himself nothing more than a shadow in the half-moon’s dim light.
Whatever it was that was producing such a foul sound had likely come across some prey and was using its terrible call as a weapon of dread and terror. Dákk’s stomach turned at the thought of what poisonous throat could have made such a disharmony. He was no stranger to the gruesome sights predators left the carcasses of their prey in, but it was the thought of the predators themselves that unsettled him more. Secrecy and terror in the night; unknown until a sudden announcement of their presence, and then the terror of the chase. His fingers clenched instinctively, forgetting that he was not holding his bow. Hunter though he was, he hunted with honor and respect for those he killed. A sudden arrow to the chest, a few moments gone by, and it was all over. Even wolfhounds he held some unease towards; he much preferred the dogs that sought out and chased their prey to him.
Suddenly, a sight came to his mind. Teeth and jaws. Fangs and claws. Flesh tore from beneath their violence, and all throughout, that same bestial call rang out like a hundred frantic bells. A dark creature stalked through the land, and it had found its prey. A feast had begun. He saw the vision not from afar, as a stealthy hunter might watch a wolf devour a deer, but as the deer itself, trapped and consumed beneath the frenzy of the wolf. Chills bolted throughout him as the ghostly sensation of hungering teeth fell upon his body.
He knew not how long the vision lasted. He never knew for how long they lasted, whenever they had come to him in isolation. Over the years, they come less often, but never did their impact lessen upon him. A great shadow cloaked his mind as he stood there upon the dark ridge.
Dákk was surprised to find that he had nearly forgotten all about the strange calling, listening instead to his own fancies of the hunt until the sound came forth once more. Thinking better of remaining outside and needlessly losing sleep, he returned to the interior of the tower and went to where his blanket lay. However, upon his stealthy crossing, his eyes passed over the piles of wood where Jynge had laid herself down to sleep , long before. Though the fire was down to but small flames, his eyes had adjusted enough to notice that the witch was absent from her makeshift bed. In a sudden panic, Dákk looked through the room, finding none others aside from his companions. Only when he stepped around to her blanket and looked upwards did he see a faint light coming from the opening to the upper level. With caution, he gripped the rope that hung beside the wall and fitted his bare feet into a crevice.
His ascent was not perfect, and by the time his head poked up from the floor into the upper level, the dark figure of Jynge was already turned and looking in his direction. She sat near the hole in the wall, but her shoulders turned, and the pale moonlight that drifted in was caught on the white edges of her mask, making a ghostly skeletal face float within the shadows of her robes. For the briefest moment, Dákk could see the dimming of firelight on the wall behind her as the tiny flames upon her head diminished to embers and receded back within her.
“You heard it too.” She whispered, her voice barely perceptible from within the mask. Even though Dákk could only just hardly hear her words, it was clear her tone was not that of a question, but a simple stating of the fact.
“I couldn’t sleep,” Dákk began, “And then I began to hear it.” He slowly crept over to where she sat, and likewise set himself down by the hole. The view outside was limited and not perfect, but it was the only place in the room where one could sit and still see the land outside. “What is that thing?” he asked, “I have never heard such a cry before. It must be unique to the Silver Hills, for there are no beasts in Ekír Nadón that sound similar.”
“I don’t know,” the witch admitted. “I was hoping that one of you could tell me, but I had no desire to put any of you off of sleep.”
Dákk was silent for a moment. “I thought that you had meant to sleep long and deeply?”
“I did, and I do,” Jynge said flatly, “But black thoughts and strange sounds have kept me fearfully awake. I have tried to remedy this somewhat, but I’ve no success for myself.” She picked up a little wooden rod that lay next to her, and held it out to Dákk. Carved into its length were letters and shapes of an unknown purpose. Feathers were bound with twine to one end, and a thin wire was coiled around it all. “If you should require some aid, perhaps you might have better effect than I have, tonight.”
“I would gratefully accept the offer, Witch Jynge. How am I to use this charm?”
“Just wave it over the campfire if it still burns, and then sleep with it next to your head,” Jynge explained, “Tuck it into the folds of your cowl if you have to.” Her voice grew quiet. “Just do whatever you must. My own power may be of little effect.”
“How do you mean?” Dákk asked, looking over the rod.
Jynge tightened the hold of her arms over her knees. With the gesture, Dákk saw that her hands still shook, though less so than before. “This is a strange place in a strange land, though others have dwelt here before. Where I reside in Elbregn was a place where many witches before me resided. Where I craft my spells, a dozen others have done the same. Places bear memories for long, and if one is willing to or able to listen, then such things might be heard.” She took a long breath and put a hand to her hooded head.
“Often, the memories remain quiet enough to not be seen unless one should make an attempt to find them,” she continued, “But in some places, where stagnation has grown, those memories are heard still. Regardless of whether the listener wishes to or not. Sometimes, those memories echo onward. Perhaps they may change in form, even. With the blight over Þérge, sometimes those memories can be shifted in distasteful ways.”
Dákk stared at her, not sure of what to say. At last, when Jynge finally turned her head slightly to look over in his direction, he spoke up to ask the question he had meant to say, but was not sure of the proper words.
“Is that calling just an echo, then?” He spoke in pauses, uncertain of how to pose the question, “Some strange wolf or bear that came by here many ages ago, and whose voice has been twisted by time?”
Jynge’s head turned away from Dákk, though she did so under the illusion of moving to gaze back out of the hole. “Yes,” she quietly said without emotion after a long pause, “I think that may very well be the case. Try to get back to sleep. Don’t think about it too much. I will be down later.”