All but Jynge were in the midst of movement when Górin had made his way to the upper level. She alone sat motionless atop a pile of fallen stones, hanging her head low and seeming almost to be on the verge of sleep. Her eyes gazed off mournfully at nothing in particular, and she held her arms folded tightly before her. By her side were several of the same bundles she had withdrawn from her pack when mixing the poultice, several days ago, but she seemed in no rush to create more of it just yet. A request had been made, and as there was little else for her to do now, she had halfheartedly withdrawn her tools.
Dákk was bringing his pack and blanket over to a new spot by one of the broken beds. Handor made rounds to look out of the windows, bow in one hand and arrows in the other. Troíde had donned her mail shirt and was tightening the thick belt over her waist. Beside were her spear and sword.
“I did not mean for this to happen,” Jynge said weakly, not moving her head to look at any particular person. “The process was designed and crafted long before I was even chosen for this task. I was never told any of what it would truly be like here.”
“I do not blame you,” Troíde said dismissively. She grabbed the shaft of her spear and walked over towards the window by which Handor now stood. “I merely wished that circumstances had been different. I know you could not have foreseen High Ridge being afflicted such that it is.”
“I would have wished that a seer had been so kind as to foresee it,” Handor muttered in addition as she came by his side.
“Well, there is little to be done about it all, now,” Troíde sighed. She left the window and went to the opening in the floor where the staircase used to be. Looking down at the poor beasts tied to a post below, she tried to keep herself from trembling. She had made a promise to Jynge and to show fear now would only drive her too into despair. Even a forceful effort was made to still the weasel, and in her concentration, she absentmindedly kicked a small stone over the side of the opening. She watched it fall down into the shadows of broken wood and brick. It bounced once, and flew off into the firelight, creating a new shadow of its own.
“Ill fortune indeed,” she said under her breath.
From behind, metal plates clinked out amidst the shuffling of feet and hands, and she turned to see her friend now in the midst of sorting her tools and materials.
“As you have said yourself,” Jynge spoke up, readying herself to prepare a new potful of the poultice, “There is little to be done in that regard. I would draw a ward upon this place if I could, but I require rest and nepenthe. Nevertheless, let us try to sleep some. Mixing the potion for the masks is near the limit of what I can do now.”
The night had grown very late, and though the others had not truly realized it until Jynge had made mention, they were all extremely tired. With forlorn expressions, they aided Jynge in many of the same processes of preparing the materials for the concoctions, and spoke little during it all. With some experience now possessed by each, the process was greatly quickened, and Jynge did not need to wait at all for a companion to finish their work. In no long time at all, the little pot became filled with the fibrous concoction, and thin flames were placed within and mixed well. When the witch removed her mask to refill the beak, Górin's eyes widened at the sight of her face. Indeed it was late, but Jynge, for as youthful as she might be, looked to have had no sleep in many days. Deep bags and dark lines marked her fair face, and whatever feeling or mood she might have showed not at all. All that was left was a bleak and exhausted downward pull of the eyes and lips; a terrible loss of any outward emotion. Nonetheless, she completed the process as she had intended, and though Troíde attempted to speak a few words with her, she laid herself down in the rubble, wrapped herself tightly in her blanket, and said no more.
The others soon followed in suit, though none did so as quickly or efficiently as the witch. Most simply sat down for a time, resting their heads, but not yet reclining upon the stone. Sleep did not come easily, even for those so weary from the horrible day, but drowsiness slowed their entire beings. None spoke, and nor did they look at each other. Only Jynge seemed to sleep, laying bundled in her makeshift bed, but even she too remained awake and beholden to the silence.
The ridge lay in stillness, empty from any sound or movement that once marked it but had long since ended. They all sat idly, awaiting slumber, but in the space of a quick jolt, each of them was brought back to wakefulness and alert. For the howling call of the distant beast echoed through the ridge once more, but unlike the many calls before, it no longer sounded so distant and faint. Perhaps within a stone’s throw, if that. Not muddled any longer by the echoes through the hills, but close and pure. The call sickened the hearts of those that beheld it, poking at their minds like a grotesque claw that needs only to be seen to be felt.
At once, Górin leapt to his feet and quietly stepped over to the window from which the sound came. The others, except for Jynge who remained where she lay, rose in like fashion and followed. He peered out the window, down the slope and as far as the brand’s light reached. His eyes narrowed, and he slowly began to better behold the faint outlines of the trees in the near-darkness. Tall grey poles rising from a black sea beneath a deep void of black fog. He moved his head to look further along the land, and before he could take two steps to the side, he was suddenly stopped and frozen where he stood. Far below, just before the edge of the treeline, there it crouched.
Górin could not see the creature in full detail, for the shadows of night blended with its form like a shimmering water, only becoming clear against the night in its small movements of deep and heaving breaths. Man-shaped, it resembled in a vague sense, but it was bent low as though kneeling over something. As it twisted its shoulders in its slow movements to survey its surroundings, Górin suddenly noticed the two trees that leaned above it’s head, and realized that the beast knelt in the same place that he had deposited the mangled remains of the deer, not half a day ago. The creature bent low with its terribly-long-fingered hands picking through the surface of the flesh pile, as though examining a meal soon to be devoured. Like a cook, it sifted through the carrion curiously, like one might judge a strange and uncertain find. His stomach turned, and he grimaced as he watched the thing continue its investigation. It seemed a long time until the creature had lost interest in the carcass, though as it acted, the carcass might have not even been what drew it to this place. Rather, the pile of refuse might have well been merely an unexpected discovery while on the journey to some greater purpose, and the thing was merely having a short look before going about its way. Naturally, as its head turned away from the carcass, its eyes returned to the brilliant beacon atop the ridge.
Although Górin had warned the others to keep the fire as low as possible, once he had spotted the thing, light still flowed throughout the chamber. The campfire had been allowed to go down, but the fire of the oven below burnt still. In the rush to get to safe ground, the oven had been given only minimal thought. They considered dousing it then and there, but a few embers inside wouldn’t matter if a blaze was burning outside. There was no arguing with her that it would remain there, propped up and burning brilliantly against the night, not for even the greatest purpose would she allow it to go out if they requested such of her.
The creature didn’t once take its dark eyes off of the tower as it slowly crept up the side of the ridge. In the vague form of a man it was, but warped and twisted into only the most remote of associations with the figure. Nearly twice as tall, but no wider or broader than an average man. It crept along on its lengthy hands and knobbed feet, in a gait like that of a mange-ridden dog. Long fingers gripped at the ground with each step. Arms and legs bent deeply, keeping the thing so horribly low to the ground as it moved. All but its face and hands was covered in a dark brown layer of fur, matted down like wet and rotten straw, and where its flesh was naked, it was dark and ruddy as old leather.
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The others had not been idle. Troíde had each of her weapons laid out in reach, and was gripping her own bow, as she waited nearby a window to the north. She stood with both caution and readiness, as a shadow made solid in the dark. Jynge did not seem to take notice of anyone else in the room at all, though her face was no less anxious than before. The two rangers also held their bows at the ready, with Dákk near a southern window and Handor next to the opening of the staircase.
“It approaches,” Górin warned in a whisper, “Be on the ready.” As he spoke, the thing came ever closer, fear and reluctance took a powerful hold over him. Just go away. Go away and perish! He thought, staring down at the hideous thing creeping up the hill. Closer and closer it came, until it was perhaps twenty paces from the base of the tower. He gave the others a quick look, marking their locations in his mind. However, upon turning his gaze outward through the window once more, he found that the beast was no longer anywhere to be seen. A moment later, a great shuffle came from just beneath the wall, beyond his view, and Górin stumbled back from the window in surprise. The shuffling steps diminished in volume from just below the window at which Górin stood, then grew beneath the window of Dákk, and then finally, the call was heard once more. But it was not muffled and distant as it had been earlier. This dreadful clamor came to their ears not from the windows, but from the open hole leading to the ground floor.
Even though the cry lasted for hardly even the span of a single breath, it was more than enough. Indeed, it seemed closer to a man imitating an animal than an animal itself. Maligned tones and pitches were sifted through all in one horrible syllable that it stretched over the course of its cry. No sooner had the beast finished its hunting call did the terrified whinnies of the mare and jack follow through to the upper levels. The whinnies went on, but the awful cry of the beast ceased. Instead, it was replaced by the sudden thuds of shuffling footsteps. With a horrific concussive slam, there was a single whinny of pain, and then the mare ceased to give forth sound. One thud followed another, and many more came in turn.
The party did not wait another moment. Rushing to the edge of the staircase, some knelt and were bending their bows before they had even a clear sight of the beast. When they did, some dropped their arrows, and the others shook in fright.
In its left hand, the beast gripped the head of the mare who now hung limply in its keenly curving claws. In the right, it braced the base of the neck. In a disgusting motion, the beast dragged its clawed fingers, black as stone, upon the soft skin of the mare, drawing deep lines where its fingertips passed, and soaking the neck of its prey with a deep red. The jack could only watch and rave helplessly as the beast mauled its companion, not five paces away.
Seemingly satisfied, the beast lowered its head to the shredded neck of the mare, and widened its jaws, revealing long teeth not unlike those of a dog, but arranged in no pattern or symmetry. Each fang ended in a fine point, perhaps grown in such a way, or broken and jagged. However, it never managed to savor the taste of its kill.
An arrow leaped from Górin’s bow and pierced the hideous thing just upon the shoulder. With a scream that shook the stones of the tower itself, the beast lept back and grasped at the arrow shaft that now hung limply from the skin like one of its many stringy coils of knotted fur. In spastic motions, it turned throughout the room, wildly attempting to grab hold of the arrow. In its fervor, one of its clawed hands arced widely to the side, and the jack went down in an instant, for its neck was cut cleanly and singly by the stray talon. It choked and sputtered, then was silent.
More arrows rained down upon the beast, but few reached their mark, for even when wounded, the thing was a nimble and unpredictable target. It thrashed around the room violently, kicking up heavy stones as one might kick up a pile of loose dirt. Clumps of moss and grass were ripped from the ground and flung in all directions. Even when four arrows had found their mark within its body, the thing still raged on with the force and fervor of a rampaging bear. The wild fury it exhibited did not diminish its perception, however, for its bloodshot eyes spotted the archers through the ceiling. Seeing its attackers, the beast crouched lowly in threat as it growled, and leered horribly at Górin. The two large eyes which glared at him matched the dog-like maw not in the least. Though they might have been bigger and stained with red hatred, the eyes looked remarkably like that of a man; deep brown circles sitting within a field of white.
The wide mouth slacked and from its rancid throat, a low breathing croaked. It simmered out through the darkness like smog, up to where Górin stood upon the edge. Perhaps there was some connection between that voice which shot forth and those of ordinary men. A distant, corrupted, and vile connection, to be sure, but perhaps one in some way. Malice and ferocity seeped through the throat, and though it broke often and repeatedly, it croaked on with the racket of an insect swarm. In a single long stride, it closed the distance between it and the ruins of the staircase.
The beast leaped up at the edge of the staircase and flung its arms upward, struggling to get a hold while lamed by the arrows. Not more than a dozen feet below where they stood, it growled out in a frenzy, challenging them with a terrible assault upon the ears, and a face that would have chilled the heart of a madman.
Arrows continued to rain down upon it, but only three bows made up the storm. Seeing the beast so close, Handor had dropped his bow and rushed to a nearby pile of rubble. He scowled and grunted as he drew up a heavy brick and hurdled slowly over to the opening. As his companion passed him by, Górin could plainly hear his heavy breathing. Though it did not linger in his thoughts amid the conflict, he briefly found it odd how similar in expression and ravenous grunting the two voices were.
Seeing Handor haul the brick over, his three companions were distracted for a moment, but the jumping beast quickly regained their focus. With a deep exhalation, Handor lifted the brick high, and then cast it down with a terrible force upon the beast. A loud thud came from below, intermingled with a sound like wood suddenly splitting. From below came a thunderous and ear-piercing roar, but Handor had already left to gather another brick. This second throw crushed the head of the beast, and the tower was left in silence.
The rangers worked quickly and shared no words as they descended the rope ladder and went about to disposing the scattered carnage. Górin and Dákk breathed quickly and in short intervals as they dragged the corpses out of the tower. The mare and the jack were heavy enough on their own, but could still be dragged by one man with some effort. The carcass of the beast, however, proved to require the strength of all three, emaciated though it was.
Returning to the mass of squashed limbs and crushed bones, they looped ropes around its body and looked to Handor for his aid. Yet the slayer of the beast did not comply at first, nor did he make any movement when they first prompted him. Handor stood above the corpse, taking deep breaths, and his eyes were gently closed. He breathed slowly through his nose, and for a moment, he opened his mouth as though to taste the bloody-air.
“I know why it is that the beast came here,” he finally said, opening his eyes. He spoke casually to Górin as if he had merely greeted him a good morning.
“What?!” Górin hissed. “I don’t know what has gotten into you, but you will stop it at once. We never should have come here at all.” He heaved a sigh and meant to speak again, but shook his head in frustration. His stomach churned as he and Dákk lifted the ropes and gave a great pull. Górin grunted and strained, but the corpse only moved a short distance while the ropes threatened to fray. He paused a moment to catch his breath.
“You wouldn’t understand,” Handor muttered, gazing listlessly at the corpse. He slowly bent and reached out towards the sagging lumps that remained of its head. “You haven’t felt its h-”
“Enough!” Górin shouted, dropping the ropes and leaving white and red marks in his palms from where gripped them. Taking a step forward, he reached to Handor and forcefully shoved him. His companion stumbled backwards and landed against the wall with a thud. Górin’s eyes narrowed and his voice lowered. “I’ll not have you all turning to lunacy before we are even halfway to our destination. Help us get this mess outside, and then we’ll all be off to sleep. Watches be damned.”
All the while, Handor glared at him with a seething grimace. From his mouth, a bitter breath went forth, layered upon a low growl towards his leader. He said nothing in response, but stepped up to take hold of the ropes. The three dragged the body of the monster out to the exterior of the tower, but did not bother to take it any further that night. It was very late by that point, and with only the briefest of address, they returned to the other two and settled themselves down to sleep. Once reunited as five, they agreed to keep at least one watch, and switch off in intervals.
Though they had agreed for only one to stay awake at the watch, all secretly meant to keep themselves from sleep for a while.
Though they had all intended to secretly remain awake, exhaustion overcame each and every one, and once again, High Ridge lay in silence.