Isten watched the body collapse to the floor like a marionette after it had its strings cut; its limbs twisted at harrowing angles. The pool of blood spread outwards, staining the earth a deep crimson. It gently licked his boot, breaking his stupor. He took shaky steps backwards and hit the door of the carriage. He jolted in panic.
The acrid stench hit him with force. He retched, grabbed his stomach, and ran behind the carriage, vomiting out the contents of his stomach. Isten shivered, unable to banish the image of the old woman degenerating in front of him.
Muffled footsteps drew near, followed by a short gasp. A man rounded the corner of the carriage, he bore witness to the tragedy and its aftermath. He saw a boy crouched in front of him taking short, fast breaths, and his face was as pale as a lily. Though the man couldn’t feel it, he knew the boy’s heartbeat would be racing.
‘He’s fallen into shock… Hyperventilating as well… Slow his breathing then distract him.’ The man thought to himself.
As he took a step to help the young boy, a frigid breeze brushed past him. The man shivered slightly, but the boy’s jaw started chattering uncontrollably. On the other side of the carriage, the wind took a hold of the black veil in its wake and carried it forth into the sky.
“Focus on your breath,” The man spoke gently. “Take long deep breaths.”
The boy was unresponsive, his eyes glazed over. The man placed a hand on his arm, slowly moving it away from the boy’s head. That got a reaction. The boy’s eye’s flickered to the man’s face. Fear and panic filled its brown orbs.
“Focus on your breath,” The man said, “take long deep breaths. Slow it down, more. Good.”
The boy followed the man’s instructions, breathing shakily, but slowly. His breathing became more assured the more confident he became of his safety. He tried to stand, but his legs quivered beneath him. To stop the boy from falling, the man placed an arm around his shoulders.
“Come!” The man ordered. He dragged the boy away from the carriage, avoiding the side with the corpse. When he thought the boy would fall back into shock, he commanded him to follow his breathing patterns.
Once he finally herded the boy away from the carriage and into the encampment, he found the nearest fire pit. He cursed its incumbents away, a face of stern authority that shouldn’t be breached. The man forced the boy to sit down on a log before the flames.
The boy sat there for a while, unmoving. Eventually, Isten could feel the chatter around slowly filtered back in, with nearby voices regaining their clarity and the camp its loud atmosphere.
“Drink.” The man placed a cup of water into Isten’s hand, which he drank in small sips. Isten looked at the man, taking in all his features.
He was a grizzled veteran, but despite his age, there weren’t any signs of fragility. Instead, his body was filled with a power and strength that made him appear far younger than his face would suggest.
The man was not handsome. He had rugged features and a prominent nose. His hair was cut short and was the colour of salt and pepper.
He pushed a bowl of stew onto Isten’s lap. Isten rejected it.
“My stomach hasn’t settled yet… I would only throw it back up if I tried eating it.” Isten stuttered, a bleak expression clouded his face.
The man took it back. Isten finally spoke in a small voice, “What was that woman?”
The man sipped his drink in response.
“Sh… She… She just broke down in front of me, her body…” Isten trailed off towards the end.
“Did she speak to you?”
“Sh-She asked why the army was passing through, nearby her village. When I answered, th-that’s when it happened.” Isten’s voice wavered, breaking part way through. His eyes bored into the fire in front, trying to melt away the images and memories of the woman.
“Hmm.” He replied and gestured again towards the rejected stew.
This time Isten received the stew and began to eat. He was surprised at how the spices made it taste, beginning to eat a bit quicker. It was a good enough distraction to ease the shock away.
The man sat down next to him on the log. He put some wood onto the fire, using a poker to stoke the flames. He visibly relaxed as he accepted its warmth. They sat in silence for some time, though the man eventually broke it with conversation.
“It has been a while… Isten. It is nice to see you again, despite the circumstances.” The man said, a hint of a smile on his face.
Isten was confused, he had only just met the man. How did he know his name?
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He looked at his enigmatic attendant who gestured downwards. Isten had barely noticed the man’s clothes until now. He wore a black doublet, a linen white shirt underneath, and there was a familiar insignia on it. House Blodyn.
“Has so much time passed that you can’t even remember your own Grandfather?” He asked, smirking. “Then again, without Rupert telling me where your carriage was, I wouldn’t recognise you either. You’ve grown.”
A burst of emotion rippled through Isten, and he gave a brilliant smile at his grandfather. He felt a mixture of inflated happiness and joy, to the point where he wasn’t quite sure how he should respond. He opened his mouth to speak, but closed, then reopened it, eventually settling on a strange open-mouthed silence.
His joy at being reunited with his grandfather was slowly tainted by hints of melancholy. A subtle recognition that the reason why he didn’t know how to respond was because he had been forcefully separated from his family for most of his life.
It had profound effects that he had never really thought of before until now - how he would speak to his family once he met with them again.
Isten then gave a sad smile, “It has been 11 years now, it’s quite strange. I didn’t expect to meet anyone from our family until Pentref.”
“Quite so. This is an unexpected encounter.” Cythraul Blodyn responded.
“Why…” Isten quickly cut himself off before he could begin questioning, possibly insulting, his grandfather. While he wanted to know why he was sidelined to the countryside, it wasn’t the right time or place to ask.
He grew irate at himself, at his stupid sense of sensibility, ingrained in him from youth, for stopping him from demanding the answers he deserved to know.
“Why… Why are you here?” Isten asked.
“Unfortunately, for politics,” Cythraul shook his head. “It's got me once more in its grasps and refuses to let go.”
“Is politics that bad?” Isten placed his spoon into the bowl of stew.
“Indeed, it is,” Cythraul Blodyn said. “Come, let’s find Rupert and Trulliad.”
Cythraul stood up and set off into the camp. Isten shakily placed the part eaten bowl down and followed him. The deeper into the camp he went, the busier it became as an endless source people milled around.
Cythraul grabbed onto Isten, preventing him from getting lost within the crowd’s wave, and dragged him through a small opening between a cluster of tents. It revealed a construction site with equally busy people, though these were more organised.
The malty smell of sawdust overpowered Isten and he covered his mouth and nose with a handkerchief. A cloud of sawdust and some wood chips hovered in the air. Cythraul ignored it and pushed through to find Lord Rupert and Trulliad speaking to a craftsman.
Isten chased after him and stood next to Cythraul; he had an aloof look now.
“Rupert, send some men to Isten’s carriage to take away that corpse. Clean the surroundings while they’re at it.” Cythraul ordered nonchalantly.
Rupert arched an eyebrow at him in surprise and commanded some men from his entourage to carry out the order. They hurried off in the direction of the carriage, the craftsman left the group to continue their conversation.
“A corpse by Isten’s carriage?” Rupert asked in bewilderment.
“An old woman asked Isten for information about the army passing through. Probably fearful of war - that’s what a retinue of this strength suggests to the common folk. Her body gave up shortly after hearing a response. She can’t have been long for this earth.” Cythraul responded.
“How strange! I’m sorry you had to witness that, Isten.” Rupert said sympathetically.
“There is a preternatural air about this particular cessation though. The corpse was surrounded by a pool of blood; the neck and arms twisted at unnatural angles…” Continued Cythraul.
“Oh dear! Are you alright Master Isten?” Trulliad interrupted Cythraul’s contemplation.
Isten looked towards Rupert, then Cythraul, finally back towards Trulliad. “I will be fine. Worse things happen to people, and they survive.” He said, feigning confidence.
Trulliad looked at him with concern, but Rupert quickly responded. “Good lad. Cythraul, what do you expect happened to make her die in such a way?”
“I think she was under some necromantic possession of some scamp sorcerer. Though I am not sure what they ultimately hoped to achieve with such a fatuous stunt.” Cythraul replied.
“This ploy must have been more than a distasteful prank if they were willing to expend a possessed body for it… I can’t understand it.” Rupert rubbed his chin in confusion.
Isten felt a chill rise through his body. The sun had retreated now, hiding behind a cloud, and its protection from the wind chill went with it.
Time passed quickly as Trulliad was updated on some information from Cymorth, though Isten paid little attention. His mind caught in the events from earlier, the rhythmic words of the possessed woman resounded in his mind.
Finally, the entourage returned but their faces were a mixture of confusion and uncertainty. Isten kicked the haunting voice to the back of his mind.
“Lords, we cannot find the body you were talking about. We were at the carriage, but there was no corpse in sight. There were no signs of a disturbance either.” The leader of the group said.
Isten frowned and looked to Cythraul for reassurance; that what happened was real and that he wasn’t insane. Cythraul glanced at Rupert, then suggested. “We should go see for ourselves.”
“Agreed.” Rupert responded.
Cythraul set off towards the carriage while Rupert called out to a group of soldiers who were relaxing by a fire to follow. Isten drew backwards and walked with Trulliad.
“What’s going to happen now?” Isten asked.
“It’s reasonable to assume that the possessed body was sent with hostile intentions. For your safety, master, it is imperative we investigate this mystery. If the body was removed, it’s possible there are some maleficent actors working in coalition with this warlock among our own ranks.” Trulliad responded
Isten nodded. As they got closer to the carriage, the sun escaped from the confinement of the clouds and shone a beam of light onto the group, warming them against the cold.
“She passed on a message before she died,” Isten said, “though I don’t know what it means.”
“What did she say, Master Isten?” Replied Trulliad.
Isten hesitated before he repeated the words spoken by the old woman.
“Two survive as one dies; one dies from another’s lie."
“Two survive causing another’s demise, a single lie is all it takes for one more to die.”
“Draped down and hooked into death’s hearth; the child is forced to flee infested with a parasitic heart.”
Trulliad paused for a moment then shook his head. “It sounds like a prophecy.”
“I thought about that too. But why would they want to say it to me?” Isten replied.
Before Trulliad could respond, they arrived at the carriage It was as the soldiers had said. There were no signs of the corpse. There were no signs of any disturbance whatsoever. It showed signs of the beginnings of a conspiracy.