The day had been long for Castor Valensra, and not even two hours had passed since he’d awoken. He sighed, sinking further into the creaky wooden chair, his heavy dark blue robes doing their best to swallow the thin man whole, succeeding save for his scrawny fingers and ever-haggard face. Over a steaming mug of some hot drink the locals favored, he gazed at his cousin, Kaysta– so close she could be his sister. Indeed, the two shared many traits, having been born in the same year, possessing the same naturally thin build, albeit hers certainly healthier, and stringy golden hair– even sharing similar names. The only difference between the two's genetic markers were their eyes. Kaysta’s eyes were a kindly brown color, rich and accepting. Castor’s piercing gaze was shrouded by dark bags, his eyes an unusual crimson red, and it was the single trait he had which gave even the boldest warriors pause.
It was something to see, really. Kaysta had observed on several occasions her older cousin’s uncanny ability to unintentionally provoke a drunken brute with an offhand remark or accidental bumping of the shoulders and immediately silence his objections with a gaze.
It wasn’t something Castor did intentionally, either. He didn’t really understand people, often saying things Kaysta would need to apologize for or clarify. He better understood math, logic, and magic. She better understood the subtleties of human interaction. And she was the single most important person to him.
The two sat on poorly crafted oak chairs, shoddy things that could almost be called stools. A small table of the same make rested between them, the surface rough and unfinished. But that was to be expected in a developing town located far out in a remote section of nowhere.
Castor sunk further into his seat, the wood catching on the fabric he was enshrouded in, causing him to shuffle about uncomfortably to fix it.
“Oh, do sit up, Cast,” his cousin lightly scolded him, taking a sip of her drink. “We’re not here so you can sulk all day.” She was dressed in lighter blue robes made of thinner fabric and tighter to her slender frame. From her shoulder and on her belt hung two leather pouches containing the minimal provisions she carried with her at all times.
Castor didn’t move, merely sighing and answering in his signature flat tone, “We’re not here to relax, either. There have been attacks here, too, and you know it.”
Kaysta raised one of her high-arching eyebrows even higher. “And what will fuel you when such an attack breaks out? You must eat. At least drink… whatever this is.”
“You don’t even know what it is, yet you want me to drink it?”
Kaysta rolled her eyes. “The locals provided it to you free of charge. The least you could do is try it.”
Castor met her gaze evenly, though she didn’t flinch. “The least they could do is ask if I wanted it in the first place. Am I to understand that if someone hands me a drink despite my desires, I’m to drink it without question? What if–”
“Yes,” his cousin interrupted. “You keep your mouth shut and drink it. Then, you say thank you.” She raised a finger to his opening mouth. “Yes, even if you don’t like it. It’s the polite thing to do.”
Castor sighed again, but relented, taking a sip of the thick liquid and pursing his lips in distaste.
“It’s not that bad,” Kaysta commented. She made a face at her mug. “Wait… is that… meat, in this?”
“Yes, yes it is.” The conversation trailed into silence as the two turned inward, focusing on their thoughts. Castor mentally reviewed the situation.
I wonder… he internalized. From the information Kay was able to pry out of that troubled man… is there some hint there which might actually be useful in determining what is causing these attacks?
The two had initially set out on a quick trip to collect herbs for Kaysta’s research, but the short venture had quickly grown more complicated as an elderly man had ridden his stumbling horse into their path, covered in blood and stammering incoherently. Castor had managed to catch the word “monster” in his incessant babbling, but attempting to acquire more information from him surprisingly caught the mage a disapproving glare from his cousin. After she’d managed to treat his wounds and calm him down, though, she’d acquiesced to Castor’s requests, asking the questions he desired answers for in what she deemed to be a more appropriate fashion.
Only some of his burning curiosity had been sated, however. The man hadn’t been able to provide much context to the situation, merely adding fuel to Castor’s fire. It was a fire which had been burning for weeks. Tales of attacks by massive creatures, animals or monsters, had reached the two of them while they were visiting the town near their home for supplies one night, and the mage’s insatiable desire for knowledge quickly led them to seeking out more information. But the trail had gone cold in the last few days, at least until he took that trip with Kaysta.
From what we’ve heard, each of these attacks has been unique. Some villages suffer this mysterious wrath only once, while others, like this one, are unfortunate enough for it to be a regular occurrence. But… it just doesn’t sound like any animal I’m familiar with.
Castor hoped that staying in the village for a few days might bring them into contact with the fabled monster. While the location wasn’t too far from the cousins’ lonesome cabin– a two day trip there and back on foot– it would certainly be easier to catch the mysterious creature if they were nearby when it next appeared.
The concerning part about the attacks was that the monsters in question sounded… intelligent. There were few real monsters Castor knew of– most were simply unfamiliar animals, perverted by oft told children’s tale– but fewer still that would behave in such a fashion, and none that were intelligent enough to carry out what almost seemed like raids against a settlement.
“Well, there is one…” Castor muttered to himself. “But, it couldn’t be… It wouldn’t… Though I suppose…” For her part, Kaysta didn’t even react to his sudden murmuring. It was commonplace. “...What could it want?”
"How do you like it?" The sudden appearance of the burly innkeeper shocked Castor, and he jumped. His red eyes glared at the interrupter of his musings, but the hairy goliath remained unusually unfazed, his wide friendly smile a wall against the mage’s intimidation. He wore a simple brown tunic and black belt, his belly stretching the fabric to its limits and threatening to break free. He was gesturing to the mugs with a large, meaty hand.
"Oh, it's unique, certainly!" Kaysta replied. "Never had anything quite like it. Thank you for the kindness…?" She trailed off.
“Viran Tash, my lady,” the innkeeper filled in. “I apologize for not introducing myself last night in all the commotion.”
"It's terrible," Castor muttered, pushing his mug further away from him.
The big man frowned, picking up the now cooled mug and sniffing it. "I'm sorry to hear that. I could heat it up over the fire if you'd like. I always say, 'Hot slop’s better than when it’s not!'"
"That's not necessary," Kaysta interrupted, smiling. "He just means that it isn't quite what he's used to."
"That's one way to put it."
Kaysta pretended not to hear her cousin's irritable addendum, instead smiling at the man who'd been so kind as to let them spend the night in his inn's spare room.
"Well, I hope the lodgings are to your enjoyment. And I do hope you'll consider staying here with us. This village could do with a healer as talented as you, miss." Viran scratched his bearded chin, winking at Kaysta as he did and serving only to bother Castor more.
"You flatter me. But we won’t be staying, sadly. Cast and I have a home to return to, and we wouldn't want to trouble you all."
The innkeeper grinned. "No trouble; certainly none.” He stood there, smiling like an idiot until Castor broke the silence, pivoting the topic toward something useful.
“What can you tell us about this monster that is plaguing the village?”
The man’s smile vanished, his expression growing darker as he clenched his fists. “Not much, I’m afraid. There’s only been one survivor of each attack, and their memories each seem to be fragmented and senseless.”
“It leaves a survivor each time?” Kaysta asked, frowning.
“Not so much leaves a survivor as one has managed to escape each time.” The innkeeper turned away. “But that’s as much help as I can be. You’ll have to speak to those that have seen the beast if you want more information, though I doubt much of it will be of any help.”
As he walked off, returning to the drinks counter and chatting with his other patrons, Kaysta called after him, “Thank you for the help, sir!”
Castor piped up a few minutes later, “I think it’s intelligent.”
His cousin was slow to reply, “What makes you so sure?”
“Think about it, Kay. The same village is attacked multiple times, and each attack leaves a single survivor? Despite his opinion, I find it to be a strange coincidence. But it’s nothing sure– merely a hunch.” Castor turned his finger over his mug, murmuring, and spinning the fluid inside with his magic, watching the chunks of meat swirl around in a whirlpool.
His cousin watched for a moment before relenting. “Your hunches are usually right… well, when it comes to deduction, anyway.” It didn’t quite click with her the same way it did with her cousin, but their disagreements were part of the reason the two functioned so well together– one of them usually came to the right conclusion.
Kaysta ruffled through the bag at her hip, digging through the herbs she’d picked on their trip. Mentally, she made a list of everything she had, planning to ration them as best she could while they were here. Castor’s hunch had provoked one of her own, and she felt she might be needing them soon.
“Got enough?” her cousin asked as he noticed her actions.
She simply shrugged. “No way to know. I’m sure I’ll have to gather more on the way home.”
Castor nodded. “We should’ve prepared better.”
“A lesson learned for the future, then.”
Over the next hour, the two discussed theories and all conceivable possibilities, however unlikely, were considered in detail. Castor was excited to learn if his considerations were correct, fervently listing each thought that came into his head to his cousin. He’d often forget his own random thoughts if he didn’t write them down, but Kaysta had a memory for every little thing her cousin ever spoke.
Finally, long after the conversation had turned to contemplative silence, Kaysta had finished her drink and Castor’s had been frozen in an arcane exercise, the mouth of the mug coated in a light frost. Castor had closed his eyes, losing himself in his thoughts– the sounds of the world fading out.
He returned to the present when a scrawny boy approached their table. Not too young, perhaps just edging on manhood, a few wispy hairs sprouted from his chin and under his nose, complementing his bowl-cut brown hair. His gaze passed between the cousins nervously.
“We don’t need anything,” Castor said as the boy arrived beside them. He’d seen him following the innkeeper around earlier, commanded by what the mage surmised was his father, considering their similar features and shared garb. Though there was always the possibility he was wrong. Perhaps these facial features were simply common in the area, and the clothes were all the village was able to produce. If this were the case, Castor wouldn’t be surprised. He often overthought things, after all.
“No, sir, that’s… not why I’m bothering you,” the twig of a boy responded hesitantly. His voice was unexpectedly deeper than Castor had anticipated, but still not entirely booming like Viran Tash’s.
“You aren’t bothering us,” Kaysta reassured him with a smile. “What’s your name, son of Viran?”
The boy’s eyebrows shot up. “I’m Pasma. But, how’d you know Viran’s my father?”
“Quite, Kay,” Castor added, his own expression partly mirroring Pasma’s. “I’m surprised you made the same observation.”
Kaysta grinned, patting his clasped hands which rested on the table between them. “Oh, Cast, that’s your field of expertise. But, I did have another rather engaging conversation with Viran while you were trapped there in your thoughts.”
Castor blinked. “Oh, I hadn’t even noticed.”
“I’m aware.” Kaysta turned to the boy. “What can we do for you, Mr. Pasma Tash?”
He gulped, hesitantly glancing again at Castor before answering her diffidently. “Well, I was wondering… Have you any idea what monster is plaguing us?”
Castor frowned. Had this nuisance actually interrupted his thinking to ask such a pointless question?
Kaysta smiled gently. “We’ve only just arrived Mr. Tash. Surely you don’t expect us to have such information already?”
Pasma frowned, unsure. “No, of course not. I just… Well, I was just hoping you might–”
“Does this settlement have a name?” Castor interrupted.
The boy blinked. “Sorry?”
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
“This village,” Castor repeated, despite the irritated stare of his cousin. “Does it have a name?”
“Cast,” Kaysta began, “is this really necessary?”
“You don’t want to know where we are?” her cousin replied.
She shook her head. “That’s not the point, Cast. He was talking.”
Pasma glanced back and forth between the two cousins as they argued. After the apparent resolution of their squabble– Kaysta’s exasperated sigh signaling the end of her patience– he spoke up. “No, sir, our humble village does not yet possess a name.”
Castor’s sharp gaze turned back to him, as though he’d forgotten his presence. He tilted his head. “It’s new, then?” He rubbed the table. “And it lacks a skilled carpenter.” His last sentence was more of a statement than a question.
“Yes. Most of us have had to create our own furniture ever since Serrin died. My father hoped another talented craftsman would move here to fill in, but given the attacks…”
“This village will likely collapse before it’s given a chance to grow.” Kaysta mused.
“It’s more of a hamlet, really,” her cousin stated. “How many farmers call it home?”
Pasma cleared his throat. “Until yesterday, we had about twenty families to work the field.”
“And the population?”
“Um, a hundred and fifty? No, a hundred and thirty?”
Castor nodded. “And you have all lived here for just over a year, now?”
Pasma bobbed his head in response.
“The attacks started just a month ago, Cast,” the mage’s cousin stated. “According to Viran, anyway.”
He nodded again, then turned back to his thoughts. Kaysta recognized the look in her cousin’s face, and appraised the scrawny boy. “What did you actually approach us for, Mr. Tash?” Upon seeing the confused look on Pasma’s face, she clarified, “You approached us, and not to ask about any monsters, after all. What, then, were your motivations?”
The boy coughed, his cheeks turning red. “Was it so obvious?”
Kaysta smiled warmly. “Fret not. I’m simply quite adept at reading people.” She gestured to one of the empty rough oak chairs at a nearby table. “Please, would you like to sit?”
A small smile crested the boy’s lips as he nodded, retrieving the chair. He couldn’t help it. Her features so pretty, her eyes so kind, the smile was infectious, even despite his people’s tragedies. It seemed to him a fragment of light, seen through a break in the canopy of the dark forest.
“Thank you,” he said, sitting perpendicular to the cousins at the table. He gestured to the frost that was nearly gone from the mage’s mug. “To be truthful, I was drawn to your display of power.” When he realized Castor wasn’t going to respond, the mage’s eyes remaining closed, Pasma glanced at Kaysta.
She shrugged cutely. “It’s hard to talk to him if he isn’t in the mood.”
“Can you do magic?” the boy continued, unabashed.
The smile didn’t waver, but Kaysta shook her head. “I’m not so gifted as my cousin. However, I’ll happily teach you anything about herbs or medicinal healing, if you’re interested?” She asked the question as if anticipating his disinterest.
She sees my soul, Pasma thought before shaking his head, declining her offer. Instead, their conversation turned toward her interest in the village, its brief history, and the inhabitants.
***
Hours later, the cousins left the inn in search of the witnesses to the attacks, guided by the eager Pasma. To Castor’s great annoyance, he explained how he’d cleverly managed to weasel his way out of his daily chores, convincing his father that the cousins could use a knowledgeable escort, both to show them where to look, as well as to act as a friendly face which might assuage the suspicions of the locals. Farmers, after all, could be a superstitious and untrusting lot, especially given how dangerous their homes had recently become. Pasma promised he’d lead the two to where they needed to be.
The sun was nearing its meridian by the time the group approached the first farmhouse, but it hadn’t quite yet reached it. The building looked its age, seeming only months old, made of fresher vertical wooden planks, some cobwebs in its crannies, with wear only slightly present on its walls. The construction was very different from the cousins’ thoughtfully constructed log cabin or the village’s well-designed inn.
Pasma led the cousins over an unkempt pathway through a bountiful field of grains. Just beside the close wall, a muscular man wearing simple clothes and a thatch hat was bent over something, hammering hard against it. A younger boy watched him work, curiosity in his eyes. Then the man held the hammer out to him. Before the boy accepted the tool, however, he noticed the group’s approach.
“Papa!” he shouted, pointing toward them.
His father turned around, eyes passing over Pasma and scanning the other two. When he met Castor’s gaze, his eyes widened, and he placed a hand over the boys chest, pushing him behind him.
“Go to your mother,” he said.
“But Papa–!”
“You’ll go to your mother or I’ll see you to the gallows, boy!” the father growled. His son yelped, then fled to the safety of the house, calling for his mother.
The man turned back to the group, glaring at Pasma. “Tash!” he bellowed as the group approached. “Why have you brought a monster to my doorstep?”
Pasma tilted his head. “I’ve brought no monsters, Mr. Halven. These two are merely seeking information.”
The farmer jabbed a finger at the man with the crimson gaze. “I see darkness in his eyes! You’ll frighten the kids!” His eyes flicked over Kaysta briefly, but he didn’t voice any other objections.
She smiled, then, stepping forward and beside the younger Pasma, saying, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Halven. I’m Kaysta Valensra, and this is my cousin, Castor Valensra.” She thrust out a delicate hand, holding it in the air for a moment before the farmer shook it. Even despite his frustrations at the situation and unfamiliar visitors, he didn’t forsake his manners.
That bodes well, Kaysta thought, relieved. It was easier to placate a polite man’s anger than a brute’s, after all.
Mr. Halven glanced at her cousin momentarily, then introduced himself. “Dunstan Halven.” He paused. “You can call me Dunstan.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Dunstan,” Kaysta said, stepping back and prodding her cousin’s spine.
Castor stepped forward, barely stopping his instinctive eyeroll. With an expressionless voice, he said what he knew Kay wanted to hear, “Yes, Dunstan, nice to meet you.”
The farmer squinted. “I said the lady could call me that. Not you.”
This time, the mage couldn’t stop his eyes from rolling. People were so complicated; every interaction with them was draining. Why couldn’t they ever just make things easy? Pleasantries always needed to be exchanged, and nobody could ever just say what they wanted. Unlike his charming cousin, to whom social graces came naturally, Castor just couldn’t ever seem to meet an amicable stranger.
Dunstan’s hands balled into fists, having seen the mage’s expression. Pasma stepped forward to do something, but an upset woman called from the doorway of the house.
“Dunstan Halven! Did you scare your son again?!”
The farmer rolled his own eyes, running a hand through his hair before replying in a strained tone, “Strangers!”
She shouted back instantly. “Why you did it isn’t important!” Dressed in a sleeveless brown tunic and matching thick gown, the thin woman stormed out of the small structure, two children trailing behind her. One was the boy from earlier, while the other, smaller, child must’ve been his sister. “You know there aren’t any gallows in this village! Must you frighten the child?” She jabbed a gloved finger into his chest as she arrived, only then seeming to notice the group standing nearby.
“Oh!” the woman exclaimed, patting herself down and straightening up her hair, “Hello Pasma, dear. Are these your friends?”
Dunstan glared at her. “Woman, I just told you they’re strangers!”
She matched his gaze icily, placing her hands on her hips. “Isn’t there a leak in the roof you haven’t fixed yet?”
To the group’s surprise, the man didn’t argue, instead grumbling something about reasons to drink and stomping away. After he’d disappeared around the house, the woman’s face became much warmer.
“Pasma and company.” She nodded, leading everyone back to the house. “Come in, please! I’ve just got a pot on the fire.”
Castor didn’t move, instead examining the device Dunstan had been working on. Two loops of rope connected in a ‘V’ shape to a wooden contraption with sharpened spars lashed to it. He studied it for a moment before Kay called at him to follow, but try as he might, the mage couldn’t divine the purpose of the device. He made a mental note– one he would likely forget soon after– to inquire about it if he had the chance.
And as he stood there, pondering, his cousin waiting for him, a chill ran down his back. It was something he’d felt only once before. The hairs on his arms rose, and the crimson-eyed mage surveyed the area swiftly, pushing the memories away. He scowled, finding nothing in the short grainy sea or the far away forest, and the sensation passed. Castor threw up his hood, pulling it low, the comfortable feeling of fabric surrounding him and easing his sudden anxiety.
***
After Marjorie, Dunstan’s wife, had finished pouring out the tea to her guests, she introduced her children, though Castor didn’t process her words, his thoughts looping, replaying the feeling he’d had out by the field. His fingers toyed with his sleeves, and he did his best to repress the thoughts that came unbidden into his uneasy mind. He couldn’t tell Kay about what he’d experienced. She knew the sensation, understood the single time he’d experienced it. The connections she would draw would be unsensible, completely driven by emotion, not logic. Though he didn’t know people, he knew his cousin, and that’s just how it would go down. No, Castor needed to figure this out alone.
This scenario was different from the last, completely. None of its variables were even remotely similar, so Castor’s anxious chill meant something else. But what, he couldn’t be sure. And why would he feel this way now, six years later? He certainly hadn’t remembered anything suddenly.
Unless… Could the wooden contraption outside of the house be at fault? Was there possibly some detail he’d forgotten from the scene? Was such a contraption present, even just in the background of his memories? It was certainly unique enough, but Castor couldn’t remember ever having seen one before.
It was Marjorie’s daughter that interrupted his disturbed musings. She was tugging on his sleeve, and as the mage returned from the darkness in his mind, he realized she was speaking to him.
“‘Scuse me. ‘Scuse me. ‘Scuse me. Hey. ‘Scuse me.”
Castor looked down at the young girl’s eyes. She couldn’t have been more than… Well, he didn’t know. He wasn’t good at guessing the ages of children.
She kept tugging. “‘Scuse me. Hey. Hey! ‘Scuse me.”
He rolled his eyes and glanced at her irritably. “What?”
Marjorie’s daughter didn’t even notice his expression. She pointed at his face. “Why are your eyes red?” Before the mage could respond, however, the girl prattled on. “Do you drink a lotta tea? Papa always says he was drinking tea when his eyes are red. But yours are a lot different than Papa’s, so you probably drink a lot of tea!”
Castor raised an eyebrow, blinking boredly. He pinched his middle finger and his thumb, and brought them before the girl, snapping them and uttering, “Yast brykia haf.”
A small flame bloomed above Castor’s index finger, intentionally no larger than what a candle could produce. He waved it in front of the girl, wiggling the fingers on his other hand as he “ooh’d” mockingly, then blew it out.
She should leave me alone now, he thought.
But his actions didn’t shock the girl into leaving him alone how he’d expected. Instead, she cheered, raising her hands and running around in circles. “Magic! He’s got magic! Mama! Mama!” She tugged on her mother’s sleeve. “Mama! ‘Scuse me! He’s got magic, Mama! Mama!”
Marjorie patted her daughter on the head, not hearing her in the slightest. “Yes, dear, very nice.” She was used to tuning out her children while having a chat. Kaysta, whom she’d just met was truly a wonderful young lady, and Marjorie apologized for her daughter’s rudeness.
Castor smirked, amused when neither of the women turned his way, although his cousin leaned down and said something to the little girl while she tousled her hair, both of them giggling. Pasma, however, was staring intently at Castor, his fingers steepled and pressed to his mouth. But when the mage’s red eyes met his gaze, the boy finally looked away.
“What’s this I hear about magic?” the voice of Dunstan called from the doorway. He was carrying a wooden toolbox, and he dropped it to the ground as he entered. Stretching, the man of the house strode forward.
But he was stopped immediately when Marjorie demanded he remove his boots. All three guests wondered why she would demand it of him, and not them, but the answer became clear as the scent of manure flooded their noses.
The muscular man groaned, tossing the offending footwear out the door and shutting it. He crossed the room and poured himself some tea. “Leak fixed, Marj. Now you can’t hold it against me anymore.”
His wife smiled. “Don’t worry, darling. I’ve got plenty of other things you’re behind on to prod you with.” She patted the chair beside her– its make far superior to the ones in the inn– and Dunstan joined the conversation.
“Made that, you know,” he said, indicating the chair just before he took a seat, then began to point at various items around the house. “And that. And that. And that. And–”
Marjorie patted his lap. “Yes, honey, they understand. You’re very talented with your hands, when it matters.”
“I see where your daughter gets her talkativeness from,” Kaysta remarked warmly. Then, the fun in her eyes vanished, and an air of seriousness took over. “So, now that your husband has returned, if you could both tell us what you saw?”
“I’m sorry?” Dunstan asked.
Pasma spoke up, “I’ve informed the two of them that the only place they’ll receive any answers they have about the… ahem… trouble in town is here.” He stopped himself from saying the word “monster”, since the children were near.
Marjorie took the hint, fetching a basket and filling it with supplies. “Children, stop bothering Mr. Valensra and go deliver this to Mr. Gottlis, would you? And no playing in the woods today. Come right back!”
“But Mama!” her son protested.
“No buts, child. Now go.” Marjorie turned back to the group after seeing off the children. “Mr. Gottlis– Erlich– lives alone. We like to send him some supplies now and again.”
“Yeah,” grumbled her husband. “We always send him the best of what we’ve got… for some reason. I was going to drink that ale.”
“That’s precisely why I sent it to him, Dunny. And you know he could use the help. He’s old, now.”
“Had it my way, Gottlis would be off to the gallows for how much he leeches off of this village,” Dunstan declared.
“We don’t have a gallows, dear,” Marjorie replied almost instantly.
“Is it wise to send your children out by themselves?” Kaysta asked, interrupting the light bickering. “There is something out there attacking families, after all.”
“Daylight is safe,” Dunstan stated, matter of factly. “Attacks only happen in the dark of night.”
That’s not to say they couldn’t happen during the day, though, Kaysta thought, keeping it to herself. She didn’t approve of the decision, but it wasn’t her family; she didn’t have the right to object.
“Tell me about what you saw,” Castor said, finally speaking up. He leaned forward, finally able to discuss what he’d come here for, and pushed his worries to the side. His red eyes glowed with interest from beneath his hood, and it sent chills down the couple’s spines.
“Well, y-yes, certainly,” Marjorie replied, flustered by his intensity. “Dun?”
Her husband cleared his throat, looking anywhere but into the mage’s eyes.
“Dun,” Marjorie repeated. “They’re here to help. You have to tell them.”
Her husband glanced at her, then at the strangers, then at his hands. A pregnant silence filled the air before he tightened his hands and nodded. “Sure… I was just about to head to bed the other night when I heard a loud boom.”
“A boom?” Pasma asked.
“Yes, a boom. And everything shook. Like when a tree comes crashing down in a storm– thunder in the ground.”
Marjorie interjected, “It woke up me and the kids.”
Dunstan continued, “Yeah, so they come rushing outside– I was just getting back from taking a leak– and we’re still in our night clothes, so I push the kids back inside and tell Marj to keep them there. It was dark at first, so I had to get a lamp and light it. By the time I’d gotten my trousers and boots on, screams were filling the air. It was… horrifying…” A haunted look came over his face, but he kept telling the story. “I got there… and there just… wasn’t anything left.”
“Can you elaborate?” Castor asked.
His cousin shot him a look that said, “Really?”
“I can try, yeah,” Dunstan said after a moment. He cleared his throat again. “There was… blood everywhere. Their house wasn’t even standing anymore. It’d been smashed to pieces… the planks were snapped like twigs. I found…” he gagged. “I found an arm… then I found… the rest…”
Nobody spoke, letting Dunstan stir in his thoughts as he considered how to continue. His wife passed him his tea. They all watched him finish it before handing it back and taking a deep breath. Kaysta could see the man was only just holding back his emotions. Her heart ached for him. She was about to say there was no need to continue, but just as she opened her mouth to express the thought, Dunstan spoke first.
“It took me a bit to notice that my face was wet.” The group thought he meant with tears. “The… the area was covered in a light mist. It was… blood. But my horror was overtaken by the sobs. I found her buried in the wreckage of her house.”
“He means our neighbor, Elya,” Marjorie clarified while gently patting her husband’s hand. “She’s an older woman living with her son and his wife and…” She choked back a sob. “And their kids.”
“Not anymore,” Dunstan said, anger filling his features. He slammed his fist on the table between them. “I wanted to hunt it! I swore to Elya I would kill whatever graveworm had performed such evil. But then… I caught a glimpse of the beast that did it all.”
The man’s muscles sagged, and his head drooped. Tears dripped from his face onto his trousers. But still, he continued in his breaking voice. “It swear… it knew I saw it. I could hear its… laughter. But it didn’t do anything! It just watched me. And I trembled in front of it!”
Castor glanced at Kaysta, mouthing his question. She turned to the sobbing man. “Dunstan… I know this is hard. But, can you describe it for us?”
The tears fell for a minute or two. Marjorie’s face conveyed her anguish, but she stayed quiet. Her husband sucked in a breath.
“I tried, you know. I tried… to hunt it. I’ve had my bow ready for weeks. But every time I think about tracking it down, I see them. In the shadows of the trees. In my dreams. If I stop working for even a minute, I see them.” He looked up, scowling at Castor. “Those burning red eyes.”