Elijah had woken up early this time despite the absence of his sister’s nagging. He mindlessly wandered around in Kayam’s little cabin. After the cabin seemed to give him no respite to the cloud in his head, he stepped outside. There were not any clouds to filter the sun’s warm welcome, and instead the area was dimly lit up with it’s friendly golden glow. Unfortunately for him, the sun had only just peaked past the horizon, and it was cold enough for misty breaths to float past his eyes and cover his vision.
He left a little note for Kayam before setting out for Frieta’s Stable. Mr. Hart had not come home the night before, so that he could attend some business, so Elijah could take the bed. And for once his back wasn’t riddled with the usual morning itchiness. Frieta’s Stable was due west, about twenty minutes from Frieta’s Farm. Elijah had once asked Agatha why this area was named ‘Frieta’s-this’ or ‘Frieta’s-that’.
“Ja Senyah gave it to her, that’s why.” Agatha answered with an enthusiastic smile. Their mother was still alive back then. “Frieta that is. Frieta was his favourite concubine. But she hated him. And Ja Senyah wasted many gifts on her, trying to win her over.”
“Isn't he the terrible king? Why didn't he just force her to like him?”
“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong, Elijah. Feelings can't be commanded. Love and hate come from the heart, not orders.”
“Blah, blah. Continue the story.”
Agatha had rolled her eyes in annoyance then. “Ja Senyah gifted his four major farms to various people. Frieta was one of them people.”
“Oh wow. So even our king has weaknesses huh? How do you even know these stories. It’s not like commoners and half-orphans like us can know of these kind of stories.”
“I have a friend. Her name is Enmia. She tells me many stories. She lives near Garbs Lookout. On Rocky Grove Path.”
“Sounds fancy.”
“If you studied properly at school, you would have recognised the name Garb’s Lookout. It’s the lookout on the wall overlooking Jordan. You know, that’s where Ja Senyah lives right?”
Elijah hadn’t noticed this strange behaviour from her back then, but he realised it now. She never called the king by his title, but by his name. If a person had ever heard her, she would have dragged into the slaving country of Jezebel or even worse still, beheaded by the king himself.
Elijah eventually reached the stables and the stablemaster was adamant on 7 silver coins for a single horse. After much negotiation and debate, he settled on sitting atop the cart of a businessman who was travelling to Garb’s Lookout. The expenses came to a grand total of 3 copper coins.
The journey to the bank would have taken even longer. About ten hours away on foot, and six hours by horse. It would have been shorter but the cart was carrying heavy goods, apparently expected to be sold at the Central Stall.
There was a long period of silence in the cart before the man spoke. His name was Benman. He abruptly asked if Elijah knew how to ride a horse. Benman, growing visibly tired, quickly ushered Elijah to the horse saddle. His attire was peculiar: knee-length britches, a fancy wool coat, and a fedora. Everything about him seemed out of place. He spoke slowly, as if each word were carefully chosen.
“So? Where’d you learn to ride? You can’t be a day over fifteen.”
“Fourteen. Just turned fourteen.”
“Even younger. Who taught you?”
“My father did.”
“And he let you come here alone? Or did you run away? Happens more often than you'd think.”
Elijah pursed his lips in annoyance. “He left. About nine years ago.”
“Oh? Let me guess. Probably for some mistress or some woman somewhere.” Benman said as he watched Elijah’s facial expressions with great care. He could notice the subtle eyebrow furrowing, or even the slight forehead wrinkle.
“He wouldn't do that. At least, I don't think he would.”
“Oh? Then where did he go?”
“He had some business to attend to. Had to look for something.”
“Ah, went mad then.”
“I never said that!”
"You didn’t have to," Benman grinned, his fingers idly stroking his beard as he pulled his fedora lower to shield his face from the day's heat. "I’m a businessman. A trader. Stories come to me, and faces too. Faces and words of people just like you."
“Really!?” Elijah replied quickly. “Have there been others? Other’s who went searching for magic? Or their father’s at least?”
"Oh? Did I say magic? I don’t recall mentioning such a thing. In fact, I don’t know anyone whose father left for anything at all."
“But you just said you did, you liar!” Elijah said with an indignant tone.
“Call me a liar. I call myself Benman. Trader, if you must,” he said while laughing lightly. “I'm a trader, and deception is part of the job. You must be careful of who you say the word magic to, boy.”
“Why? Who would care?”
“Oh, plenty would. Especially royalty and nobility. They'd be very interested.”
“They would?”
"Not exactly, kid!" he tutted. "Talking about magic can get you accused of blasphemy or witchcraft. Tell me, child, you have quite a sad look. Are you grieving child? And that look. Looks like it is accompanied by some… emptiness, you don’t seem to have that fire, child.”
“Fire? Stop reading me Benman. I don’t like it.” And with that he looked ahead at the road.
“Fire, child. The thing we call hope. The fire that keeps you living. You’re a child, and from the look of your clothes, a commoner-”
“Stop Benman. Stop,” Elijah pleaded as he quickened the horse’s pace.
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“You’re too young to worry about crops. Not too young to worry about family. You have lost family as of late.”
Elijah shot him a withering glare. 'I told you to stop, Ben-” His words were cut off as a sudden jolt as the horse nearly threw him off. If not for the saddle straps, he would have flown into the air.
“Child, look forward, not towards me! The horse is running astray!” he yelled as he clung tightly to his commodities. The colour drained from Elijah’s face as they hurtled off the road and in towards the forestland. He shouldn’t have taken his eyes off the horse for even a second. Yanking hard on the reins, he tried to steer the horse, but it didn't slow down. It barrelled towards a tree, neighing louder than the clopping of it’s hooves.
“THERE’S SOMETHING WRONG WITH IT, BENMAN! IT’S NOT REACTING. IT JUST KEEPS RUNNING!”
“DON’T CALL HER AN ‘IT’, CHILD. HER NAME IS HEFME. AND SHE’S TAKEN ME THROUGH MANY A JOURNEY.”
“AMAZING STORY OLD MAN, BUT I REALLY NEED HELP RIGHT NOW.” The man furtively glance between the horse and his goods, weighing the importance in his mind.
“COME ON OLD MAN. YOUR LIFE COMES WITH THE HORSE, FORGET ABOUT THE GOODS.”
“UNSTRAP YOURSELF THEN! I’LL COME ON TO THE HORSE.”
Elijah picked with the straps around his waist, but they simply wouldn’t budge. “WHY DO YOU EVEN HAVE STRAPS. THIS IS THE FIRST TIME I’VE SEEN SOMEONE WITH STRAPS.”
Benman’s eyes opened wide when he realised the situation. “Listen to me child. You must be the one riding the horse. Do not panic. I will tell you what to do, you must follow. I want you to shut your eyes, and pull the reins as I tell you.”
“WHAT? I CAN’T DO THAT.”
“Stop screaming child, and trust me,” sweat glistened on his forehead as he thought of ways to evade the incoming onslaught of trees. “Do not panic. Shut your eyes, and do as I say.” Elijah nodded with nervousness and let his eyes fall to a close.
They were approaching the tree at a dastardly pace, and there seemed to be no way to pause the horse. Just as they were about to hit the tree, Benman yelled. “PULL THE REINS TO YOUR LEFT, WITH ALL YOUR FORCE.” Elijah heaved the rein quickly towards his left, putting all his might into the pull. The horse just slightly missed the tree and continued rocketing into the forest.
“NOW LEFT. RIGHT NOW. RIGHT AGAIN. WELL DONE BOY, WELL DONE. RIGHT. RIGHT ONCE MORE. NOW, NOW LEFT. HAHAHA.” Benman bellowed with a hearty laugh as they narrowly dodged trees flying towards them within seconds. Elijah, now covered in cold sweats, followed his commands as if they were law. Benman laughed manically as he shouted directions like an orchestral conductor.
“LEFT. PULL IT. STOP. WAIT, THERE’S SOMEONE-”
Elijah opened his eyes briefly. A hooded figure stood alone in the middle of the forest, extending his arm towards their rapid horse and cart. Hefme bellowed an unearthly shriek as it leaped towards the man. BANG. There was a loud sound of collision as the horse and carriage trembled fiercely. And suddenly the man was behind them… but upside down and the ground grew further away from them. Elijah almost threw up as blood rushed to the top of his head. And then the realisation hit him. They were thrown into the air after they knocked into something… or someone. Panic surged through Elijah’s nerves when he further realised that they were about to crash into the ground.
And then they crashed. The horse, Hefme, ripped into a tree, Elijah still stuck it her saddle-straps. The cart with the goods and Benman disconnected completely from Hefme, the harness tearing as it launched into the ground. Elijah, dizzy and reeling from the impact, shook his head. Elijah’s vision wavered as he tried to make sense of the burning pain in his stomach. His hand came into contact with something thick and hot as he wandered the area. He shivered as he pulled his blood coated hand away. A rush of panic swept over him as he gasped, each breath sharp and shallow. He looked down, his breath catching in his throat at the sight of a thick branch impaling his abdomen.
He noticed the hooded figure approaching, each step slow and deliberate. There was an air of intimidation surrounding the figure, which commanded authority and power. Elijah was reimbued with a renewed energy as every fibre of his body screamed danger. He gritted his teeth, and hit the branch maniacally until it snapped off, leaving a jagged piece embedded in his abdomen. He grimaced in pain as the adrenaline from the crash ebbed away. He tore a piece of cloth from his sleeve and wrapped it tightly around the wound, ensuring that the jagged piece stays in place. “Gotta keep the blood inside. Can’t let it leave,” he grunted. His heart pounded in his ears, the pain intense and unrelenting, but he couldn't stop now.
Elijah struggled with the straps for a few moments. For some reason, he could remember what his father had said some years ago.
They had been late for a local church prayer, and Elijah was rushing to put on his shoes. “Elijah, I told you to be ready earlier. It’s always harder to do anything when you’re rushing.” Sure enough, he had botched every attempt made to strap his shoes on.
Elijah shook his head to shrug his memory away. “I need something sharp. Anything for god sake.” In a moment of intuition, he grabbed a sharp tree branch end, and jabbed it into the strap. The strap finally gave up as he twisted the stick, and landed him on the ground. He glanced at the Hefme and looked away quickly, sickened by it’s twisted state. It was almost as if the white horse was being strangled by the tree. With a Herculean effort, Elijah heaved himself to his feet, every movement sending waves of searing pain through his body. He took a deep, shuddering breath, adrenaline surging once more as he sought an escape.
His legs hurt incredibly, but he was able to move regardless. He began running as soon as he realised he could. He felt guilty running past the helpless Benman, but his life was at stake. Unfortunately, the hooded figure was upon him. He stretched his hand out again, and almost as if he had summoned a gust of wind, Elijah was blasted into the air and onto the ground again. Agony exploded through his body as the tree branch impaled deeper into his flesh, sending a torrent of blood from his mouth as he clutched the forest floor in a futile attempt to ease the pain
“STAY AWAY!” he screamed, his voice raw with fear and desperation as the figure drew closer. “BACK OFF. I STILL GOT SO MUCH TO DO. I GOT TO FIND MY DAD. I GOT TO FIND MY SISTER’S KILLER. I GOT SO MUCH TO DO. SO DON’T COME NEAR ME!” Elijah frantically yelled, as he made a desperate attempt of crawling away. Tears blurred his vision as the figure's shadow loomed over him, but Elijah refused to surrender. He clawed at the ground, each movement sending searing pain through his body. His breaths came in ragged, shallow gasps, his heart pounding in terror.
“Find your sister’s killer?” Elijah looked up slowly in horror. He recognised the voice. Father Biskmus. A slow raspy voice accompanied with rhythmic wheezing, almost as if he spoke through corrupted lungs. “You mean me?” he said sinisterly as he lifted his hood. A pair of piercing yellow eyes, downturned and predatory, glared from beneath a mane of frizzy black hair that cascaded to his shoulders. His black cloak clung tightly to his muscular frame, the fabric straining over the powerful contours of his body. He wore the visage of pure emotionless indifference.
“You found your sister’s killer. What’s next Velvetorne?” he hissed.
Elijah’s mind was bubbling with hundreds of thoughts and emotions. But not one single word escaped his lips.
“Lost your tongue, boy? Your mother took her own life. I killed your sister a few days ago. Now, I'm going to kill you, just like I killed her. And then that father of yours who ran away all those years ago. He’s next.”
“W-why are you doing this?” he asked with a sinking feeling in his stomach.
“Your father found something, you see. Something, you gutter rats weren’t allowed to find. I thought your father left it behind. I was to go and search for it but there was an annoying interference all these years. That interference left about a year ago, but it had been so long that we decided to leave it be. But it seems like your sister did some digging of her own. You Velvetornes are too dangerous to let be. You were supposed to die along with your sister. You were supposed to be asleep in the same home. My business is not over until I rid Mienn of you infections.”
Father Biskmus smiled widely and tilted his head to the side. It was not warm and friendly, but rather bone-chilling frightening. He raised his hand again, as if to procure another blast of wind, and laughed menacingly.
“WAIT. I KNOW WHERE IT IS. THE BOX THAT FATHER WAS HIDING!” he screamed, hoping that it would stop Father Biskmus. However, Father Biskmus actually halted his blast, putting his hand down.
“Praytell, Velvetorne. Where exactly is this box?”
Elijah seemed to be looking behind Father Biskmus as he spoke. “Right behind you.”
Father Biskmus looked behind himself, to be met with a flying antique urn to his face. He groaned as he fell to the ground, clutching his now bloodied head. In the distance, Benman grinned as he prepared to launch another one of his precious goods. “RUN, CHILD RUN. THERE IS ANOTHER STABLE ONLY TEN MINUTES NORTH. SAY I SENT YOU, AND THEY WILL HELP YOU!”
Elijah didn’t wait for a single second longer, and began to limp and hobble away. He was grateful for Benman, but now was not the time for sympathies.