“There’s more,” Spoke Ainsle in a whisper bordering on a croak. The hairs on Ben’s neck stood on end, and he felt the cozy inn grow a touch colder. The bloodied golden, hand-shaped pendant swung as if moved by an unseen wind. He met his mentor’s gaze; her black leather eyepatch glistened in the flickering orange glow of a low-burning lantern hanging from the wall beside her. Ben’s eyes widened as he noticed Ainsle’s scarred face covered in sweat. Sudden riotous laughter from his companions, who had gone down to have a drink before dinner on the first floor, stemmed the unease that had begun welling up from the depths of his stomach.
“Aunt,” Kieran said. His deep, soothing voice was made coarser by his apparent fatigue. “Is that a High Priestess’ pendant?”
“You bet your bollocks it is. As I said, this ain’t nothing. Come.” The old Berserker beckoned the pair of young men to the room where Issa lay, fast asleep. They complied, and she led them to the far end of the room and pointed to a small opaque window, roughly wide enough for Ben to fit through. “It was open a wee crack when we got here. Let in a chill that’s no good for a growing boy, you know? Saw something shiny and found that trinket out there.” She reached for the wooden latch and paused, her expression and tone devoid of humor. “But, before all that…”
“It called to you,” Ben finished for her. He felt an indiscernible tug to the window. Almost as if gravity was slanted toward that particular side of the room, and he had guessed that his mentor had felt the same.
Kieran remained quiet and folded his arms as he frowned. Ainsle turned to face Ben with pursed lips and, after a heartbeat, opened the window. The eerily still, cold air crept in like an uninvited guest, and the trio shivered in unison. On the window sill, the pitch-black night sky, its backdrop, sat a nest with a small black object in its center. Ben leaned closer and saw that it was the corpse of a young raven, its juvenile feathers barely molted.
As if it were the most normal thing in the world, Ainsle reached out and grabbed the dead bird before slowly separating its head from its lifeless body. Instead of blood, a puff of ash was expelled, and the old woman dug two fingers into the cavity. Her shoulders stiffened as she slowly drew out what appeared to be a rolled piece of raw leather hidden amongst its innards. She unfurled the skin, and her face went slack.
“Aunt, what is it?” Kieran asked.
The Berserker remained silent and absently offered the piece of leather to the Apprentice Necromancer, her gaze scanning the dark forest beyond the village of Skalt.
“I’m sorry,” said the Caster.
Ben stepped closer to see what was written or drawn on the leather, yet he couldn’t read the short, flowing, alien script. He frowned as he recalled not having trouble reading anything he’d encountered since waking up on the beach. “Sorry for what?” he asked. “What does it say? I can’t read it.”
“It says, ‘I’m sorry.’ It’s written in the old tongue…” Kieran appeared to speak further, yet Ben’s hearing was muffled to the sound.
“Could you say that again?” he asked as he tilted his head with eyes closed.
“What? _______? It’s the name of the language commonly referred to as the old tongue.” Kieran regarded Ben’s strained expression intently. “You can’t hear the word? Is it the same sensation as when you couldn’t hear the names of the Gods?”
The young man exhaled and nodded before turning to Ainsle, who stood with arms folded, peering out into the darkness. “Ainsle, is there any connection between the Gods and this language?” he asked.
The old Berserker turned and faced him. Her eye seemingly searching for something. “Not a fucking clue,” was all she said.
Kieran cleared his throat. “I’ll write to some contacts I have in the Capital. Scholars who’ve studied tribal magic and are familiar with the literature on the old world.” He patted Ben’s shoulder and tilted his head apologetically. “Their areas of expertise do not extend to the pantheon, unfortunately. Yet, I believe any insight is better than what we have at the moment.”
“Thanks. I’ll take anything, to be honest,” Ben gestured to the circular piece of leather in his hand. “Any idea who wrote this and what it’s about?”
“I’m as ignorant as you are. Although…” Kieran lifted the material closer to his black eyes and sniffed. “I’ll admit to being curious as to why human skin was chosen as the medium.”
Ben swallowed, and Ainsle clicked her tongue, drawing their attention to her. “Yup. I figured as much,” she sighed. “There’s some depraved cunts out there, and Ol’ Ain is too old to believe in coincidences nowadays.”
“You think this was a message left for us?” Ben asked after a moment of silence.
“Who knows? But what I can’t figure out is… No. It has to be an outsider.” She paused and swept her gaze around the room. “Or some bugger is breaking with tradition and going after the Keepers.” She held out a hand to forestall the inevitable questions Ben would ask. “I don’t know who or why, but I’m thinking it’d be smart to find out a bit about the new chief and that bloody Warlord that’s been fucking around and ‘uniting’ the tribes.”
Kieran let out a ‘hmm’ as he folded his arms. “Aunt, I don’t know if you’re aware, but my Mother and I weren’t very popular here in the village. Given her nature and-”
“Don’t worry, sweety,” Ainsle interrupted, pinching his cheek. “This old girl should still be able to knock on a few doors. After all, I believe I’m still owed the odd favor in these parts.” She winked before turning to Ben. “Don’t wait up for me. We’re leaving at midday tomorrow, so don’t spend too much time on a fuckle before bed, all right, lover boy?”
Ben nodded and decided to refrain from indulging the old woman’s playful jabs, as his mind was mush from all the stimuli of the past two days. She elbowed him in the ribs on her way out before clasping her gigantic weapon to her back and stomping down the poor wooden staircase of the old inn.
A few moments after she left, Ben turned to Kieran, who was lost in thought. “Hey.”
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
The Apprentice Necromancer faced him with a raised brow. “Yes?”
“What did she mean earlier?” Ben asked.
“Oh. It’s when you and a lady friend snuggle and fu-” Kieran began.
Ben raised a palm and pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand. “I meant about the Warlord…”
“Right, of course. That was the reason my Father made the journey here. To ‘debate’ the new chief-” He leaned closer and spoke in a whisper. “-who, if rumors are to be believed, is one of the Warlord’s pets.”
“I see. The tribal politics Ainsle mentioned?”
“Precisely.”
“Got it.” Ben paused and glanced at the sleeping form of Issa. “Ah. So, where will Issa stay if Bertram is out for the next couple of days?”
Kieran waved a dismissive hand. “He’ll stay with a family friend until Father gets back. I’m certain you wouldn’t want to delay our trip, waiting for the delving party’s return, either.”
Ben shrugged so as not to seem too callous, yet he agreed that he didn’t want to spend unnecessary time in the village while the Speakers breathed.
“The temple is relatively close; in fact, during the day, you can see it atop the mountain from the village. It’s the winding, uphill trek that’ll consume most of the three-day journey,” Kieran said before pausing at Ben’s rumbling stomach. “Let’s get something to eat.”
“Please,” Ben agreed eagerly, and the pair descended the stairs to join their companions in the common room —no longer willing to wait for the promised supper delivery to their rooms.
The pair of young men joined their inebriated companions in the common room. The infamous northern whiskey had apparently lived up to its name, as the women could barely string two coherent sentences together. Ben found his usually quiet and reserved Keeper’s swaying and proclamations of undying love for him to be quite hilarious. Unsurprisingly, yet much to Kieran’s embarrassment, June had —with feigned jealousy, yet probably true if Ben had the right measure of the woman— alluded to the Apprentice Necromancer’s womanizing ways, eliciting a boisterously dry laugh from the Innkeeper.
The party, excluding Ainsle, enjoyed a supper of roast venison and dry bread. Jan’s brow raised when the young man began scarfing down the additional meals, yet he didn’t offer any comment. After an hour of good company in front of a cozy fire in the empty inn, the party retired for the evening. Ben carried his Keeper up the stairs as the blonde haired woman struggled to stand on her own two feet. He set Ann down on a plain single bed and tucked her in for the evening —the snoring had begun before they’d reached the top of the stairway, which caused the young man to smile and chuckle to himself.
Ben remained awake for a few hours after his companions had drifted off. He decided that the lack of a need for sleep was a boon in more ways than one, as he found himself with spare time in the real world outside of his domain. Ben spent lonely hours working on his severely lacking physical condition. He found that sitting still for too long grated at him. It was unlike the time spent in his domain, as he spent the majority of his lucid hours refining his form and resting —or turning off his mind, as he had come to call the act— when the mental fatigue would become too unbearable. Pushups, lunges, and other bodyweight exercises came naturally to him, and he wondered if the movements were remnants of the memories that no longer visited his conscious mind. The catharsis of burning muscles and the silence in which he could digest the day's happenings allowed Ben to fall asleep relatively quickly, albeit with a growling stomach.
Pale rays of sunlight through thick clouds heralded the coming and passing of dawn, and the desperate moans of the albino Evoker woke the young man. Ainsle had returned sometime during the early morning hours as he heard his mentor’s husky drawl mock and tease a hungover June. After a round of ‘good mornings’ were exchanged between the party and their natural needs taken care of, the group packed their belongings and shared breakfast with Jan, the Innkeeper.
Ben was surprised to learn that Kieran was an early riser, as the Apprentice had left and returned after procuring much-needed supplies for the remainder of their journey. They stood in the street before the inn to bid farewell to their host.
“Thanks, old boy,” said Ainsle. “We’ll be back in a ten-day, so I’m thinking we’ll stop by for another visit. Gotta show this lad around when we have some downtime.” She nudged Ben with an elbow.
“Always have a place for fine folk at Widows rest. Take care, ya hear?” Jan waved, and the party reciprocated the warm send-off.
At Ben’s request, June’s hangover was cured by Ann’s regenerative Aura, much to the young man’s confusion as he had thought that the pair had become closer over the weeks in Honeydew and the merriment of the previous evening. He scolded himself as he realized his Keeper wouldn’t use her considerable power for anyone but him. He hoped the trip would change her blind obsession or, at the very least, restore a semblance of free will to the woman. The thought of keeping Ann in the dark as to his and Ainsle’s motives —regarding the trip to the temple— was a subtle ache that gnawed at him, yet he trusted his mentor’s judgment on the matter.
The party left the cozy, secluded village of Skalt behind and began the arduous trek up the mountainside. Days one and two were uneventful as the party slowly trudged up frigid, wooded paths. Ben couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched —as if eyes were peering at him from behind every tree at his periphery. When he mentioned it to his mentor, the old woman responded by saying that he should pay attention to his ‘gut feeling, especially out here in the sticks.’
They set up camp in an alcove and an uninhabited cave, surprisingly unmolested by the denizens of the wildland. Ben spent the evenings leisurely chatting with Ann about whimsical topics such as food, animals, and their favorite pastimes. Ann seemed to draw a blank when asked, as she had devoted the majority of her life to the faith, yet Ben noticed her gaze drawn to the fine literature Ainsle read during the evenings.
Ben wished he’d had the time to pursue an interest other than martial arts, yet Aetheria hadn’t been kind to him as of yet. He found that he enjoyed the quiet times with his new friends and companions and resolved to find a passion of his own outside of combat.
On the morning of the third and final day of the trek, the party found themselves on an overgrown path that appeared to have had foot traffic shortly before their arrival, as ground-covering vines were crushed and frozen in a thin layer of snow. Ainsle and Ben, who had walked in silence for the most part, met each other's gaze. The old Berserker held a hand for the party to stop and beckoned Kieran to come closer.
“Feel anything?” she asked the bronze-skinned man in a tone reminiscent of their near-death jaunt in the Ancient woods.
Kieran closed his eyes and, after a beat, shook his head. “No active wards or any traces of magic.” He opened his eyes and paused. “Which is strange as the temple is about half a bell away. I would expect pilgrims, even the northern people, to have minute traces of mana at the very least.”
Ben listened as the Apprentice Necromancer spoke when a glint in the corner of his eye drew his attention to a tree roughly ten paces away from their position. He walked over to where he had seen the light, halberd raised, to find an arrow embedded in the tree; its shaft snapped off midway. A familiar copper pendant attached to a delicate chain hung from the arrow shaft against the tree.
“Oi, Benny boy,” called Ainsle. “Get your arse over here.”
Ben left the pendant on the tree and jogged to his mentor. “What is it? I found another…”
Kieran lifted his hand, his back facing the Keeper to shield the item from view, and Ben frowned. Another Priestess’ silver pendant rested in his palm—dried blood stained its delicate chain. Ainsle nudged the young man and tilted her head up the path. Ben turned to look where the Berserker had indicated, and he saw dark patches of what he assumed to be blood, bile, or a combination of the two.
“Looks like some cunts got here before us,” said Ainsle.
Ben saw the trees and the brush beside the winding path, shimmering with the reflected light of countless metallic pendants.