The First Light of The Black Hills
“Cop!...open…acob…” My door was rattling.
I grabbed my dagger from its sheath, squinting in the dark of the dingy hut. My back ached as I rose from the cot, huddling into my cloak, and readied the dagger in my numb frozen hands. The rattling continued as someone kept pounding on the sturdy wooden door and the barricade behind it. The shouting of the voices was stolen by the screeching winds that seemed to rattle the hut itself.
I breathed and listened. The wind was torrential, like a banshee of yore, screaming into the valley. The rain was a drip-drop pittance in comparison: and a singular hoarse voice became clearer. “Wake up Yacob!”
“Sarath?” My voice rasped out. I exhaled and loosened my grip on the dagger. I removed the plank of wood and the door swung open, bringing cold screeching winds into the small hut and driving out the warmth in my lungs. The old man was swaying on his feet, huddling into his cloak as droplets of rain pelted him and the wind screamed behind him. The sky behind him was dark, with not a tinge of grace.
I ushered him inside, as he shivered, all skin and bone. “Oh thank the divine, thank the divine Yacob, we have to go!” His voice was like a trumpet and my ears screamed in a cacophony of pain as I stopped listening. His mouth was moving but I could hear no words as I ushered him to the floor, leaning against the shaking wall of the hut.
“Steady Sarath, it’s loud and cold enough already. What’s the matter?”
If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.
“H…E…s-” I held up my hand, urging him to wait as sound slowly returned. “Take a breath. Be clear, be concise”
“Listen Yacob! Alarian is dead. And..Yacob, oh the tragedy, the poor boy and we need to go Yacob, we need to go!” The old man devolved into coughing fits.
“Then rest easy. He’s not going to die again.” I spoke, rising from the floor, moving to the rack to grab my spear and sword. Latching the sheath, and donning the gambeson under the cloak. Sarath continued to mutter to himself all the while as I readied myself for an unpleasant late night stroll.
“Middle of the night, isn’t it Sarath. What are you doing up at this forsaken hour?”
“C-couldn’t sleep, Yacob. Not a wink, not for a single grace or hymn. Went for a walk, not far, and saw him. Viran, sitting in the mud cold, oh that poor poor boy. Left him with Valrissa, I did.”
“What will happen to the boy now, oh what a tragedy-". The old man continued to speak, shivering all the while.
I held up my hands in surrender, to urge the old man to stop talking. He continued frivolously, speaking faster and faster as his words began to fade of all coherent meaning. I knelt and grabbed his shivering arm. “Sarath, listen.” I waited until he stopped. “Did you see Alarian?”
“-I-uh-no. But he wouldn’t let the boy wander around all alone in the cold of night. The library doesn’t have a single light. And the boy, the poor poor boy. He said Alarain was dead, Viran did. He was a rightful mess, a mess. Lisping and blubbering like a withered candle.”
“Viran is with Valrissa?”
Sarath nodded his head, shivering all the while. “Of course he is, I couldn’t have left him alone or grace forbid, bring him here. You need to go see what happened Yacob.”
I rose, my joints creaking with age. I began to remove the rough plank of wood, holding the door in place. “Barricade the door behind me, and stay until the rain and wind die down. I’ll go grab Yandar and go up and have a look. See if he’s dead.”
Sarath nodded and rose unsteadily to his feet: “Aye, I will. Go in peace Yacob, I’ll recite a prayer that all is well. Read upon the hymns.”
“And I’ll make sure to check up if you're still alive by sunrise, Sarath.”
“Go in Peace Yacob”, I handed him the plank. The door closed and the old man latched it into place.
“In peace Sarath.”