"I don't see why you can't teach me now," I said, cutting my way through the dense foliage with an unfamiliar and painfully unwieldy sword.
"By your definition, it's barely even magic," Keeper said. "Look, there's a process to all things. This included. If I knew you'd bother me so much before you even finished step one I wouldn't have brought it up."
I ducked under a heavy branch. "Step one? How many are there? We can't just skip to the end?"
"There's three. And—" The girl ran into the heavy branch. She scolded me before continuing. "Either way, you can keep your complaints for the Seers. I'm sure it'll help your trial plenty," she grumbled.
"Who are these Seers, anyhow? Why do they care if I've killed a bunch of Nightmares?"
"Tradition. Actually, more like law. If you learned magic before the trial, the Seers would make my life unbearable. I'd have to live out my days in The Everdark."
"You know, this sword was pointless." I stepped on top of a fallen log, driving the tip of it down to brace my step. "A walking stick would work just as well."
"Can a walking stick kill a Nightmare?" Keeper asked.
"No, but you could."
"And you could live your life in futile search of an escape that doesn't exist. Or you could shut up, eat The Nine, and get the hell out of here. With my help." Her eyes followed the forest floor as she marched.
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Watcher's foyer smelled significantly less of sterile cleaning agents than his back office had. Deep earthy and wooded paneling covered the walls, and the metal frame of a bench occupied the corner. A coat rack, shoe rack, hat rack, and what I guessed to be an umbrella rack cluttered the space, though each one was empty, aside from a lonely pair of brown leather pikes.
"What about a hatchet?" Watcher blocked the front door.
"No. I need a knife," I said. "Preferably a dagger if you'd like me to kill anything."
"They're not gonna have more than one of those chunky kitchen blades," Keeper said.
My eyes inevitably drew to her oversized shears. "Where did those come from?"
She hugged the scissors tightly, gasping audibly. "Language! They were born, they didn't just appear one day! Unlike you…"
I frowned at Keeper. All the while, Watcher glared at my feet uncomfortably.
The girl finally cracked. "Ugh, fine! Maker made them, but you don't have that option. If we could all tell Maker exactly what to make this place would be a lot cooler," she said while idly admiring the polish of her blades.
Watcher shoved the pointed pair of pikes into my arms. "You'll have to wear these. I can't fathom half the town's reaction to your odd foot wrappings. And take off this tattered thing." He tugged at my cloak.
The shoes he'd handed me looked ridiculous. More importantly, I couldn't imagine running anywhere at any speed with them. I'd trip over myself in less than two steps.
"Are you sure I—"
"Yes, now put them on. They'll fit nicely," he said.
He wasn't entirely wrong about them fitting, but they did not fit nicely. I'd essentially strapped weights to my feet. How do people walk around in these clunky things all day?
"You'll visit some knife shops first," Keeper said. "If there isn't anything you like, Watcher can find you a modest sword." She knocked at the front door twice, but before I could ask what she was doing, it opened on its own.
"Uhm, sure…" Then, Keeper held the door open and ushered the both of us out. "You're not coming?" I asked.
"Can't. Watcher's got you covered, buy whatever you need. Just don't eat him," she said, waving brightly and latching the door shut.
Outside, sprinkled about the main road were dozens of identically dressed passersby. They all wore the same hemp tunic and most carried a hat on their heads with three drooping pieces of fabric.
"Why do they all look the same?" I asked.
"I've not a clue. Don't go and tell them though, they hate to hear it," Watcher said.
The village itself was a sprawl of irregularly shaped buildings casually strewn out amongst a near forest of trees. Each house wore a different muted color of wood and a myriad of shades for roof tiling. I also spotted a couple of buildings made from stacked stones or clay and topped with a bland gray thatching.
Watcher and I made our way along the dusted road. It followed the shape of the land, rising and falling with the hills and jutting off new paths at unpredictable points. Within a few minutes of walking, I could tell the village was larger than any town I'd stolen from before, which is to say, all of them. Despite the feel of a quaint little village, the spattering of houses went on forever.
Eventually, Watcher walked up to a thin building a few blocks from the main road. It sat beside a low lot with large windows out front, though looking through them proved useless in determining what kind of function it served. On the other side was a building that looked like a butcher's shop. The gruesome illustration of a pig's chopped head swiveled on a stick beside its entrance.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
Before Watcher even had the chance to knock, the door shot open and smacked him in the face. "Oh! Sorry 'bout that! Unlucky bugger, aren'tcha?" An old man with a round face, dressed the same as everyone else, popped out from the hinging slab.
"That's quite alright, my friend. Let me be frank, I'm here for a specific sort of knife." Watcher smiled and bowed ever so slightly.
"O'course Watcher, sir. O'course!" The big man ushered us inside. "Who's yer bods ya got wit'cha?" he asked, eyeing my clothes suspiciously.
"He's no name, not to worry." Watcher made a quick piercing glance in my direction. Understood.
"Ay then, we got new blades this morn' so plenty o' picks."
The inside of the building stretched like one long hallway. On either side, thousands of cooking knives hung from haphazardly hammered nails. At the end of the hallway, a door sat behind the shop's supposed pay station.
"Do you carry any daggers?" I asked. Watcher gave me a mixed look. If I had to guess, I'd say he hadn't wanted me to bring it up so soon, but he was glad not to be the one asking.
The shopkeeper gave a stern look-around his hallway and nodded slowly. "Coulda slap me ass I had somethin' o' the sort," he grumbled. "I oughta check the back for ya." And then, plodded down the hall.
I watched him closely as he made his way to the backdoor, but before he even got there, my old instincts kicked in. "Would it be rude to ask and see your stock?"
He stomped to a stop, turned, and gave a great big toothy grin. "There's the rub! Like me a lad fain to find a goo' blade!"
Watcher gave a tense sigh and shooed me off, awkwardly blocking the front entrance. What if someone else wanted to buy a knife?
The back storage spread out much wider, as opposed to the narrow entryway. A healthy mess of crates filled most of the room, and in one corner: a pillow weeping its feathers and a couple of rags were bundled up on top of the wooden boxes.
The shopkeeper weaved perfectly between the chaos, prying crates open and shuffling through thin boards inside. Over his shoulder, I tagged them all as palettes of steel blades. Each a kitchen knife.
The last crate sat in the middle of the room. He'd passed by it two or three times in his deep search, but had ignored it until now. The man hunched overtop the box for a noticeable minute while his breathing grew in volume. Finally, he squeezed his fingers underneath the cover, and tore it clean off with a grunt so loud I'd have heard it all the way out near Keeper's place.
He pulled an endless number of nested boxes from the crate, until a small fort formed around him. Then, he systematically checked under their lids and sorted the boxes into two piles, one beside the crate and the other inside it. They were all still kitchen knives, but unlike the ones hanging out front, each one held a distinguishable quiddity.
One box in particular caught my attention. Unlike the others, it bore a telling history of scuffs and scratches, and a significantly frayed ribbon wrapped around the length of it. The red band nearly melted into threads when the man pulled its knot loose. Inside the box sat a pale white dagger that reflected the room's light. Its hilt was wrapped in faded cloth and had likely once looked as black as the eyes of a man caught in his neighbor's wine cellar. He groaned and placed it back in the crate along with the other kitchen blades.
"What's wrong with that one?" I asked.
The old man scoffed. "Thing's made o' bone. No edge'll hold an' brittle as a young'un's heart. Bootless if y'ask me, ain't for buyin' an' ain't for sellin'."
No other knife caught my attention, and so, we left the shop empty handed. The rest of the day was spent trying to save Watcher his coin, but he refused to take me back without some kind of weapon. Just before the sky changed color, we settled on an uninspired short sword with a weaving blade and a great big gaudy gem sunken into its hilt. Watcher had stumbled across it leaning in the back of a young woman's uncommon weapons of history shop. She barely let us give her anything for it, but The Dream Watcher insisted on trading three unremarkably dull squares of wood, and she accepted.
The sky had darkened when we got back. Keeper shoved me around and gave congratulations on my new blade. Tomorrow, I would train to kill. We ate a delicious meal of pig meat and Dream Essence, Watcher complained about my conduct on our outing, and Keeper hummed a few slow, building melodies, unlike any of the bustling tavern music back home. Finally, the house fell asleep and later that night, I stole the knife. Box and all.
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"Or you could shut up, eat The Nine, and get out of here with my help."
"Good idea." I sliced once more, and revealed a humble clearing in the forest. A rock formation about as high as an arena's stands loomed over part of the space, blocking the green light that shone through the canopy of leaves overhead. "You weren't kidding."
Keeper burst into the outcropping of thick, luscious grass and peculiar green flowers. She jumped into the air, limbs spread out wide, then landed gently in the fluffy growth. "I missed this place, used to come here all the time."
"Care to tell me what I'm killing now?"
Keeper sprung from the ground. "Binders of Obligation and Subjugation," she said, her head dancing along with the words. "They're the weakest Compound Nightmare. I always call 'em Binders."
"Compound Nightmare? That's a thing?"
"Yep. Two fears and one being. You've already met Chasers. They aren't compound, hence all the running." She trotted to the opposite side of the clearing, through beams of light that illuminated her dark hair, hints of orange peeking through. "Now all we have to do is wait." And she sat in the shade of the curved stone overhang.
We waited for a handful of minutes. Then, we waited for a few hours. Then, we waited until the light was gone and everything wore the same blue tone. Keeper's snoring must have lured in the bony creature. I stirred her awake, and upon spotting the hunched figure, she nudged me forwards, nodding silently. "Remember, you don't eat these ones," she whispered.
Part of me didn't care to hunt the limping thing, I'd rather eat it and be done with the ordeal. Its wide palms flopped through the tall grass, dragging elongated fingers and occasionally stepping on them, tripping over itself. The pitiable thing made one final push before settling down in the center of the clearing. "I'm going to have to kill how many of these sad sacks of shit?" I whispered to Keeper.
She didn't argue, only pushed me out into the clearing. I stumbled forward, holding the sword that felt too heavy for one arm and too light for two. Absentmindedly, I felt for the bone-knife inside the strap on my leg. At least I've got an actual blade if anything goes wrong.
The Binder in front of me unfurled itself from the ball it had been sleeping in and staggered to its feet. It let off a deathly cry, the kind you hear a child make when they've broken an arm, and staggered towards me. I planted both my feet and readied the sword. Then, the metal of my blade wavered.
In the shiny steel reflection of my short sword, the distorted image of a shadowed figure with claws the size of Keeper's shears crept closer.
"Ferrowill…" Keeper spoke from behind in a hushed tone. "Whatever you do… do not move."