CHAPTER 5: POSSIBILITIES ONCE IMPOSSIBLE
“Longevity and power are often mistaken for Immortality. True Immortality is exceedingly rare and almost exclusive to the Gods. They hold a monopoly over eternity and guard it jealousy” - Attributed to the Archmagi Ciaran the Ancient, shortly before his death at the age of Seven hundred and Seven.
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It had been three days since Cole left Glockmire. The first day Natalie spent considerable energy trying to keep the strange pilgrim out of her mind, trying not to let the vivid imagination, which was key to her artistry, summon up images of Cole being torn apart like her Mother. The first night Natalie stayed up late, hoping the scarred man would wander back into the Silly Goat. On the second day, Natalie found herself compulsively checking the third room on the right. Making sure it was locked and the skull hidden within it stayed secret. By the third day, with no sign of Cole, Natalie and Wilhelm discussed what to do with their probably dead guest’s belongings. Wilhelm decided they would wait for as many days as Cole had paid and donate anything found in the room to the local Temple.
Natalie agreed, but internally she fretted on what to do with the bloody skull! It was an illegal artifact, contraband, and a desecrated corpse all in one! There was no simple solution to this problem. A dozen different plans, all with various levels of risk and possible complications, flooded her mind. It was Freeday, the fifth day of the week, marking the start of the weekend. A busy time in the Silly Goat, and Natalie was distracted, making simple mistakes. Only years of experience kept her from making huge errors. As for the small ones, familiarity with her customers afforded her much grace.
Eventually, after hours of exhausting work and worrying intrusive thoughts, the last few raucous customers were gently but firmly shooed from its tables and the tavern shut for the night. Wilhelm had noticed something was wrong with his daughter and stayed up later than usual to help her clean up. The privacy of the empty bar provided a place to ask questions that had been gnawing on Wilhelm for years now.
“Natalie, what do you want to do with your life?” It was such a simple question, but it had taken his daughter’s recent distance to force Wilhelm to ask. With his wife dead and his daughter, a young woman, Wilhelm faced some uncomfortable truths. She should have her own life and decide her future. It was fine if she wanted to take on the Silly Goat and live her life like Wilhelm and his forefathers had. But if she wanted something else, Wilhelm could not deny her that, even if it left him alone.
Natalie paused at the question and cocked her head. Slowly she responded with a slight uncertainty to her voice: “What do you mean by that father?”
Wilhelm sighed and tried to provide clarity: “You are twenty now, an adult with her whole life ahead of her. Natalie, you are intelligent, resourceful, strong-willed, and beautiful, if you desire it, a future beyond running an inn in a small mountain town could be yours.”
Wilhelm realized he had been polishing the same mug for a solid five minutes; putting it down with a noise of exasperation, he continued talking. “The last few days, you’ve seemed distracted, and it has me concerned.” Wilhelm let out a long, slow, steadying breath. “When….when your Mother died, our lives were thrown into chaos. Any plans I had for the future crumbled, and your last few years of adolescence were soaked in grief.”
“I’ve been putting off this conversation, I didn’t want any more change, but your mother would never forgive me if I weren’t honest with you.”
Natalie was taken aback; she’d been so wrapped up in her mind it had not occurred to her that her Father might be taking her remoteness as some sort of worrying sign. The strange attention of a powerful being, the mystery of Cole, not to mention the horrible mess with Felix, had kept her preoccupied. Natalie slowly repeated her Father’s original question, “What do I want to do with my life? Dad, I honestly haven’t thought about it. Mom’s death often overwhelms me, but I - don’t understand what you are asking.” Natalie felt annoyed at her own confusion; Barnabas always joked the only thing sharper than her tongue was her wits. To be befuddled and beset by worries struck a very sour cord in her.
Wilhelm stopped his half-hearted cleaning and stared Natalie in the eyes. There she saw a tiredness she’d somehow missed. Grief, guilt, and pain wore away at her Father like a glacier carving through stone. It pained Natalie to see the cheerful, kind man who raised her with such an expression. Had she been so wrapped up in her own pain to not notice this? Had her Father hidden it from her, or only just realized how much pain he was in himself?
“Natty, you have so many possibilities before you, and I feel I would be doing a disservice to you... and your Mother if I didn’t help you find your path. I also know Glockmire is not the place for you to tap into your potential. This town is dark, with secrets and sorrows down to the marrow. There are places in the Blood Duchies where someone like you might shine brighter. Noct-Bucuros, for example, or even beyond our homeland.”
That earned more silence and confusion from Natalie. She had honestly not considered a life outside of Glockmire. Few people leave the relative safety and security of a town like Glockmire. Numerous settlements had experienced calamities like the one that killed Iona, that the town survived and rebuilt was unusual. Despite their hunger and dark ways, the Vampire Nobles provide protection that should not be taken for granted. Natalie knew she was lucky to be born into a loving family and had so many contented years with her parents. They gave her the tools to thrive. The stable life of an innkeeper was all she had known, and it provided much in the way of comfort and security.
Even more confusing was the idea of leaving the Blood Duchies; such emigration was rare and frowned upon. The aristocrats did not like the idea of their subjects (or livestock depending on how you looked at it) moving about easily. It took coin and connections to leave this place, things Natalie doubted her Father had in abundance. Then even if she were to leave, where too? The Holy League to the northwest was a collection of piecemeal kingdoms barely united by a common faith and mutual enemies. In the south, the Sultanate of Jannah was home to strange beliefs and practices she knew nothing about. Towards the northeast lay Gobavi, the empire of Goblins and Witches, a place even darker and fouler than the Blood Duchies.
Wilhelm saw the wheels turning in his daughter’s mind and guessed at her thoughts. “Your Mother had a troubled past; I can’t tell you the details; I never pressed her on them. The circumstances that brought her to Glockmire were painful, and she feared them catching up to her. Iona, your Mother, was prepared for that possibility. There is a provision, more than enough to bribe and buy our families a way into another land.” With a heavy sigh, he continued, “I don’t have any use for it. Iona is buried here, and I intend to join her eventually. You, my darling Natty, could make great use of it.”
Tentatively Natalie asked, “What … what do you mean … a provision? To that, Wilhelm simply smiled, got close to his daughter, and whispered in her ear. Upon hearing exactly what her Mother had hidden away for all those years, Natalie’s eyes widened to the size of saucers. Wilhelm gave a little smile, his daughter’s shock bringing up memories of when Iona had told him this particular secret. “I think you can guess where I keep it. Please think about what you want to do, but I need you to know something. No matter what, I will always love you, and there will be a place here at the Silly Goat for my darling Natty.”
At that, Natalie wrapped her arms around her Father and wept quietly. Day of stress and prolonged unresolved pain pouring out of her. They sat like that, Father and daughter, holding each other for maybe twenty minutes. Eventually, Natalie pulled away and whispered softly, “Thanks, Dad, for everything.”
Wilhelm felt a genuine smile, one untarnished by grief, spreading across his face. Giving his daughter a final hug, he responded, “And thank you, Natty, for growing into a person both your mother and I can be proud of .” He kissed her on the forehead before moving towards the staircase. Wilhelm yawned and said. “It’s getting late; I think it’s time for me to sleep. Please think about where your path could lead you, but don’t stay up too late; it has been a long day. I Love you, and I’ll see you in the morning.”
Natalie nodded, sent her Father love, and wished him good night. Now alone, she set to work on the final few chores of the day. A weight felt lifted from her, and she could almost forget the stress of the past few days. Thinking about all the possibilities raised by her Father was breathtaking. Even if she never pursued them, the option gave her a feeling of freedom she’d never experienced before. For the first time in a long time, Natalie thought about the future without the gnawing pain of grief.
Maybe half an hour later, Natalie was finishing drying the last pot. Humming a tune she’d picked up, Gods knows where, while Stockings the cat, watched with the mercurial disinterest of all felines. It was a warm night, and Natalie had one of the windows open to help get the smell of stale beer and dirty people out of the Silly Goat. Staring at one of the carvings her Mother had made, a silly-looking bird perched atop a cabinet, Natalie suddenly felt terribly cold.
The deep bone-chilling cold that invaded her twice in the past week surged through her again. This time it was strong enough to force Natalie’s breath from her lungs. Shocked, she dropped the pot she had been drying, it crashed to the floor with a loud clang. Wisps of frozen breath exited her mouth, and Natalie almost collapsed. The crushing weight of that inscrutable presence pressing down on her. Natalie could not breathe, she could not think, she could only stare into the void that so casually peered into her. Then as quickly as it came, it left.
Whirling around in shock, Natalie saw Stocking’s tail disappear out the window through the corner of her eye. The cat, startled by the falling pot, did what cats do, fleeing to safer parts. Returning to herself, Natalie swore at Stockings in three languages, a skill Barnabas had been happy to teach her. Natalie shut the window and prepared to find her runaway cat. As she grabbed her coat and a lantern, Natalie promised herself she’d talk to someone tomorrow about these episodes.
Before she left the inn, Natalie pocketed her carving knife; caution is something you can never have an overabundance of. It was probably the last decently warm night of the season, and a gentle breeze came down off the mountains. At another time and another place, it would be pleasant to take an evening stroll. But here, in Zaubervold, the night being is something to be admired from behind a threshold.
The logical thing to do would be to just leave Stockings to her fate and hope the cat was smart enough to survive whatever dangers lurked after dusk. But Natalie and her Mother adopted the cat as a kitten when Nat was eight years old. With everything her Father had said that night and Natalie’s own grief returning, she refused to lose the cat.
First, Natalie checked around the Silly Goat by circling the inn’s exterior. When Natalie got back to the front door, she saw her familiar striped feline stalking north, not three meters from the entrance. At Natalie’s appearance, the cat startled and looked at her, the light of the lantern reflecting in Stocking’s eyes. As Natalie moved to fetch the cat, Stockings turned and strode away. The feline didn’t flee into the dark but slipt maybe another two meters away from the inn.
Incensed at this, Natalie followed after the cat. Every time she got even relatively close, the bloody furball would scamper out of reach. Grinding her teeth at the cat’s audacity, Natalie continued her pursuit. This was not like Stockings; the cat was usually even-tempered and cooperative, at least by feline standards. She’d never hurt Stockings, but right now, trudging through dark streets at eleven at night brought forth some spiteful thoughts, and Natalie fully planned to grab her cat by the scruff and toss it down in the pantry for a few nights.
Stockings movements suddenly changed; she became tense and moved along the cobblestones as if she were stalking some invisible prey. Till now, the clouds obscured the Moon, hiding the silver glow of a waxing gibbous. Then they parted, and clean moonlight fell down on the street, showing Natalie exactly where the cat was leading her. She was not far from the town’s north gate. Natalie followed her stalking cat as it approached the gate; when Stockings froze in an ambush stance, Natalie’s eyes caught sight of something that almost stilled her heart. The door in the gate was left ajar.
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Cold ugly fear ripped its way up out of Natalie’s gut, and terrible memories of her Mother’s death came with it. Without thinking, Natalie rushed forward, ready to raise the alarm and secure the gate. To her shock, Stocking pounced through the gate door. Natalie cursed the cat with some particularly foul Dwarvish oaths Barnabas had taught her when she was twelve. Rushing up to the gate, she peered through the ajar door, hoping to scoop up Stockings and then find the gate guard. Before her eyes could focus, a deep groan issued from beyond the gate. She froze instantly, expecting a shambling corpse to reach out from the gap and grab her. The smell of blood hit her nose, and she almost recoiled on sheer instinct. Then her eyes adjusted, and what she saw laying crumpled on the ground stopped her. The scarred behemoth was slumped just outside the gate door, covered in fresh and drying blood. His cloak was tattered and pale moonlight illuminated his even paler face. Stockings was licking his hand, a pair of silver pieces clutched in red-stained fingers.
He was still breathing, which surprised Natalie, considering how much blood covered him. A small puddle of it, black in the moonlight, painted the ground around him. The pilgrim had obviously found what he was looking for in the wilds and almost paid with his life. Natalie was no healer, but she knew Cole would die if he was left here. The only question was how to get the large man through the gate door and back to the inn undetected.
Fortunately the gate’s inner door hinges were well oiled and well made, making little sound when Natalie pushed it open enough to grab Cole by the heels of his boots. With all her strength, she pulled the hulking man through the threshold, his head thudding against the cobbles, eliciting a long groan; under different circumstances, Natalie would have felt bad, but there was no time to be nice about this. Panting with exertion, she dragged him into the town proper. He was not yet literally dead weight but close enough to make the task arduous for the young woman. Natalie was by no means weak, tall for a woman, standing a hundred-seventy centimeters, and kept fit by a myriad of chores, but still dragging Cole back to the Silly Goat would be impossible without aid.
With Cole safely inside, she shut the gate. An easy enough task, but Natalie could do little more to secure the north gate with the simple deadbolt. The rest of the complex system of gears and locks required both specialized keys and an understanding of the mechanism. Natalie had no desire to leave the gate at anything but fully secure. Glancing around, she first noticed Stockings curled up next to Cole, then a shadow passed in front of the gatehouse window, and an idea struck her.
Leaving Cole under Stocking’s protection, Natalie slipt over to the gatehouse and peeked inside. Sure enough, a familiar form slumped over asleep in the rickety chair. Snoring loudly in an alcohol-induced stupor, Jean the Gate Guard sat in total dereliction of duty. How the fat old drunk kept his job was beyond Natalie’s understanding. Glancing around at the gatehouse, Natalie started piecing together the evening events. Years of working in an inn helped her deduce that the fool had fallen asleep shortly after the shift change and had not locked the gate. Even if that was not the whole story, it was damning enough for Jean to find himself in the Larder if this latest incompetence was discovered.
Natalie quietly opened the gatehouse door, went over, and shook Jean, rousing him from his drunken stupor. Watery, bloodshot eyes opened and stared up at her in confusion. Pressing the advantage, Natalie spoke. “Listen to me, Jean, it’s me, Natalie, Wilhelm’s daughter. You got drunk, passed out, and left the gate open.”
Confusion quickly turned to fear as understanding filtered into the man’s sodden mind. Jean opened his mouth to respond, but Natalie cut him off. “Luckily for you, I need a favor, and I’m willing to say nothing to anybody if you are willing to say nothing about the help you are about to render. Do you understand?”
Momentary wariness passed, and Jean nodded in agreement. Whatever Natalie asked of him could not be worse than what the Lord would do if he found out about this. Suddenly, Natalie grabbed his chin and looked him square in the eye, “And don’t you ever leave the gate unlocked again.” Natalie let go of him, and he nodded in agreement so vigorously that his double chins slapped together. With that, Natalie pulled Jean to his feet, and he followed her out of the gatehouse. She pointed at the collapsed form of Cole. “I need your help getting him back to the Silly Goat. He touched silver but is badly hurt.”
Upon seeing the blood-drenched giant who looked more monster than man, Jean decided he didn’t want to know what Natalie was up to. With the last of his drunken haze clearing his head, he stammered, “I … I think there’s an old hand cart next to the gatehouse; we can use it to move him. Let me lock up the gate first.”
Natalie nodded curtly and went to find the cart. It was stashed on the other side of the gatehouse. With two wheels and a wooden handle, the cart was little more than an oversized wheelbarrow. It would do the job and make hauling what had to be at least a hundred kilos of pilgrim possible. Natalie returned, pulling the cart behind her, praying nobody noticed or cared about the small racket it made being pulled over the gravel and cobblestones. Jean was by the gate, having finished locking it up, and was now poking Cole with a boot.
Glancing up at the approaching Natalie, Jean pointed at Cole and asked, “You sure he isn’t already dead?”
The fact that the guard asked that, not: “Who is this? Where did he come from? Why are you helping him?” Spoke volumes about Jean. The man had little in the way of faculties, and a lifetime of drinking had not enriched his mind. Natalie gritted her teeth and sighed. “Yes, he’s not dead yet; now help me get him in the cart.”
Shrugging at that, the portly guard helped the innkeeper’s daughter lift the scared pilgrim into the cart. Together they pushed and pulled the wooden transport through the empty streets. Stockings, the cat led the way like some gallant knight at the head of a triumph. Natalie could only roll her eyes and sigh, the cat had gotten her into this mess, but it was at least now cooperative.
It took them a few minutes, but they got the cart to the Silly Goat. Wheeling it behind the inn proper and towards the shed tucked against the building’s rear. Opening the shed, Natalie, with Jean’s help, pulled her hopefully still-living cargo inside. The shed was used for storage and washing; it had water, privacy, and a small cot in one corner. Wilhelm, like his daughter, was not especially devout, but he followed the tenets of Earth Mother and guest rights. He would make sure even those who couldn’t pay had a place to sleep if they needed it. To which end, he kept the cot here in the shed.
They got Cole onto the cot, Natalie grimacing at the stains he was sure to leave; thankfully, blood is relatively easy to clean. “Alright, Jean, this night never happened and don’t ever leave the gate open again.”
Jean looked away, but nodded his agreement. He trundled off with the cart relieved he’d escaped the consequences of his failing . Soon the rattling of the cart faded into the quiet sounds of the night, and Natalie was alone with Cole and her cat.
Chewing on her lip, Natalie stared down at the still unconscious pilgrim. She’d never considered herself a kind or compassionate person, not with her razor tongue and aloof air that got her in and out of trouble on numerous occasions. Yet now, she had risked herself rescuing a stranger she didn’t even particularly like. Natalie questioned her actions, then with a sigh, decided to see this through. Barnabas had once explained to her something called the “Sunken Coin Curse” of how a merchant might continue a foolish choice simply because they had already put so much into their decision. Maybe that was what motivated her? Or was this some weird manifestation of grief? Hells, could she just be more caring than she’d ever given herself credit for?
Gingerly she pulled away the tattered cloak that had covered most of Cole. Blood dripped from the ruined garment, and she dropped it on the floor. Stockings, who had decided to stay for the ordeal, sniffed it and then bizarrely sat down on a relatively unsoiled patch. In the candlelight, Natalie got her first proper look at what exactly happened to Cole; his clothes were ripped and covered in blood. Most of it was dried brown or fresh red, but there were spatters of tarry black. The horrible undead attack from three years ago had taught Natalie what color a walking corpse bled. Cole had fought some undead horror and survived, but barely.
Next, she pulled off the leather armor and shirt he wore. The numerous tears and rips made it easy. Cole’s pants and legs were comparably unscathed, and that strange axe he carried was still fastened to his hip. Natalie had not noticed it earlier because it was so coated in black blood that it reflected no light. Grabbing a few clean cloths, a bucket, and a bottle of strong alcohol, Natalie got to work.
A copper pipe stuck out of one of the shed’s only stone wall, which it shared with the Silly Goat. Of all the wonders lost when the Old Empire fell, plumbing was thankfully not one of them. Quickly filling the bucket with cold water, she started washing away the mess of dried blood that covered Cole’s chest. The pilgrim did not stir as she doused him repeatedly in chilly mountain water, his breathing the only sign he still lived. With the majority of the blood washed away, Natalie got a clear look at Cole’s injuries.
Four large lacerations stretched across his gut, any deeper, and they might have disemboweled him. Upon his chest, left shoulder, and neck were a series of what had to be bites. Natalie could not guess what could possibly have made them, only marveling that they’d not gotten deep enough to hit a vein. Cole’s right arm was swollen and red like it had taken an incredible blow. The knuckles on that hand were skinned, and a ring of lacerations circled the forearm.
Individually each of the injuries would be painful and unpleasant; together, they should have been lethal. It was astonishing that Cole had not been killed in whatever fight he’d been in, let alone that he’d managed to drag his way back to Glockmire was honestly a miracle. Natalie decided if and when Cole woke up, he owed her some answers. It was the least he could do after saving his life and keeping his secrets. Taking a clean cloth, Natalie poured some of the most potent alcohol the Silly Goat had onto it. Honestly, she had no clue what she was doing, but figured that anything she did was better than nothing.
Natalie got to work cleaning the myriad of wounds, even managing to slightly turn Cole to get the cuts and bruises on his back. Those were relatively minor, more like the result of falling or being knocked over than a fight. Cole did not awake, only occasionally letting out a hiss of pain when Natalie touched a particularly deep wound. All of the injuries seemed literally skin-deep, painful but hopefully not life-threatening. With the last of the wounds cleaned, Natalie debated what to do next.
Sighing and staring down at the scarred and battered man before her, Natalie decided her best course of action would be to bandage him up and hope for the best. She had no confidence in her ability to stitch Cole’s injuries; it could not be as easy as mending cloth. Taking him to a healer at this hour without explanation would raise far too many questions. Helping Cole like this was already a considerable risk; Natalie just hoped the fact that Cole had been wounded outside of town would protect him from the Lord’s enchantments.
Natalie did not know precisely what spells were woven into Glockmire by the Lord, but she knew they could at least detect the violent spilling of blood beyond a threshold. Something Felix had gotten to see first hand. The Lord’s Dayman, the mortal official tasked with communicating the Lord’s will to his living subjects, claimed the spells were for the people’s protection. Ensuring their esteemed protectors were aware of any violence perpetrated within Glockmire. Dark mutterings only voiced on the brightest of days told a different story about how the spells existed to ensure the Nobles never missed an opportunity to stock their larder.
Natalie left the shed for a few moments, heading to the clothesline hanging nearby. Grabbing a clean but well-worn sheet, she got to work, cutting it up into strips to use as bandages. Upon returning to the shed, she paused for a moment and decided she’d done enough charity for one day. Cole would pay for the sheets. Rifling through his pockets, trying to ignore the awkwardness of the task, Natalie found a few Bronze coins and set them aside. She’d looked for the two silver coins Cole had been holding, but they were nowhere to be found. Anyway, the Bronze would pay for these torn up sheets and some fresh linens for the cot. Cole’s blood would probably wash out; but Natalie had doubts about removing the stains caused by undead ichor.
With Stockings still watching, curled up on Cole’s bloodstained cloak, Natalie continued her work. She’d helped bandage people up before. Bar fights at the Silly Goat were rare but not unheard of, and Natalie had learned from her Mother how to dress a wound in the wake of some of those more violent altercations. Tending to those not being dragged away by the Castle Guards, while they waited for proper healers to arrive from the local Temple.
Trying to tie one bandage around Cole’s broad chest, Natalie found herself increasingly annoyed. Getting the fabric around the big lump was proving to be difficult and required her to basically hug him while trying to get the bandage underneath him. Grumbling to herself, she muttered as she worked. “Why couldn’t you bother to get yourself injured in a more convenient manner? Like maybe just an arm or a leg? So I don’t have to clamber over you like a fool.”
This close to Cole, Natalie tried not to feel incredibly awkward, it wasn’t like she had no experience with nearly naked men, but that had been different. The results of weeks of flirting and youthful passion erupting in entertaining ways. This was her trying to save a stranger’s life and not embarrass herself in the process. Natalie tried to focus on her work but couldn’t help but notice the strange lack of smell. Cole had been out in the wilderness for days and been badly injured. He should have stunk like a troll; instead, all her nose caught was the spirits she’d use to clean his wounds. Finally, she got the stupid bandage around his chest and secured it. Looking down at her handiwork, Natalie felt reasonably confident in her actions.
Letting out an exhausted sigh, she slumped to the ground next to the cot. Finding a clean spot on the wooden floor to sit upon. Sensing her weariness, Stockings got up and came over to her, curling up with Natalie and attempting to provide some comfort. Slowly Natalie let herself lean back against one of the cabinets and relaxed slightly. The stress of that night and the last few days hit Natalie hard, and before she knew it, her eyes had shut, and sleep had taken her.