The town of Silver Spruce was rooted deep in the forests of Oregon as far away from large gatherings of civilization as it was possible to be in the state. The trees grew vast and wide. The majesty of nature on display everywhere you looked.
If you've never walked through a truly ancient forest, then you can't quite picture the feeling it invokes.
Everything is quieter under the trees; even light has to filter itself through the giants before it can reach the canopy floor. And there's an intangible peace that you can't quite put your finger on. You don't need to have magic to notice that either, there’s simply... something different about it.
Something deeper than the lack of car engines or the bustle and the low chatter of thousands upon thousands of conversations.
"Is this really the best way to do this, Alder? Can't we wait for him to come try and kill us back in town?"
Some people, however, have no appreciation for the outdoors.
I sighed and shot a glare at the man who was walking beside me.
He was stout with dark brown skin and a barrel chest. His hands were large and scarred from years of fighting in and outside the boxing ring. Despite his complaint, his face still held a smirk that looked like it had been carved there at birth and his dark brown eyes shone with impatience above a nose that had been broken more than once.
"I already told you why we have to walk through the woods, Ben. Those hikers were near this area when they got attacked, and we haven't heard a single thing about this ghost aside from that. Which means."
Ben sighed and finished the thought. "That this ghost stays in a specific area, and there isn't a better method to draw him out. I know, I know. That doesn't mean I have to be happy about it," he grumbled, his voice touched with a faint hint of a New York accent.
Oh, and I forgot to mention, his entire body was just barely translucent. It wasn't immediately obvious at first glance, but if you looked closely, you could see the trees on the other side of him.
I rubbed my eyes as I walked around a tree that was thicker around than a dozen people linking arms.
Ben walked straight through it. Why was he the one complaining? He could walk through obstacles and didn't get tired. I was the one made of flesh and bone, but I wasn't bitching.
"What were those hikers doing out here anyway?" Ben asked as he popped out from the other side of the tree. His footsteps were silent, passing straight through twigs and branches as he walked. "I mean, there aren't any trails going out in this area, so what gives?" I paused, resting my hands on my knees. Now seemed like a good time to catch my breath. We had been hiking for the past hour and a half.
Yesterday two hikers had come into town terrified. Telling a story of how they had investigated an abandoned cabin in the woods and a man in a medieval Crusaders armor had attacked them. One of them had had a long gash on her arm that looked suspiciously like a sword wound to give the story more credit. They had told the story to anyone who would listen, and it got them far fewer disbelieving looks than it would in most other towns.
Silver Spruce was strange in nearly every sense of the word. And there were almost as many spooks – slang for supernatural folks – who lived here as there were ordinary people.
I didn't have too many friends in town; well, let's not waste words here. I didn't have any close friends who weren't ghosts. But all the spooks in town knew who to go to when there was a problem involving ghosts. So now, naturally, I was trying to find this rogue crusader and see if he was lucid enough for conversation. Or, failing that, I would get him to move on with the more... Direct method. "Hey, quit zoning out, Ben said as he smacked me on the shoulder. His hand connected as if he was as solid as anyone else. That was one of the aspects of my particular brand of magic, as far as physically interacting with ghosts went, I might as well have been one. "Sorry, just catching my breath. Some of us do still need to breathe, Ben." The man waved his hand as if he were brushing away my words. "Yeah, yeah, woe is you, having to deal with inconvenient things like breathing. You gonna answer my question or not?"
I straightened, which only put me even with Ben's shoulder. He wasn't particularly tall himself, but I barely broke 5 feet.
His question... Why the hikers had come out this way, right?
"I went and talked to those two; they didn't want to just hike the trails. They're the kind who want to find off the beaten path stuff so that they can take a picture for their Instagram and brag to their hiker friends." My voice had a bit more disdain in it than the two deserved for taking pictures. But I had grown up surrounded almost exclusively by people that had been dead before modern technology even existed or was at least much less widespread, and their mistrust of it had spread to me.
That and seeing how so many people seemed to have their lives revolve around a little box in their pocket. I started moving again. I didn't want to be out here past dark. Ghosts were far from the only things that haunted theses woods.
I continued my explanation as we walked. Well, I walked, Ben floated. "So, they explored off the path, way off the path. Eventually, they come upon an old abandoned cabin and – like the horror movie protagonists that they are – went inside." Ben shot me a confused look. "Horror movie protagonists? Wait, no I got it, I got the reference." His look of confusion morphed into satisfaction. "It ended significantly better for them than most of the characters in those horror movies," Ben commented.
I snorted, but he wasn't wrong; they had gotten away with a cut. A truly old and malevolent ghost could have done much worse, they had been as lucky as they were stupid. I glanced over at Ben; he was so happy to catch a reference. But It made sense, Ben's full name was Benjamin Benson – yes, I had made fun of him for that name – and he had died in the fifties. He had been a vanilla human, supernaturally speaking, with no idea that there was anything odd out there. He hadn't moved on, and he wasn't even sure of his last request. So, he had wondered, and eventually, his wandering had brought him here. I had known him since I was a small child and he was one of my best friends, as well as an uncle of sorts. Being raised by ghosts lent itself to giving you a lot of aunts and uncles.
Ben spoke up, ending the silence that had formed. "This ghost... Do you think he's really from the crusading times?" I didn't answer for a couple of seconds, the sound of a single pair of footsteps the only thing that could be heard. It was a good question. The things that passed on with a ghost only did so if they were in contact with them at their death, or if they had been incredibly important to them in life.
So, for a ghost to pass on wearing a full set of armor... "Let's hope he's some LARP enthusiast who died in a freak accident," I said dryly. Ben didn't respond. He didn't need to. His question was on my mind as much as his. If this ghost really was that old, then chances were his mind was horrifically broken. Centuries of abuse stacked onto a mind that had likely been isolated for most of them. I shuddered; I didn't want to even think about the thoughts going on in a mind like that. My veil that I kept wrapped around my aura tightened unconsciously. The problem was that if he wasn't aware enough to tell me his last request, the thing that was keeping him from moving on, then I would have to take more... Direct action. And that was something I wanted to avoid at all costs.
I searched for a conversation starter, hoping to get my mind off what I might have to do. I saw a squirrel run along one of the branches and decided to go with it. "What would be worse? Fighting a hundred undead squirrels or one goose with the powers of a mage?" Ben considered the question for a second before responding, which probably told you all you needed to know about the kinds of conversations we have.
"That depends, what type of undead are the squirrels? Fallen vampires or ghouls? Straight up vanilla zombies?" I pursed my lips in thought. I hadn't considered what types of undead they would be. "Let's say primarily just zombies. But with a few stronger types mixed in." Ben was silent as he mulled over the new information. While we talked both of us kept our eyes scanning the trees, neither one of us was going to be taken off guard by an ambush.
"So, they'll be tougher and more resistant to damage, with even more dangerous squirrels mixed in, and they can spread by biting things?" I shook my head. "No, you're getting them mixed up with movie zombies again. Actual zombies don't infect with just a bite. You have to actually be killed by them to become one of them." Ben's smirk dropped into a scowl for a moment before bouncing back. "I've heard Rogers talk about the creepy crawlies he investigates as much as you have, but I still can't keep it straight."
Rogers was the first ghost to look after me, he had raised me like his son, and I considered him to be my father. He also researched obsessed and had taught me most of the book knowledge I had about the supernatural.
I turned my head from the trees to look at Ben for a moment. "I guess you're just dumber than me, that seems like the simplest explanation." He eyed me as I turned back to observing the trees. "You know I can still kick your ass." "Oh!" I said as I stepped over a fallen log. "Have you learned how to do something aside from punch and hide?" "Just one hit, right to the jaw. It would be so cathartic." He said as if I hadn't spoken. "Hey, you can't hit me if I never stop to fight you, and besides we're off-topic here. You never answered my question."
Ben paused his banter to think again. "Well, it depends. And how close are we to this place?" I looked around, studying the surroundings in more detail. "We can't be far. I haven't seen this cabin itself, but I've hiked through this area with Rogers before, and we should be nearing the area the hikers described. But don't change the subject, what does it depend on?" Ben let out an exaggerated sigh. The jackass didn't even have to walk, and he was still complaining.
"The goose, if it has the powers of a mage, then it has an aura, right?" It was my turn to let out a melodramatic sigh. I had explained certain concepts about the supernatural to Ben a dozen times. The man wasn't stupid, but he could forget a conversation as it was happening. "The goose already has an aura; almost everything has an aura. But for the sake of this situation, let's say its aura is the same size and density of an average mage, and it has the full capabilities of a trained mage," I said.
Ben responded immediately, "Goose wins." "Really?" I asked. He nodded without a trace of doubt. "If it has the full capabilities of a mage, that means its mental and emotional state changes its aura and the magic around it. I wouldn't be surprised if a goose had enough rage and pure hatred to burn down a forest. Not to mention they're probably stubborn enough to cause a landslide".
I paused; I was going to argue for the squirrels, but Ben had a point. "I think I'm gonna have to agree with you on this one. Well, fire magic and earth magic aren't quite as simple as being stubborn or angry as I understood it, and an average mage doesn't have the strength to burn down the forest without crippling themselves. But If geese impacted ambient magic as much as people, then they'd have enough hate to paint the whole world red." Ben started to respond, but we both stopped as we came into a small clearing.
In the center of it was what remained of a one-story log cabin. The cabin was small and had probably been cute once upon a time. Sometime over the years, or decades, it had fallen apart. The log walls were dark and rotted. The single window I could see was covered in grimy, broken glass, and what little of the roof that hadn't caved in was covered in thick moss, which was essentially just a small section over the front door. A door that was thrown wide open. I couldn't see anything past the door. It was too dark. But something about it let up my instincts, making them scream that something was off.
The door looked stable enough, and the roof hadn't caved in around so you could get a good look. It was almost... A cold pit formed in my gut as I stared at that dark doorway. It was almost like an invitation. Precisely the kind of thing an intrepid hiker with too much curiosity and not enough common sense might decide to investigate.
"How are we going to do this?" Ben asked. I stared at that entrance and shuddered. I had felt something as soon as I entered the clearing. Ben's senses weren't as fine-tuned as mine, but I had no doubt he could feel it too. Something cold and furious pushed against me, not just against my veiled aura, either. My whole body tingled with it like thousands of tiny pinpricks against the skin.
Whatever was in that cabin was old. Old in the same sense that nations were old. And they had been in this grove for decades. When I answered, I had to swallow around my suddenly dry throat. "We. We try to draw him out first. To talk. By the feel of this place, I doubt it's going to work, but I really want to resolve this without getting my magic involved." Ben nodded and floated off to one side. If the ghost came out swinging, he would sideline it.
I took a deep breath and grabbed hold of my aura. I didn't unveil it, not yet. But I could pull it free in a heartbeat if needed. Okay, Alder, you can do this. You're starting to lose track of how many times you've done this, so you shouldn't be scared. Of course, saying that didn't make me any less frightened of that doorway. Well, no point in procrastinating.
"Hello! Anyone in there?" The forest went silent. Birds and squirrels quit chirping. Frogs quit croaking.
The heavy silence fell on the grove as surely as if there were 5 feet of snow. Nothing came out of the remnants of the cabin. I was sure that if I went in and took a peek, I would get a reaction, but since that reaction would likely involve my head flying off, I wasn't in a hurry to try it. I tried again.
"We're not here to hurt you or to intrude on your land, I just want to know if there's anything I can help you with?" Nothing moved in the doorway, but the silence grew even heavier somehow. Even the smells of the forest felt muted and pressed. I drew in my breath again and got ready to ask for a third time. In fairy tales, things responded to the rule of three. As far as I knew weren't any fairies left, but plenty of things were attracted to specific numbers. And three was a big one. Just before I spoke, something shifted in the doorway. Both Ben and I tensed reflexively. My grip on my veil tightened. Slowly, a form emerged from the doorway.
The first thing that I noticed was how strange it was for a suit of armor to be completely silent. The Crusader was wearing a full set of knights armor over a form that had to duck to go through the doorway. It didn't look like the armor you see in paintings or the movies. It didn't shine with luster, catching the sunlight like a polished mirror. It was dirty and tarnished. One leg was rusting, and the whole suit was covered in grime and stained blood. The only clean piece of armor was the helm. Its visor was down, and behind the two eye slits was pitch blackness, like staring into a lake in the dead of night.
The figure stopped a few yards from the doorway, and the three of us stood in silence. I took note of the sword that hung from the ghost's waist. That blade would take my head off without effort. Even if I couldn't interact with ghosts, it would still cut me. Ghosts could move the ambient magic in an area with their will and the strength of their emotions. They also had a personal pool of power that they could use to interact with the world. Things like throwing books, making the TV flash static or straight-up possession.
It wouldn't come to that. I'm sure I'll be able to resolve this peacefully. I mean, people in bloodstained armor are known for their rational conversation skills. I unsuccessfully tried to wet my lips and spoke. "Greetings, Lord..." I trailed off, seeing if the man would answer. There was no way his armor wasn't genuine, and depending on how cracked his mind was, it might do him good to address him in an old-fashioned kind of way.
A really old-fashioned kind of way. The man didn't answer, but his hand slipped to the sword hilt, and suddenly the scent of a battlefield covered the clearing. The metallic smell of blood itched at my nose, mixing with the smell of freshly turned earth and human filth. The odors were so strong that I had to force myself not to back up. "Is there any aid I could offer thee?" I felt like a jackass for talking like that, but the ghost hadn't charged me yet.
He stood stock-still in a way that no living human could have managed. His chest didn't move. He didn't sway on his feet or subtly shift his balance. He was like a mannequin made from semi-translucent gray light.
When the man spoke, it was in a gravelly, broken voice. And I could barely make out his words through a thick accent. "Help me? Brave words, trespasser!"
I started to move before he'd finished speaking. It saved my life. I flattened myself on my back before the word trespasser had left his lips. Less than a heartbeat later, his sword whistled through the air where my neck had been a moment before. He had crossed the more than 15 feet of ground between us in a second. Ghosts could be fast with a capital F. But they can also be predictable. Ben slammed into the man's side and sent him to the ground. Technically the man wasn't bound by gravity, and Benjamin's fist should've broken as it slammed into the metal armor. However, both of them were currently convinced that gravity affected them, and Ben believed that his fists would hurt the ghost. and it was a belief he backed up with his own personal pool of magic. Ben started to rain blows down on the Crusader, but it faded to the background for me as I focused inward.
My veil came off with a mental effort, and my aura spooled out like a net. I flexed it, moving it like a muscle that had been clenched for days. To my eyes, my aura looked like a swirling mass of green and purple that thickened at its edges, becoming solid. I vaguely noticed Ben leaping back as a fist swung at his jaw. I readied my aura; I was going to have to play a delicate balancing act, keeping it over the Crusader without covering Ben with it. I wasn't a mage. Mages could alter the nature of their own aura, which was a personification of one's life, mind, and soul. Mages could use their emotions and thoughts to change their own aura and the ambient magic around them.
I was a Telss.
I could control my own aura, unlike your average human, but I couldn't change it. My aura was always tuned to the same station, as it were, regardless of my emotions. And while I could cover Ben in my aura without forging a link, so long as I didn't intend to, that was the extent of my alteration. It would still slow him down, which wasn't something we could afford.
I shifted my attention from my power back to the world around me. Ben was on the back foot, weaving and ducking through the Crusader's sword strokes. Ben was damn good at it, but he wouldn't be able to dodge the sword forever. Even in supernatural fights, the one with the weapon was most likely to win.
I grabbed my aura, which was currently floating about me in a loose circle, and shoved it towards the Crusader. It pushed out further, covering the man. Immediately he slowed as if weights had been pressed on his shoulders. The black slits of his visor turned towards me. and at the same time, he made a broad sweep with his sword at Ben's leg, forcing the boxer to leap back.
The instant my aura covered him, I was aware of the ghost, the presence of his mind, his location in relation to me. And he didn't have any trouble identifying that the power was coming from me.
I felt him trying to reach out to the ambient magic around us, but my aura blocked him. If he were already using it, I would have had a far harder time enveloping him in my aura, but I had gotten to him before he thought of it.
I was more than 10 feet away, and I still heard the bestial growl that bubbled up from his throat. A moment later, I felt a surge of magic that told me he had used his personal stockpile. I tried to roll to one side. It worked for a second. I had made it one turn before the Crusader appeared in front of me, his foot already in motion.
There are a lot of flavors of kicks to the gut. It might sound strange, but it's true. You have what I like to think of as hurt me kicks. Simple blows without an excessive amount of force behind them, not too fast, not too slow. They probably aren't going to break your ribs or crush any organs, but they are going to hurt like a son of a bitch. Then you have rib breakers, quick, vicious things designed to deliver as much force in as little time as possible.
Mr. Rust Bucket was going for number three. Hit them hard enough that it doesn't matter how fast the blow comes.
I knew with utter certainty that if I let his kick land full force it would crush me like a bug. A small part of me scrambled in fear as death came racing towards me. The much larger majority was used to it.
On instinct, I pushed with my hands and legs mid-roll, pushing myself a couple of inches into the air. It was just enough for the tip of his boot to miss my gut and sail under me. As his metal-clad leg connected with my stomach, I yelled, pushing the air out of my lungs as quickly as I could while I braced for the blow. Pain exploded inside me as I was flung several feet into the air. I tucked myself into a ball as I hit the ground. My stomach spasmed, and I felt nauseous, but I kept my aura on the ghost.
No matter what happened, I needed to keep my aura on the ghost.
I forced myself to my feet just in time to see Ben take a pommel strike to the head. He shrugged it off with the experience of a longtime fighter, but even so, he was still slowed. It didn't make traditional sense that a head injury would slow a ghost. After all, they didn't even have a brain technically speaking.
But ghosts could still pain as if they had a physical body. Assuming that you could manage to hit them. Aside from other ghosts and sprites, there weren't many things that could touch them.
I spun my aura, condensing it so that more of my power was on the Crusader. He slowed even more, which allowed Ben to continue dodging his attacks. I could feel power coming off the man in rusty armor, allowing him to stay semi-mobile. He was strong. Old ghosts often were, since they had so much time to stockpile power. From the sheer presence this ghost was giving off. I had a feeling he was many times stronger than i'd first thought.
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I grunted and started flooding as much power as I could onto the ghost, condensing my magic into a thick line of energy between him and me.
I hadn't met very many mages. I avoided mages like the plague. An errant Telss would be snapped up by one of the mage clans faster than you could say "slavery is illegal," but I knew that magically speaking, I wasn't a pushover. My magic could only do a few very specific things, but I could throw a lot of power at those things.
Usually, a ghost was able to use their power to push off the influence of my magic for a time. It would turn into a race between which of us had more magic to burn. If I were by myself, the ghost would be doing their best to kill me while that was happening. Which often resulted in broken bones. With Ben helping me, I didn't need to worry about it nearly as much.
The Crusader, however, didn't push my power away. Instead, he stopped dead in his tracks, taking both Ben and me off guard. The man turned his armored head to look at me, and I saw straight into the black eye slits of his visor. A shudder
passed through me, causing my recently kicked stomach to twinge in pain. The sheer amount of malevolence coming off the ghost was an almost physical thing.
The kind of feeling that would make you break out into a cold sweat for no reason, to start glancing over your shoulder while walking on the street. I gritted my teeth and pushed harder, trying to wrap my aura tighter around the ghost. At the same time, Ben charged forward, ready to take advantage of the ghost's strange move.
The Crusader didn't turn his head in the slightest, completely ignoring Ben. Then a wave of magic exploded from the Crusaders chest in a howling gale. Ben was blasted off his feet as the phantom silhouettes of men clad in armor road out of the ghost mounted on horses. Dozens of them poured out from the man in every direction, pushing past my aura and into the world.
With them, the battlefield grew stronger, and sounds joined in. Men cried out in death, and the stench of blood and worse made my eyes water with its strength. They weren't ghosts; they didn't have nearly the same detail. There were like washed out paintings that got up and started moving around. But I didn't doubt that the shades would still be able to cut Ben and me with their swords or trample us under their horses.
The Crusader threw his head back and yelled in a language I didn't understand. He started screaming out a battle chant, his voice fevered, and the pitch wavering. Ben yelled and swore as two of the shades swept down on him, each grabbing one of his arms and pulling him in their wake. They were out of sight through the trees in seconds. "Oh, hell!" Was all I was able to get out before a shade crashed into me. The sharp, almost sketchy lines of their armor dug into my chest and tossed me to the ground. I gasped; the breath knocked from my lungs. Sometimes, I felt like I got tossed around with the regularity of a basketball.
My body reacted on reflex, and I rolled, still trying and failing to take a breath. I just barely dodged an illusory sword that swept down where my chest would have been. This was not how this was supposed to go. The ghost had far more power than I had been expecting. I Wasn't even sure what he was doing. My best guess was that he was giving phantom life to his memories.
I could feel more power rolling off him every couple of seconds than most ghosts ever had stored up. Panic rose in my chest, but I still kept my aura on him. For once, I was incredibly thankful that I wasn't a full mage, the rising panic would have altered my magic, likely turning my aura into something useless. Finally, my lungs refilled, and I pushed myself up to my feet.
Immediately I had to stagger back, my feet sinking into the wet ground, as I avoided a pair of phantom knights. I had continued to flood power into the Crusader as fast as I could, expending a massive amount of my reserves in the process. More than a third of the amount I usually kept within my aura. I'd be damned though if I could see any effect on the armor-clad ghost, aside from slowing his movements. He still bellowed his war chant, and more and more phantoms were pouring out of him, quickly surrounding me.
I could've spread my aura out and quickly crushed the illusory shades. Individually they didn't have enough power in them to protect them from me and dispersing soulless spirits like them didn't have the same consequences that tangling with a ghost brought. But if I took my aura off of him long enough to do that, he'd be free to introduce me to the finer points of medieval combat.
One of the shades on horseback came charging towards me on silent hoofbeats, and I quickly danced back. I wasn't going to outrun a horse, I'm good at dodging, but I'm not that good. I didn't need to outrun a horse though I just needed to-- the shade of the Crusader and his horse dissipated into gray and blue lights. They had run straight into the line of my aura as it stretched between the original ghost and me, like a line of 3-foot thick rope.
I dodged a swing from my left before rolling to the right. Avoiding a flying tackle and dissipating a few more shades that crossed the line of my aura.
A group brawl is a confusing, chaotic thing that can be almost impossible to keep track of. There is motion everywhere, and assuming that you have friends in the fight, you have to make sure not to clock them by mistake. And all of that gets turned up to eleven when weapons are involved. Usually, I would have the small advantage of not having to worry about where I swung and would be able to at least try to run away in the chaos. But usually the people you're fighting care about hitting their own people.
An almost entirely translucent horse trampled three shades, their forms cracking under its hooves with a sound like shattering ice and barreled straight into me. I hadn't seen it coming, and it was only thanks to pure luck that I was in mid dodge and avoided its hooves.
I wasn't so lucky as to avoid the rest of the horse.
The side of its chest hit me. Pain flared in my front as I went flying to the ground. My aura had softened the blow; the shades form weakening but not dispersing. Almost all the power in my aura was focused on the Crusader, which left only a thin haze around my own body. It had softened the blow enough to save me from breaking bones and kept me conscious, but I was still too stunned to do anything as I felt sharp-edged hands push down on me, pinning me in place.
I blinked my eyes clear, and with my head ringing, saw the original Crusader slowly raising his sword above his head. I was out of his immediate swinging range, but he looked like he was going to plant the weapon in me like a throwing ax.
Besides, he didn't need to kill me himself. His shades could do it for him. I felt woozy, and my vision swam. Faintly I thought I could hear Ben yelling.
The hands pressing down on me started to dissolve, and I tried to sharpen my intent. To cycle more of my power closer to my body. But my mind was too dazed. I couldn't concentrate enough. And besides, didn't I need to keep my power on the Crusader?
As one of the shades hands dissolved completely, another one slammed into my chest. The sudden increase in pain cut through my addled haze and brought me enough clarity to see the Crusader swinging his arms forward. As the ghostly sword began to leave his hands, I reached out in desperation and grabbed hold of my shroud. The almost solid barrier of magic that was the border of my aura. I seized it in a mental grip and tore a section of it off, burning it up for more power. I hurled it forward without any control or finesse. Blasting month's worth of power at the armored figure. It felt like tearing off part of my body.
It rolled forward in a purple and green wave of magic, dissolving the sword in an instant before crashing over the Crusader like the tide. His defenses collapsed under the onslaught of magic, but the wave didn't stop there, it kept going, and in the instant before I blacked out, I felt the magic crash against something else, something that resisted.
~<>~
I... I walked along the muddy paths of the war camp, my armored boots squelching with every step, leaving a trail of footprints nearly identical to the thousands of others left in the mud. The sounds of the war camp were far too loud; any passing troops would be able to hear the racket from miles out. I had tried to order the men to be quiet. To tell them that we were here to do God's work not to drink and drown in frivolity. But for some reason, I had been overruled by Franklin. "The men need to enjoy our victories. It keeps morale up."
I passed by a group of soldiers, not one of them wearing their armor. I looked down at my hand, surprised to find it clenched around my sword's hilt. These fools were lounging around without a care in the world. If the camp was attacked, they would be defenseless. I started to step towards them when a hand landed on my shoulder, and a familiar voice called out, Leave them be, Noren. Tonight, is one of celebration!"
I turned my head to see Zachariah's smiling face. He held his helm under one arm, but unlike the men lounging in a drunken stupor, he was properly armored and alert. His dark hair reached down past his chin and shown in the torchlight. His broad smile and alert brown eyes gave him the look of a mischievous boy. But I knew him to be a strong warrior. He had fought beside me countless times before, and there was no one else I would rather have as a brother in arms. But. He could be far too lenient on the men. "Zachariah, look at them!" I said with a slash of my hand towards the rabble. "They're acting like drunken fools, not warriors of God!" Zachariah threw his arm over my shoulders and started walking deeper into camp. "Please, Noren, don't be so stiff. We just won a great victory. The men can have a single night of celebration!" I was silent for a few moments as we weaved moving carts and the camp followers, who scurried to get out of our way.
He was right. I was being hard on the men, and they could do with a night of celebration. But it wasn't just a celebration, and it wasn't just one night. "They debase themselves in a revelry almost every night! I could stand to allow it if it were only after major victories. But it isn't! They are not holding themselves up to the standards we are supposed to meet; none of us are!"
A pained expression swept over Zachariah's face as we walked, and he shook his head sadly. "Maybe, but that is not our place to judge. His Lordship has declared the revelry to be appropriate. We cannot go against his stated word, brother." I closed my eyes and allowed him to guide me through the camp. The sounds of laughter and the clattering of carts grew louder as we neared the center of the war camp, but I ignored them.
Everything had been going so well. We had enjoyed victory after victory on our glorious march. But my concerns had begun to pile up. The ordinary soldiers of the Army were acting less and less as representatives of God should, and our Lord had stayed our hands in the matter. In the last city something... Ugly had been in the air. If we had not been forced by time to move on, I didn't want to think about what the men may have sunk to.
My dark thoughts were interrupted as Zachariah shoved a mug into my hand. I took a swig of the week ale, the only drink I would allow myself aside from water. After a deep breath, I shook myself. Now really wasn't the time for such dark thoughts. If Lord Franklin commanded us to relax, then it was my duty to relax.
~<>~
The screams of women and children, a young boy trembling on his knees. I stared at the scene in front of me, my legs growing weak as I did. Around me, the city burned, thick plumes of black smoke rising into the air. I gripped my sword into hands and was surprised to see it was trembling. Not even an hour before our army had been ready to take the city walls. But they had surrendered. They had offered up the food our men needed. We should have rested for the day or moved on immediately.
But... In front of me, a woman and her two children, a boy of fewer than ten summers and a girl not even half that, were dragged kicking and screaming from a home. By one of our soldiers. He was not dressed in a suit of plate like I was, but his leather jerkin was Emblazoned with the symbol of our army.
I felt the bile rise in my throat as I watched. Instead of moving on, Lord Franklin had demanded that we put the city to the sword. He claimed that they had allowed themselves to become no better than heretics, that they were traitors to God. But... This. The young boy tried to swing at the soldier and was knocked to the ground as the man delivered a vicious backhand to the boy's face. The sight wrenched my mind to a memory I hadn't dwelt on for years.
I was on my knees, my father laid in front of me, blood streaming from a gash on his leg. My older sisters and mother crowded in the corner behind us. The raider in front of us, clad in leather and black cloth, the bloodstained sword held at his side as he walked towards us. At that moment, I had been certain I was going to die. I lost hope. I had felt despair so crushing that I hadn't believed it was possible to feel anything else ever again. But then the raider had stopped his advance at a sound near the doorway. Our home wasn't large. It was barely big enough to fit the five of us. But, even if our humble home had been the size of a grand palace, the man who walked through the doorway would have filled the space with his presence. He was tall, with broad shoulders that he had to hunch to squeeze through the doorway. Every inch of the man was covered in gleaming gray plate that reflected the sunlight pouring in from our single window to the man's left. In his hand was a straight sword that gleamed alongside his armor.
The brigand came at the man with a wild swing, but I knew before it connected. I had known it the second the man walked through the door. We were safe. The brigand's curved sword whistled towards the armored knight who threw up his arm to take the blow. The sword connected with a clang but bounced off. The knight's counter took the brigand in the neck. In just seconds, everything had changed. I had been so sure that I would die, but this man. This glorious figure, who looked like he had been sent from the heavens themselves, had changed everything by merely being here.
I blinked my eyes, the vivid memory fading.
And with it, the scene in front of me came back in focus.
Five more soldiers had come. I was more than thirty strides away from them, but I bellowed at the top of my lungs to be heard over the mayhem. "Men! Leave them be. Go find food and drink for the March!" One of the men turned to face me and hollered back. "We have Lord Franklin's direct orders. He commanded us to torch the city!" The man turned back, and I could make out that his shoulders were tensed even from this distance. The soldiers may have had a direct order from the leader of our army, but that did not make ignoring a full Crusaders command any less nerve-racking.
I couldn't imagine why they would risk it at all. Something was wrong, very, deeply wrong.
They walked towards the woman, their intentions clear, and I felt my sword begin to tremble once again. Only this time, it wasn't from shock or despair. It was from rage.
How could they do this? How could they ignore our mission in favor of- of madness! What should I do? I can't just go against orders, that would be treason! But... the boy tried to stand, only for one of the men to deliver a sharp kick to his side.
I did not follow the path of a warrior because I desired praise or riches. I didn't do it because I enjoyed the thrill of battle, though I did enjoy it, it wasn't why. I had done it because I wanted to be like that knight that saved me. I wanted to be the kind of man the people saw and knew that everything was going to be alright. I had done it because I wanted to be someone's reason to hope.
You had to be careful when running in armor. If you fell, it could be difficult to get back up. So, I started my run slow.
Carefully making my way down towards the men. Once I reached flat ground, I fed more speed to my legs. The soldiers heard my clattering footsteps and the one I had spoken to turned.
My shoulder met his chest at a full sprint, and he was hurled from his feet with a loud crunch, his ribs breaking under the armored blow.
All of them, the soldiers, the family, stood in total shock, too stunned to move. I wasn't. I pivoted on one foot to face another soldier, dragging my sword along with me. The man stumbled back, trying to get his weapon unsheathed. He was far too slow. My sword took him in the neck, and he dropped. I finished the motion, using my momentum to spin back around and face the rest of the soldiers. I turned my helmet face to the family and barked out, “Flee! Leave the city!" Without a word, but with fresh tears streaming down her face, the mother took her children and ran.
I could only hope that those tears were ones of relief. None of the soldiers tried to follow, not when I stood in the way.
The price of stopping long enough to let them flee was that the soldiers had enough time to ready themselves. Straightening Helms and drawing side swords and cudgels from their hips. I didn't say anything to them. I didn't offer them a way out. The second they had touched that family; their fates had been sealed.
God be with me.
The four of them fanned out, the two braver among them coming straight towards me. One of them had a side sword, a short blade not quite as long as the man's arm. The other had a heavy iron banded cudgel and thick arms that looked like they could put that weapon to proper use. That one posed a far greater danger to me than the sword wielder. I readied myself to swing, but the sword wielder rushed in faster than I had expected, thrusting straight at my gut. I twisted my body to the left, letting the tip of the blade skitter along the edge of my armor instead of piercing, then I clamped my sword arm down on the blade, trapping it in place.
By doing so, however, I had effectively trapped my own blade as I couldn't use that arm without freeing his sword. If it were only the two of us in this fight, I wouldn't have to worry, but the brute of a man with the cudgel was coming in on my right and had the heavy club raised to strike at my vulnerable side.
The first soldier had not released his grip on his blade, instead deciding to try and pry it away from me. I had it firmly locked in place, however, and it wasn't budging. I had a knife at my hip, but even if I pulled it out in time, the cudgel had more reach. Well, that only left one option, really. I twisted once again, shifting my grip as I did, taking hold of the first soldier's sword blade with my offhand and using the added leverage to send the surprised soldier at the other end crashing into his fellow.
The fool hadn't released his grip until it was too late, and he threw off the cudgel wielders swing. Causing the blow to go wide enough for me to duck under it. I saw the large man's dark brown eyes flick to my sword. He knew as well as I did that getting in this close was well inside the range of my weapon as well.
His eyes were still keeping track of my sword when my armored fist took him in the chin. I felt his jaw crack and a spray of blood sprayed from his mouth, likely from a bitten tongue. As he collapsed onto his back, the swordsman finally regained his balance. He was just inside my swords range, so I didn't bother with an elaborate thrust or powerful swing. Instead, I pulled my arm back as far as I could and, in an inelegant motion, stabbed the tip of my sword through the top of his boot. He screamed and started taking wild swings at me. I dodged in between the attacks as I pulled my sword out. a quick spray of red telling me I'd hit the right place in the foot.
I took a step back and turned, ready to face the other two who I knew would be closing in. The swordsman behind me no longer posed any danger; he couldn't walk on that foot. As I turned, however, I was surprised to find the last two men had stopped dead in her tracks. Their weapons held in uncertain hands. I shifted my stance, grasping my sword hilt with both hands.
Behind me, the swordsman thumped to the ground with a cry of pain. It seemed he had tried to follow after me. The two remaining soldiers– no. Their actions were not those of soldiers.
The two remaining brigands eyes flicked around to their four companions, who lay dead or groaning on the street.
"Come now. It's not the time to lose your nerve. You two have the number advantage, after all. I'm sure the two of you can slay me." I forced levity into my voice that I didn't feel. I was having trouble feeling anything other than anger.
The two looked even more uncertain now, and I could see a slight shake in one of their blades. The man's hands were trembling in fear. I took a single step forward, my metal boot clicking against the stones of the street. The men broke. Both of them turned and began sprinting away from me with the speed of a running hair. I considered giving chase, but they weren't going in the same direction that the family had fled. Besides, I couldn't chase down all of the brigands that were attacking the city.
But I could kill plenty of them. I started jogging down the street, following the sounds of screams.
I had God's work to do.
Eleven. When compared to an entire city, the number seemed pitiful. But it wasn't insignificant for the eleven families I had saved. I had killed more than thirty former soldiers. And one Knight! I could still barely contain the fury that fact brought me.
One of my brothers had come to the defense of the brigands. He had participated in killing families! I was exhausted, my arms ached from swinging my sword, and my body was battered and bruised beneath my armor. But I couldn't rest. Especially not now that God had sent me aid. Zachariah stood in front of me, the faceplate on his helm pulled up.
He had arrived just as I finished clearing a group of four brigands who'd been attacking a man and his wife as they tried to flee. He had yet to say anything, but he didn't need to. He would help me protect these people. He wouldn't stand for these atrocities any more than I would. Stomping footsteps sounded from further down the road, and I turned to face them. A troop of nine brigands, some armed with spears and halberds. Nine!
I was so weary, but with Zachariah, I knew we could take them. "Come, brother, we can take the brigands together!" I heard Zachariah's footsteps following behind me, and I raised my blade, ready to meet the approaching men.
I heard something whistle through the air behind me before pain exploded in my lower back. I collapsed to the ground; my legs suddenly numb.
What was happening? Who had attacked me? I tried to rise, but my legs wouldn't respond. The sounds the approaching men had stopped, replaced by a single pair of armored footsteps. I turned my head, the armor covering my cheeks scraping against the stones as I did. Zachariah stood over me. A look of grief and sadness replacing his usual smile. He was holding his sword by the end of the blade, his armored gauntlets protecting his hands from its sharp edge. Half of his crucifix hilt was red with blood. My blood.
"Why did you do it? Why did you turn against us!" Zachariahs voice was filled with anger. This wasn't right. This couldn't be happening. Zachariah would not betray me!
A moment later, his words registered. "What do you mean!" I cried. "I have stopped looting and rape! I have stopped brigands from killing families! Turned against you?" My voice was filled with confusion and anger. "The soldiers have turned against God!"
Zachariah closed his eyes, turning his face away from me as he did. "This is a holy war. We have the blessing of the Pope; what we do is righteous." Zachariah's voice was flat, dead of any inflection. Holy, unlike the man I knew.
I closed my eyes. I could feel blood running down my back and sides before it pooled beneath me.
When Zachariah next spoke, inflection had returned to his voice, but it still didn't sound like the man I knew. "They are heretics! You killed Christians in defense of heretics!"
I considered leaving my eyes closed; then, I wouldn't have to see the burning city or my brother's face. Slowly I opened my eyes--the effort as draining as swinging my sword. I looked at my friend, my brother, and saw the tears in his eyes--the anguish on his face. I considered pointing out that not everyone in this city was a heretic, but it didn't matter. I could see the conflict in his eyes; he knew as well as I did.
"This is not God's way." Zachariah's jaw trembled, and he raised his hand as if to reach out to me. Instead, he reached up and slammed his faceplate down, blocking out my view.
"Maybe God will have mercy for you."
Zachariah raised his sword above his head like a war pick. As he started his swing, I felt my anger rekindle, burning through my exhaustion. How dare he do this to me; how dare they use God's word to justify their depravity.
I wanted to kill them, and I would kill– the hilt broke through my helmet, and I knew nothing.
~<>~
I drifted in the place between sleep and wakefulness. That space where you could tell that you were asleep but couldn't bring yourself to care. After all, sleep was so much more comfortable. If I chose to wake, then I would have to deal with the pains I could only vaguely feel pressing in on me.
The pain... The pain from Zachariah kill- my eyes shot open, and I gasped in a ragged breath. My back spasmed, and my hands clenched, gathering up fistfuls of mud and grass as I continued to suck in the air until my lungs strained against my ribs.
How could he have killed me! After all we had been through! My own brother! I would break them- a hand landed gently on my shoulder before a familiar voice began to speak in a practiced tone.
"Your name is Alder. You're eighteen years old. Five feet tall, 90 pounds. You have black hair and lean, sharp features. Recently you were given a graveyard by the previous owner. You can see ghosts and interact with them. You have bruises on your back and a lump on your head from a ghost." My mind seized onto the words, and my spiraling thoughts slowed. The smell of smoke and blood was so thick, though. Sweat and exertion. There are so many of them. The brigands wouldn't stop!
With almost no pause, the voice began again. "Your name is Alder. You're eighteen years old." It continued in the measured pace of a mantra. And slowly, my mind came back to me. I was Alder. Now that my mind was clear, I used the strength given to me by Ben's repeating mantra to push down the memories I had just experienced.
Separating them from myself, trying to internalize that those weren't my memories. They belonged to a man long dead. Killed by the betrayal of a friend. I distanced myself from the memories, putting them with the dozens of others in my head.
I slowly climbed to my feet with Ben's help. I looked around the clearing. The only evidence of what had happened were a few skids in the mud, my footprints, and a couple of isolated hoof prints. "Thanks, Ben. That. That was a bad one. Even for me." Ben gave my shoulder a light squeeze but stayed silent. He knew I usually needed time after an exorcism before I could function normally. I looked at the spot that Noren had stood. There wasn't even a boot print left in the mud there.
He had tried so hard to protect. But in the end, madness had driven him to attack the innocent. In all likelihood, he had killed people as a ghost.
He couldn't truly be blamed for that. Any more than a man could be blamed for killing someone in his sleep. I closed my eyes and added an extra line to the mantra. "My name is Alder, and I help ghosts."
Usually, that thought would give me a sense of pride and satisfaction. I was doing a good thing, wasn't I? But as my mind flicked to the awful memories that I now had, the dozens, maybe hundreds, of memories I had gained from dozens of ghosts, I couldn't stop a quiet voice whispering in my mind.
"Why?"
I sighed and turned to Ben. "Let's get out of here. I need some coffee."