Sunday, July 9, 2017

Three Thieves of Night Part Four: Blood Feud



Neither of us got much sleep that night. Not after Tristan yanked out a damn wolf tooth out of my back muscle. I was in too much pain, and he was…well, he was his usual brooding self.

Without either of saying a word, once daylight broke we packed up camp and headed for the forked mountain pass. It felt so empty up there, no trees, just snow and ice and black rock as far as the eye could see. It was hard to imagine that there was a lovely hot springs on the other side.

Wind brushed fingers of snow across the banks as we rode up to the fork. Somewhere in the distance a murder of crows was raising a ruckus. It didn’t bode well. Felt almost like a death omen to me.

To the left was the suspension bridge that lead to Snakeneck, to the right, Deadman’s pass, where a huge pile up of fresh snow on the overhead rock was looking mighty precarious. I got off my horse, Tristan followed suit.

“Well?” I asked.

"Neither looks safe. If I had a choice in the matter, I wouldn’t take either at the moment. But…I don’t. So, we have to go on one of them.”

I sighed. “I know. I don’t trust that bridge though. It is looking awful aged, and the ice build up on the bottom of the slats? That can’t be good for it.”

“So what should we do?” he asked as he stared at the bridge.

“Hold my reins for a minute, I’m going to test the bridge out.”

He took them from me and my horse, Old Grey, side-stepped nervously. I called him old because he was cantankerous like an old man.

Grey wasn’t too fond of other people. We were kind of the same in that respect. The gelding was about to be put down, and I took his situation to heart.

No one ever bothered to train him right, and no one wanted to bother with him either. They said he was a bad seed. Bit people, bucked them off, refused to let trainers get near him. He was a free spirit.

I appreciated that, so I walked right up to it in the corral, looked him in the eye and said, “Hey, I get it. You hate people. I’m fine with that. But, if you don’t let me ride you out of here, they’re going to put you down. So, if you want to live, you better come with me, all right?”

He flicked his ears at me. I reached out and slowly put my hand on his muzzle and he nickered softly. I patted his side haunches, a lovely dappled grey, and hopped right on bareback, and rode that ornery bastard out of the corral.

The ranch hands were a bit taken aback by it. I told them that if they had just bothered talking to him and telling him what the deal was, he’d understand. They didn’t believe me. Thought I had some sort of horse charm on me or something.

It wasn’t magic. It was just being humane and talking to him like a person; that’s all he ever wanted. To be acknowledged as a smart horse. Me and Old Grey had been inseparable ever since. Tristan eyed my horse but didn’t move. Old Grey never tried to bite him, and he was used to dealing with all sorts of horse temperament. He was a Montebalm; his family raised and bred warhorses. He was practically born in the saddle.

I pushed up the brim of my Stetson hat and stood at the bridge entrance. The jute rope guidelines creaked and groaned. I could see a few of the wooden slats of the bridge deck had decayed and rotted through.

There was an easy way to test and see if it could handle two grown men and their horses. I took out a throwing knife and handle end down, slammed it onto the right post of the bridge entrance. The entire thing swayed.

I heard the wood groan and creak, and parts of the rotten boards snapped off as the heaviest icicles swung with the motion. There was a loud crack, and the middle section of the bridge gave way and plummeted into the ravine below.

I whistled. “Well, we have our answer I think.”

“Wonderful.”

“You don’t sound enthused,” I said, walking back and sheathed my knife.

“I’m just tired. And worried. About…everything.”

“I know. One step at a time, right?”

“Always.”

I took my reins back from him and we started our way onto Deadman’s Pass.

“How far down you think?” he asked.

“Too far. Don’t look down.”

“Too late.”

I shook my head and we plodded on.

The pass grew narrow, and we had to go single file.

Tristan let me go first, the gentleman. Most likely he did that in case the snow decided to fall on us, we’d have better chances if I got buried and he didn’t. He could dig me out faster, seeing as how he was stronger and had more muscle mass than I did. Not saying that I was a shrinking violet, I was strong, but Tristan was a bigger guy all around. He was a nobleman, his house was a cousin house, directly descended from House Andiron. And as everyone knows, House Andiron was started by first son of the Imperator, which meant that he was extremely gifted, both magically and physically.

As an end result, he had fighting magic in his blood. All of his family did. That made him built for battle. It also caused problems when he lost his temper, as he wasn’t in total control of it.

I wasn’t entirely sure why, but something about his psychic gift interfered with the fighting magic or vice versa. The end result was a deeply troubled man who never lived up to his family’s expectations, and who ran off before someone could turn in him to the Imperial Guard. I didn’t blame him any, I would’ve done the same thing. No way I’d sign up for a mystical lobotomy and mindless servitude to the Imperium. I’d rather die first.

“Rourke, watch your step up ahead.”

I nodded, not taking my eyes off the path. The snow was shin deep and getting deeper. I could see where ice had fallen off the mountain above and sunk into the snow, leaving small round pits in their wake. Step on one of those, the wrong way? You’d go ass over tea kettle and slide right off the damn mountain and fall to your death.

“I’m beginning to see why they call it Deadman’s Pass. If the cold doesn’t kill you, the damn ice will,” he muttered.

“Or an avalanche,” I shot back at him.

“Keep your voice down. Don’t upset the mountain spirits.”

“Tristan. It’s not the spirits that cause the snow to fall off violently, it’s just the weather.”

“Rourke, not now. I’m nervous enough as is.”

I snuck a glance back at him. He was rather pale faced.

“Are you…afraid of heights?”

“No.”

“You know, it’s all right if you are. Most right thinking fellas are over-cautious when this high up.”

The pass started to incline, and my boots were having a difficult time gripping, I could feel my feet slipping and sliding. My horse wasn’t having much luck with it either. I paused, found my balance, waited for Old Grey to find his.

“Be. Very. Quiet,” Tristan hissed.

I froze, and listened.

There, under the howling wind that was rushing through the canyon below, a crackle. A snapping of ice. The sound of bits of snow sliding and rolling off the mountain above us. I swore under my breath. I was afraid of this. I knew it, I just knew we would run into trouble like that. I didn’t like the look of the fresh snow build up. It looked deadly. And I was right.

I slowly turned sideways, steadied myself on my horse and gave him a reassuring pat.

“Just move slow,” I whispered to Tristan. “Keep the vibrations from your steps light. That means not stomping your feet through here. Slide them or roll your feet as you walk.”

He glared at me. He knew I was right. He was the most flatfooted man I had ever met. And right now, our lives depending on him stepping softly and gently behind me.

“Well?”

“Guess I’ll have to, won’t I?”

“That’s the spirit. Nice and easy,” I said and rubbed my horse’s neck and whispered near his ear, “Hey Grey, we have to be very careful here. Watch your step.”

He gently nickered in reply. That meant yes.

“There’s ice on the path,” I said to Tristan. “The snow is hiding it. This whole incline is one slick ice patch, so don’t force your mount, let her take her time.”

“Understood.”

We slowly moved forward.

We were at the most treacherous section of Deadman’s Pass. The mountain trail went uphill steeply, and the rock shelf overhead was covered sharp icicles as thick as my arm, or thicker in some places. If they fell on you, they’d pierce you clean through. I knew from personal experience, just how deadly falling ice could be. I had the scars to prove it.

About five years ago, before we met John, we had taken a hunting job in the winter. A hungry ghost was terrorizing the locals, and made the entire town a frozen wasteland. Ice covered everything. It was controlling the weather, changing snow to sleet, ice storms raged and ravaged their buildings, killed their animals, hell, even killed some of the townsfolk. So we went to stop that mess.

Damn near killed us in the process, but we did manage to halt it and send that spirit to hell where it belonged. Not before it sent a whole sheet of ice tumbling from the tallest building down atop of us. Pierced me right through the legs, cut my arms and face but good.

I dreaded having to live through something like that again. I shuddered at the thought of the entire snowbank above us suddenly rushing down and knocking me clear off the side of the pass, sending me bouncing off the mountainside as I fell and then landed and broke my body on the ravine below.

I slip-slided my way up sideways, pausing every so often to wait for my horse to pick his way up and find footholds on the slippery surface. I stood with my back to the mountain, so I could grab onto the rock if need be to steady myself, and grimaced as more ice cracking followed by a soft rumble sounded overhead.

I put my hand up, signaling for him to stop and Tristan stood still, waiting. The sound died down, I let out the breath I had been holding. Tristan however, did not relax. He stiffened up more, and stood there, his eyes wide.

“What?” I whispered.

“I looked down.”

“I told you not to. Come on. We’re almost at the top. Should be easier after this bit.”

“Rourke…” He was gripping his leather reins so tight, I could hear the leather squeak. “I…I’m not sure I can do this.”

“Don’t be silly. You’re already halfway up. Come on Montebalm, get the lead out.”

He was frozen in place. Terrified. I wasn’t used to seeing him afraid like that. It was rather unsettling. He was always the calm and reassuring one.

 “Tristan?”

 He didn’t respond. His gaze went blank, like he was seeing something very far away.

“Hey, can you hear me?”

He nodded, still staring at nothing, like he was a million miles away.

“Stay there. Let me get Grey up to the level part of the trail and I’ll come back and help you up. All right?”

He nodded again. Eyes still glazed over.

“Honestly,” I muttered under my breath. “Picked one hell of a time to have a vision. Like you’re the only one that’s scared here.”

I learned a long time ago that doing something brave was one part foolhardiness, and two parts utter and total fear. You have to push through the fear, or it will consume you.

I was a nervous wreck; heart pounding, breath fast, fogging the crisp winter air. I hoped to the gods that he wouldn’t wander off in a daze and fall to his death before I could get back to him. I couldn’t help him and my horse up at the same time. It was too treacherous.

The wound on my back twitched and started itching real bad. The more it itched, the more painful it became. I hissed and tried to press on and ignore it as I led my horse up the rest of the way. It was impossible to scratch my shoulder blade through all the layers of clothes I had on. And forget using the mountainside as a scratching post. That was not happening. Not here.

I gritted my teeth as the pain and itching became unbearable. I had to press on. I had to help Tristan get out from under that overpass, before it collapsed and I lost him in an avalanche, or he started daydreaming and walked clean off it. I put my horse’s reins down, when I saw there was nothing to tie him to at the top of the hill.

“Stay here,” I ordered, and prayed to all that was holy that he would listen to me, and then slowly eased my way back down towards Tristan. He was breathing shallow, and was so pale, he looked like he was about to be sick. I took his reins out of his tight grip and he looked at me.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

“Tristan, snap out of it,” I said and, since I couldn’t slap him--the sound could start an avalanche--I pinched his cheeks really hard.

 He blinked and jerked his head back as he came out of his psychic trance.

“What the hell was that for?”

“You spaced out. Now move,” I hissed at him and gently pushed him forward. “Slide your feet up, don’t step, just glide them across the surface. Like you’re ice skating.”

“Never been,” he muttered.

 His horse, a yellow mare named Buttercup, was stepping in the holes that my horse made when he picked his way up, and she seemed to be doing all right. The mare slipped at one point and my heart stopped in my chest as I feared that she was going to slide right off, dragging me with her, but she regained her footing and tossed her head, indignantly.

 “Almost there,” I whispered.

 We were just a few feet away from the top when Tristan slipped and fell face-first onto the snow. He scrambled, struggling as the snow bank we were moving through gave way and slid off the edge, taking him with it.

Without even thinking, I lunged forward and grabbed his hands. I struggled to hold onto him. My feet were slipping. He was off the edge, dangling, gripping onto my wrists hard. He was heavy, and I had very little leverage because of the damn ice.

I grunted, could feel the stitches in my back rip open as I struggled to hold onto him.

“Rourke,” he said softly, panic in his grey eyes. His hat had fallen off, the leather strap the only thing keeping it hanging on his neck.

 “Don’t let go,” I said. “Use your feet and I’ll pull you back.”

He nodded and pressed his feet against the craggy rock and pushed himself up while I pulled. I slipped back and fell on my ass, sliding towards him as he crawled up onto the snow. He swiftly put his leg out to catch me before I too went over the edge.

“Thanks,” I said and crawled over to the other side of the path and leaned against the wall.

He nodded and sat there, catching his breath.

“That was close,” he said. “I hate it when I see things right before they happen.”

“You could’ve said something.”

“Wouldn’t have changed the outcome. Besides, I knew you would catch me. I just wasn’t sure if you’d pull me up, or if I’d yank you down and we’d both fall to our deaths.”

“I hate this mountain,” I muttered and carefully got back to my feet. I put a hand out and he took it and used me to steady himself.

“This is all black ice,” he said, looking at the patch of the trail that no longer had snow on it. A thin layer of smooth dark ice covered the entire thing. “I know. Come on, I want to get away from here as fast as possible.”

“I am all for that.”

We very cautiously picked our way up the rest of the incline and then rested a moment once we were on a safer surface. My shoulder was killing me. I was pretty sure I could feel blood dripping down my back and seeping into my undershirt.

“You are in pain,” Tristan said.

“Yup.”

“Sorry about earlier.”

“You already apologized. No worries.”

“I did?”

“Yes. Don’t know about you, but I can’t wait to dip my toes in the hot spring,” I said.

“Oh?”

“They’re freezing.”

He chuckled. “Mine are as well.”

“Wish I had a day or so to plan this trip before we left. Would’ve gotten us some metal ice cleats to strap on our boots. Definitely would’ve made that part of the trip a breeze.”

“Well…perhaps next time hm?”

“Don’t tell me you’ve had a vision of us coming back this way.”

“No,” he said with a small smile. “I meant next time we have to travel in the middle of winter.”

“Oh thank the gods for that. You had me worried there for a moment.”

Tristan looked past me, and stood up.

“What?”

“Looks like someone had been through here not to long ago.”

“Oh?”

I followed him as he walked to a crack in the mountain wall. There was a handprint, a smudge of charcoal ash, on the edge of the opening, about shoulder height.

“Well I’ll be. Who’d spend the night here though?” I said and poked my head inside. There was a remnants of a small fire on the cave floor, just outside of the snowline. I took the chance and rubbed my shoulder against the side of the entrance and hissed in relief.

“Better?”

“Slightly.”

“You rip open your stitches hauling me up?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Damn.”

I put a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t sweat it. We’re going to a healing temple. They’ll stitch me back up in no time.”

He nodded, grim-faced.

“Whoever it was, they were traveling light,” he said. “Unless you think the snowfall was enough to cover tracks overnight.”

“Overnight?”

He slipped in, kicked the fire ashes with a toe and a tiny spark lit up and died fast.

“This fire was set last night.”

“Huh…Weird. Well, I suppose it’s possible. The snow and wind here are pretty heavy as is. If you look back the way we came, our footprint holes are already getting covered up.”

His lips twitched. “Mm.”

I made sure the horses wouldn’t go anywhere, and slipped inside the small cave. The floor space wasn’t that big, you’d have to sleep sitting up, or with your feet to the open snow. There was just enough space for the two of us to stand in there comfortably, but we wouldn’t both be able to sit down there.

“Had to have been just one person,” I said. “That is what I was thinking. Someone small, a woman perhaps?”

“What the hell would a woman be doing traveling by herself on this terrain? She’d have to be desperate, or crazy.”

“Or both.”

I spotted writing on the wall and squatted down to read it.

“What is it?” he asked.

I ran my hand over the carving.

“Doves. A cross. And…some weird symbol I have never seen before in my life. Demonic, maybe?”

He peered over my shoulder, standing awfully close to me. My shoulder twitched, my skin crawled and I gritted my teeth, balled my fists.

“Yes, that is a demon’s sigil.”

“Witchcraft?”

“No. A warning, perhaps. But nothing nefarious.”

“Want to touch it? Get a read on it?”

“Not really. Just looks like something someone did out of habit. Like an obsessive compulsion.”

“If you say so.”

 He stepped back and I stood up and stretched and pulled my shoulder up to my ear and rolled it back, trying to get the sensation to stop. It just made it worse.

“What’s wrong?”

 “Nothing. Just itching like crazy.”

“Same as before?”

“Worse.”

He sucked air through his teeth and shook his head. “I hope they can help you in Bethel.”

“Me too.” I sighed. “Well, this is strange, sure, but it doesn’t mean much. Maybe someone got hurt and whoever stayed here had run over to meet them at the temple in the hot springs.”

“Mayhap,” he said.

 I clapped my hand on his shoulder. “Come on Montebalm, let’s get a move on. I want a nice hot bath and a good meal tonight.”

“That, sounds heavenly.”

We road the rest of the way in silence, both of us deep in our own thoughts.

I had a feeling we were going to run into someone I’d rather not see ever again, and I didn’t want to say anything and jinx us. If Tristan knew who it was, he wasn’t talking, which was fine by me.

 Best not to speak of the Devil, lest he appear.

Or she…as the case may be.

Near nightfall, we rounded the last bend of Deadman’s Pass, and the trail opened up to a gently sloping valley covered in a soft blanket of white snow.

Nestled in the craggy hills at the foot of the mountain was a small town, surrounded by natural hot springs. The springs were walled in, segregated for privacy, and connected to a squat temple carved out of the rock face. The temple was here first, the town of Bethel raised up around it, and continued to slowly expand every generation.

It was a freehold, an independent town. It was neutral, not loyal to Concordia or the Imperium. Every city in the world had a heart to it. A magical epicenter, where a single individual could connect to the flow of energy and guide the city and it’s people. Some benevolent entities did just that, and allowed people to freely do as they please, hence the term, freehold.

Other cities, like Golgotha, were ruled by iron-fisted madmen, or in its case, a mad vampire. Humans did not rule there. They were treated as cattle, property, food, and rarely, pets. But not treated like citizens.

It was dangerous for us to even step foot inside the city, which was the main reason why I really didn’t want to ever go to such a place. And yet, here we were, on our way to that very city.

We got into town, and made our way to the stables. A young boy met us. He was friendly and helpful, as all stable boys are. Or tend to be at the very least. I lined his palm with a gold crown piece and told him to keep a good eye on our horses, and warned him not to be offended if mine tried to bite because he was a cranky old man.

The kid laughed and as soon as we removed our travel bags, he took them inside to feed and brush them down.

Tristan paused by the barn entrance and frowned.

“What?”

“I know that livery,” he said and I immediately saw the leather saddle he was referring to. It was hanging up on a fence inside the barn, waiting to be polished and cleaned. It had the same horse head crest on it as his travel bag. Someone from his family was here.

That could only mean one thing; trouble.

“Wonderful. You still want to stay here?”

He sighed, ran his hands over his face and nodded. “We’re exhausted. We need to get warmed up, eat and rest for a night before moving on. The horses need time to recuperate as well. We can’t push them any harder than we already have.”

“Well then, I guess we better keep our heads down and not get noticed, huh?”

 “I reckon so.”

He wasn’t moving. He was just looking at the livery, deep in thought. Irritated, annoyed, and close to being downright cranky, I shoved him towards the inn.

“Mister, I am hungry and tired and cold and I don’t have time to fuss right now. Let’s get situated and deal with things as they come.”

“Fine, fine. Stop pushing me, I’m not a bairn.”

I let up and walked alongside him, keeping my eye out for anyone that would cause us problems. The streets were pretty empty. Most people were inside now, as the temperature was about to drop once the sun finished setting.

We stepped inside, and I took off my hat and the girl at the counter stared. I gave her a rakish grin and she blushed and looked away. They really weren’t used to seeing redheads in these parts. Most people were blonde or brunette.

 Tristan stood behind me, waiting. He probably didn’t want to talk to anyone right now.

 I stepped up to the counter and took off my gloves.

“Hi there. We’d like a room for the night, got any free?”

“Um…yes. Yes we do. It’s mid-winter, so we’re not overbooked or anything, like that…at all.”

She was staring at me again.

“Do I have something on my face?”

She giggled. “No. Sorry. I just…you look familiar.”

“I bet you say that to all the men.”

“I don’t! I really don’t,” she said, a little too fast.

 I laughed. “I’m just playing. How much for a room? And what do we need to do to get seen at the temple?”

“Is your friend hurt?”

“What? Oh no, he’s just quiet.”

“I thought maybe he was a straggler from the group that just arrived a few hours ago.”

“Nope. We are not traveling with anyone else. Just the two of us.”

“Ah. Sorry. I just…forgive me sir.”

I leaned forward, took her soft, porcelain hand, and kissed it. "No harm done."

She blushed and turned away, but did not pull away her hand, she gripped mine.

“Hmmm…you definitely see something you like.”

“Yes,” she said, her voice soft and light.

 I chuckled. “Well ma’am, you’re cute as a button, but I don’t think your father would approve.”

She giggled and grabbed a room key and asked for me to sign my name on the register and give her payment, which was a lot cheaper than I had anticipated.

We really didn’t go traveling much during winter and this was off-season for pilgrimages to the healing hot springs of Bethel.

“Your room is to the left, down the hall there. Once you get situated, you can stop by the dining quarters or head on over to the temple. During winter we use the tunnel in the basement to walk over there. It’s heated by the hot springs, so you don’t have to put back on your winter coats or anything. It’s open until midnight.”

“Thank you kindly miss.”

“It’s Heather.”

I nodded.

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance Heather. I’m Rourke.”

She curtsied and I walked away with a grin on my face. Tristan shot me a look and then shook his head.

“What is it with you and innkeeper’s daughters?”

“It’s a gift, that keeps on giving.”

“If you say so.”

We passed by the dining area, which only had a handful of rough looking men sitting at it, eating stew and drinking beer. Tristan walked with his head and hat down, trying to avoid eye contact.

“Don’t tell me those are the fellas that are looking for you.”

“I didn’t want to risk it.”

“You stand out you know. What with that sword strapped to your back and the fact that you are on the taller side of things.”

“Thank you for reminding me.”

“Don’t mention it.”

I opened the door to the room and as soon as he got inside and shut it, I started peeling off my clothes. Tristan hung up his long-coat and bag and was taking off his boots.

“Damn it,” I said. There was a huge blood spot covering half of the back of my shirt.

He raised an eyebrow as he turned to face me and grimaced.

“Oh. Your shirt. I really do feel bad about that.”

 “I noticed. It wasn’t your fault. That snow was about to give. Could’ve happened to either one of us.”

There was a soft knock on the door. I grabbed one of my throwing knives, Tristan’s hand went to his sword scabbard.

 “Yes?” I asked, and stepped softly up to the door.

“I forgot to give you towels and complimentary robes for your stay here.” It was the girl from the front desk, Heather.

Tristan stepped back from his sword and I put my knife away and opened the door a crack. She tried to peer in, because she apparently was curious about us, and I graciously took the robes and towels from her. It was a nice sized pile. She gave us the new ones. Probably on purpose.

“Thank you, Heather.”

“You’re welcome.” She stood there, smiling. “Anything else you need?”

Now…if things were a bit different, say I was traveling here by myself, and didn’t have a horrible gaping, bleeding wound on my back, I definitely would’ve said yes. Yes, there is something else I need, and then would’ve taken her inside the room and given her exactly what her body desired. However. I was not alone. I was bleeding like a stuck pig, and Tristan was glaring at me.

I could feel him staring daggers into the back of my head. It killed me to turn her away, but etiquette demanded it.

“We’re good for now, thank you. I’ll let you know if we need help with something.”

“Ah. Very well then,” she smiled, her soft pink lips like rose petals were very tempting. As was her silky blonde hair and perky tits.

 “Good night Heather.”

“Good night Rourke.” She walked away, gave me a sly parting glance and I returned it and shut the door.

“What the hell was that about?” Tristan asked.

 “She forgot to give us towels and things. That’s all.”

“She was flirting with you.”

“Yes, and?”

He sighed, said nothing.

In fact, he became very close lipped and sat on his bed and took off his socks and grimaced. Dried blood rimmed the skin between his toes. I could see cracks running up the toe webbing, between all his toes, on both feet. No doubt the sores were on his heels now as well.

“Good Sweet Lady, your feet are a bloody mess. They have to hurt like hell. Why didn’t you say something?”

“We couldn’t stop. Not on that pass.”

“No wonder you’re grumpy.”

“I am used to my feet hurting.”

“Then what is it? You were glaring daggers into my skull there just a minute ago.”

“I don’t like her.”

“What? Why? She did nothing wrong.”

“There’s something off about her. I don’t trust that innocent looking face, seems fake. False smiles hiding something more sinister.”

“Tristan, you are paranoid. She was just looking for some fun in the sack.”

“And to steal your coin.”

“Ah…yeah. I can see that. Good point. And here I was worrying that maybe you were jealous.” 

“Jealous? Of what?”

“Maybe you wanted her to flirt with you instead.”

“Hardly. She is not my type.”

I laughed. “That is also a very good point.”

He preferred women with softer, more fuller curves. Rounded hips and bosoms were his cup of tea.

I sat on the bed and sighed. Rubbed my shoulder on the bedpost and he looked at me aghast.

“What?”

“You’re bleeding and rubbing it all over the post.”

“Oh. Shit.” I wiped it off with a kerchief. “That was dumb.”

“No kidding.”

“Thanks.”

After we got settled in and changed into the nice fluffy terry cloth robes, which thankfully were brown and not white to show off bleeding wounds, and put on some house slippers that were left for us in the room, we wandered down the hallway towards the stone stairs that led to the tunnel. There were men walking up them, chatting.

Tristan grabbed me and pulled me into a doorway. I said nothing. We both stood stock still.

Tristan was breathing fast and shallow. He was nervous. As soon as the group passed and was out of view, we walked swiftly to the stairs and descended them. Only once we were a good ways through the steamy tunnel did he say something.

“That was them.”

“I gathered that. But who are ‘them’ exactly?”

“My cousins and uncle…they probably brought Barnabas here to be healed.”

“Oh…shit. What are you going to do? You want us to go somewhere else?”

“No. I’ll keep my head down, stay out of sight when possible. If confronted, I will attempt to apologize and make amends, however, they aren’t exactly the most forgiving types.”

“They’ll be itching for a fight, huh?”

“Yes.”

“Well, good thing I brought extra towels,” I said cheerfully and kept walking.

“What?”

 I lifted up the top towel, showed him the handle of my pistol and winked. “Just in case.”

“Ah. Clever.”

“I don’t trust people. You seem to forget that about me.”

“But you’re so friendly.”

“Being friendly and polite, and blindly trusting strangers are two different things.”

“True.”

We made it to the temple, walked up the stairs and stood before the tall double doors. They had scenes of healing carved into them, and a pretty little tree sprite watching over it all.

 “Cute,” I said and opened them and walked inside.

“Is nothing sacred to you?”

“Nope.”

He sighed. “Just try to be respectful. This is a holy place.”

“Yes sir.”

He shot me a glance that told me that he didn’t believe me for a damn minute.

A priestess walked up to us, a humble, homey looking woman in a big comfy robe that showed off her cleavage nicely.

“Greetings travelers. You are welcome in this house of healing.”

“Thank you,” I said and we both bowed, respectfully.

“This way please,” she said and shuffled slowly along the corridor. The place smelled slightly of minerals and sulfur. It wasn’t unpleasant, just barely noticeable, really. “How can we help you this evening?”

“Well…” I said and suddenly grew very self conscious and embarrassed.

 She glanced back at me, curious.

“He has a wound on his back that needs tending,” Tristan said.

 She nodded. “And you?”

“Nothing a good soak in the hot spring won’t cure,” he said.

 She smiled and it was a nice, genuine, soft smile. I could tell, she really cared about people.

 “Very well,” she said and walked us into a room that opened up to the outdoors.

The hot springs were steaming. Snow melted in a ring around them, barely stuck to the rocky ground.

“Sit here,” she said to me and I sat on a bench under the overhanging roof.

 Tristan went right over to the hot springs and took off his robe, set it on a hook on the partition fence and got in buck naked. I shook my head and said nothing.

The priestess didn’t even blink at his disrobing. She must be used to it.

“Your robe,” she said and gently tapped my shoulders.

“Ah, yes. That.” I took it off and she hung it up for me.

She took one look at my back and gasped. “My goodness! What happened to you?”

“Grizzly bear. Big. Huge bear. Lots of teeth and claws.”

She pursed her lips. “Highly unlikely. You’d be covered in gashes.”

“Cougar?”

“There aren’t any mountain lions here. The black wolves keep them out.”

“Hm…”

“If you don’t wish to say, you do not have to. I was just…taken aback. You don’t hold yourself as though you are seriously injured, and yet, this is one massive wound on your shoulder blade. How long has it been this way?”

“About three months, give or take. Probably a little longer now.”

“It’s not healing?”

“No.”

 “It hasn’t started healing and then you did something foolish, repeatedly, and kept ripping the stitches open?”

“No. That…just happened. We, had a little accident on the way over Deadman’s Pass.”

“Sophia save you. Did you lose anyone?”

“No, no. Almost fell off, but that’s about it. Had to haul him up over the side. And well, he’s a big guy, so you know, it put strain on the stitches and they gave and ripped apart.”

“My goodness. Well, I…hm.”

“What?”

“I can tend it, clean it up, stitch it back together. But…there’s something that doesn’t look quite right about it. You sure it wasn’t made worse by your…accident?”

“No. Why?”

“Because there’s tears in the flesh, here and here, at the sides of the wound” she said and pressed on my skin softly. I flinched. It hurt. A lot. “They’re fresh. Just recently split open.”

“Oh, wonderful.”

“Worry not. I shall mend it up for you in a jiffy.”

“Thanks.”

How the hell did that happen? Was my back slowly pulling itself apart? Pulling stitches was normal if you stressed the skin too much, but splitting open the wound wider? That required a bit more direct force. And I know Tristan didn’t do that when he yanked that tooth out. He was very careful to only cut where it was necessary to get a hold of it with the pliers. 

 I sighed and tried to relax as the priestess washed off my back, put healing salves on it, which calmed the itching down immensely, and then sewed me back up.

 She made new holes for stitching though, and the needle pulling through my skin sent jolts of pain down my back. I kept jerking away from her.

“I am sorry sir. I’m being as gentle as I can.”

“No, it’s fine. It’s just really tender.”

“That is perfectly understandable. Poor thing.”

Normally, I would’ve objected to being called that. But I was too tired and worn out to argue.

“There, all done. Go soak in the hot springs. Stay as long as you like, and heal.”

“Thank you priestess,” I said and she bowed and left. I slipped into the hot water and hissed as my body got used to it.

Tristan opened an eye and glanced at me. “Better?”

“Slightly. You?”

“Same.”

I grunted in reply, grabbed a washcloth from the small bucket on the side and dipped it the water and rested it over my eyes. I sighed and sunk down in the water, and just let it wash over me, heating me up to boiling in no time.

“This is nice.”

“Mm,” he said in agreement.

 I was dozing off. It was comfortable. The heat eased the pain, knotted muscles in my back and thighs loosened up. I didn’t even realize how tense I was.

I heard soft footsteps approaching, and didn’t even think about it, figuring it was the priestess coming back to check on us. I should’ve looked.

I heard the click of a pistol hammer, and then the cold end of it was shoved into the back of my head. 

“Where’s John?” It was a woman’s voice; deep, gruff, hard edged. “Ah. Not a move there mister, or your friend here gets a bullet in his brain. Now…where the hell is he, Rourke?”

“Who?” I asked.

“Jonathan Esten.”

“Oh, him! Yeah, he’s not here.”

“Put your hands up where I can see them, now.”

I raised up my hands, and slowly pulled the cloth off my face and tossed it aside.

“Get up out of the tub.”

“Technically, this is a natural hot spring, so it’s more like a bathing pool, than a tub.”

“Get. Up. Now,” she said through gritted teeth.

“I don’t see why you’re being so hostile. I’m naked and unarmed.”

“A good hunter is never truly unarmed.”

“True.”

Tristan was staring at her, looked like he was ready to pounce and start one hell of a fight.

“Rourke, who is this woman?”

I stood up, slowly turned to come face to face with Mary, the Saint of Sinners. One of the toughest, roughest monster hunters in all of Creation.

She was wearing a robe, and even barefoot, she was taller than I was.

Her dark brown eyes burned with rage. Would make even the most stalwart of men pause before messing with her.

They say she’s a living saint, with an angel of heaven on one shoulder, and an angel of hell on the other. One of the best hunters alive today, and not one I would willingly get into a fist fight with, even if I was in top form…which I wasn’t.

“Tristan, this is Mary. She’s a hunter. You know, the Saint of Sinners? That one.”

His eyes narrowed, he balled his fists. He was ready for a fight. I could feel the familiar crackle in the air as he unconsciously drew on the fighting magic in his blood. Instantly growing twice as strong as normal in one breath.

“Mary, this is Tristan Montebalm.”

“Oh, he’s Tristan?”

“Yes, what of it?”

“Nothing. Impressive looking beast.”

I smirked. “Uh huh. Could you please put down my six shooter now? It was very unkind of you to steal it after I had taken great pains to smuggle it in here.”

She made a face, then uncocked the gun, spun it on her finger so that the handle faced me.

“Take it.”

“Thanks.”

I put it back under the towel and grabbed my robe and threw it on.

“Now, what the hell are you doing here? And why did you put my own gun to my head? That’s very rude.”

“I already told you. I’m looking for John.”

 “Yes, but why?” Tristan asked. He had stepped out of the pool, and was in the process of putting his robe back on.

She sighed, sat down on the bench, looked utterly crushed with her shoulders slumped. It made her appear vulnerable...almost. That took me aback.

“Hey, are you…is everything all right?”

“No,” she said and tucked her hair behind her ears. She had cut it since I saw her last. It was now shoulder length; the ends haggard, as though it was chopped or sawed off with a knife. There was a new scar on her neck, looked like a human bite wound.

“What happened? Who bit you?”

Her hand went up to the scar on her neck. “John did.”

“What?”

“No. That’s not right,” Tristan said. “He would never--”

“Well, he did. I wouldn’t lie. I have no reason to. He attacked me, stole my guns, bit my neck and left me to die.”

My stomach sank. “He…bit you? And stole your guns?”

 Mary’s weapons of choice were not normal six shooters. They were magically enchanted silver pistols; they never needed bullets or reloading, and they always hit their mark. Allegedly she won them from the Devil in a poker game, but I never believed that story.

“I’m telling you, he wasn’t himself. At all. His eyes, they were…blood red. And he had fangs.”

“Fangs?”

“Vampire fangs,” she said and crossed her arms. She wasn’t looking at us, she was staring at her scarred feet.

 Most of that woman was muscle and scar tissue. She had impressive scars crisscrossing her body from top to bottom, even had one on her lip. Mary was one hell of a fighter, and a survivor.

Even if I didn’t care for her all that much, she really had no reason to lie about him. However, something about what she said just didn’t sit right with me. It made me angry. Very angry. Defensive maybe?

“You’re saying that John, our John, overpowered you? I don’t believe it.”

“Well he did.” She looked up, rage burning in her eyes. “So, where is he? I want my fucking guns back. Now.”

“I hate to tell you this, but he’s in Golgotha.”

“Golgotha? What in the world would he be doing there? Unless…”

“Unless what?” Tristan asked and I jumped, startled. “What?”

I didn’t even notice him standing beside me. Didn’t hear him walk over. For once.

“Nothing. Ignore me.”

“As you wish,” he muttered.

“Unless he went looking for someone, or something,” she said.

“You think he stole your pistols out of desperation?” Tristan asked. It sounded like he already knew the answer.

She sighed. “Yes. That has to be it. He doesn’t normally use pistols, does he?”

“No,” I said. “He never needed to before. He was always so fast.”

“Even so, that doesn’t explain why he would not ask for your aid in the matter,” Tristan said. “He didn’t want anyone to help him. To the point where I had to get into a physical altercation to attempt to stop him from running off alone. I knew I should’ve done something more. I should’ve pursued him…made him think it through.”

Mary smiled bitterly. It sent a chill down my spine. I had never seen her smile. She was always either blank-faced and neutral, or very pissed off.

“Perhaps he fought you off, because he was afraid of what he was becoming. Mayhap he already knew, and couldn’t find a way to tell you.”

“Tell us what?” I asked.

“That he was turning into one of the damned.”

“Bullshit. I refuse to believe it.”

Tristan pursed his lips. “It is possible, I suppose.”

“Oh, now you are on her side? Come on!”

“Rourke, she is making sense. Something was wrong, I sensed it. I tried to help, he pushed me away. Pushed us all away, the way he always does when he has a problem. He always wants to solve his personal problems on his own, even though we all swore an oath to protect each other on the hunt.”

“Yeah…but…a vampire? Him? Naw. No way in hell that’s the case.”

“Would you prefer werewolf instead?” Mary asked.

“No. What I would prefer, is to have my friend safely rescued from that damn city without us dying in the process. But that, is going to be nigh impossible without a miracle or two, or maybe twenty. Hard to say. It’s a vampire city. The gods have no power there. At all.”

Mary stood abruptly, and we both tensed up, waiting for her to throw the first punch. Instead, she put her hands on her hips, leaned back and popped her back vertebrae. The sound made me shudder. Always hated that noise.

“Gentlemen, there is no way in the Gods’ Green Acre you are going to be able to survive that hellhole of a necropolis without serious back up.”

“What are you proposing?” Tristan asked.

“I’ll go with you. Get my guns back, and try not to kill John in the process. No promises on that last part though.”

“That’s not very reassuring,” I said.

“Too bad. That’s the best I can do. No one steals my shooters and gets away with it. No one. Not even Mr. Esten.”

“Without your magic guns, how are you going to give us serious back up?” I asked, and immediately wanted to bite my tongue in half for saying it. She glared at me like she wanted to rip my head off and spit down my throat.

“In case you have forgotten, I am a living saint. I'm still quite formidable, even without my guns. And you two, are going to need all the help you can get. Perhaps this all happened for a reason, Rourke. Perhaps Sophia willed it and sent John to run into me, so that I came looking for him, and found you two here instead, all so that I can accompany you to Golgotha. Perhaps that will be your miracle or two, or twenty that you require. You smart ass.”

 My shoulder started tingling, which turned into a prickly itch. I twitched, tried to ignore it but that only made it more annoying and urgent of an itch.

“Excuse me a moment,” I said and walked over to a support post and scratched my back on it and hissed in relief.

 “What’s his problem?”

“That wound you sewed up? The one he received in Concordia? It never healed.”

“What. It’s been months. What do you mean it hasn’t healed?”

 “It hasn’t healed,” I said, still scratching my back. “And it hurts, and itches and hurts some more and itches, and it’s a vicious cycle, really. I don’t recommend it.”

“I consecrated that wound. Exorcised the pain spirits even. It should’ve healed up twice as fast as normal.”

“All the other bites and scratches that beast gave me did. But the big one on my back, the one you put that medal in? Hasn’t healed. At all.”

“It desecrated the sacred medal you put under his skin. I saw it,” Tristan said softly. “There were tooth marks, over the face. It had no holy power left to keep whatever it is that has taken root in his flesh at bay.”

Mary made an annoyed sound, stomped over, bare feet slapping on the smooth stone, grabbed my shoulder, whirled me around and roughly pulled the robe top down.

“Son of a bitch,” she said.

“You didn’t notice when I got out of the pool?”

“No. I was busy staring at the back of your head, contemplating if I should shoot you or not.”

She grabbed my shoulder, ran her hand over the wound and my skin crawled and I pulled away awkwardly.

“You know, I prefer to be wined and dined before getting frisky. I know you’re not the romantic type, but…a little bit gentler would be nice.”

She slapped the back of my head.

 “Ow! What the hell woman?”

“You’re an idiot.”

“And you’re the one that ran off after that damn thing and didn’t even tell me what the hell it was, nor what it was trying to do to me. So we’re even on the idiot front.”

“I reckon so. I…” she sighed.

I turned to face her. She was uncomfortably close to me. Her body brushed against mine. I froze, put my hands up so that she didn’t think I was about to grope her. I didn’t want to do anything to piss her off any more than she already was. She hits hard when she’s mad…and she’s usually very angry. Righteous fury of the saints and all that.

I saw a flicker of regret on her face. Just there, a smidge, a brief moment, like a single beat of a butterfly’s wings.

 “I’m sorry. I should’ve made you come with me, so I could keep an eye on you. I don’t know what that thing was, nor what it was trying to do to you. No one does.”

“Tristan thinks it was trying to use my body as a living sacrifice, if that helps.”

“Makes about as much sense as anything, I suppose.”

I could feel her breasts, even if they were on the small side, rubbing against my chest and I cleared my throat.

 “Uh…you are standing awfully close to me. Something you want?”

 She narrowed her eyes. “No.”

“You sure? I mean, I’m flattered and be happy to oblige, even if you aren’t my type.”

She shoved me back away from her and my back bounced off the support beam.

 “Ow.”

“Hey! Hands off!” Tristan shouted and got in between us. “Touch him again, and I will retaliate.”

He was getting loud.

 “Tristan…keep it down. They’ll hear you.”

“This woman is the type that will not listen unless you are yelling at her. She does not take soft-spoken men seriously. But, I mean what I say. Touch him again, and I shall be forced to intervene. Consider yourself warned.”

Mary laughed, which made me even more uncomfortable. I didn’t even know she was capable of making such a sound.

“I understand Mr. Montebalm. I will not harm him. Not until it is absolutely necessary.”

“What do you mean? What are you implying?”

“Yes, what are you implying?”

She shook her head. “It shouldn’t come to it, but if it does, I will gladly put you out of your misery Mr. Whelan.”

“Gosh. Thanks lady. You’re so reassuring and kind. I feel so much better about all of this now.”

“I thought you would.”

“I was being sarcastic!”

“I know,” she said and smiled wickedly. I didn’t like this new behavior trend of hers. Not one bit. 

“My gods, you’re like a cat with a mouse,” Tristan said, and put his arm out when I tried to step around him. “Don’t encourage her.”

I made an annoyed sound. “She's bluffing.”

“She is not.”

“I’m not.”

I looked up to the heavens and shook my head. “Sophia, save me from these morons.”

“That, is no way to talk to the Goddess of Wisdom and Light,” Mary said.

“My apologies, oh great saint who was sanctified by said goddess many many moons ago and is doomed to roam the earth forever until a great evil is finally defeated. Must be awful, being forced into immortality during such difficult times. You must be really lonely, to want to team up with the likes of us. Aren’t you?”

“Shut. Up. Not another word, or so help me.”

“What? Sophia wills it that you kick my ass? If you haven’t noticed lady, I’m already in a ton of pain and misery. I don’t need you adding to the pile.”

“You really ought to stop talking now,” Tristan said.

“Hey, you are not helping either.”

“I cannot help it. I have no reason to trust this woman. Everything about her screams danger. I can almost smell death coming from her. Her aura is black as pitch. So pardon me if I err on the side of caution.”

Mary raised her chin, looked him right in the eye, which wasn’t difficult as they were the same height.

 “I didn’t know you were psychic.”

“Most people don’t, so if you could, please keep it down.”

“Oh, sensitive subject?”

“Very punny,” I said and ducked under Tristan’s outstretched arm and stepped up to her and said softly,“Please, for the love of all that is holy, keep that to yourself. The imperial guard is getting rather aggressive with their recruitment. I’d rather not have to rescue him from them if I can help it.”

“I know. I’ve seen them. Distasteful practice if you ask me.”

“Oh?”

“On my way back from Eugenica. Passed by a whole cohort of them when I left the domed city. It was not long after that I ran into John.”

“When was that?” I asked.

“Late fall, near the harvest moon. Before the first frost. Why?”

“You ran into him then?” Tristan asked. “It must’ve been right after I parted ways with him.”

“To be honest, I was surprised to see him on the trail. Hadn’t run into him in years, not since you three started hunting together. I thought it was good for him, to have a hunting party. He was no good on his own. Stayed in his own head too much. Made him…a bit crazy.”

“I know,” I said. “When we first met he was talking to himself, constantly. The poor bastard.”

“And what about you? Why are you fine hunting alone?” Tristan asked.

“I’m never truly alone,” she said and raised her hands up to her shoulders. I swear, I could see a green flame on the left, and a golden one on the right. Angelic fire.

 Tristan cursed under his breath and crossed himself. “So it’s true.”

“Angels follow me where others fear to tread. In fact, they never leave me alone. A gift, from Sophia.”

“Truly a blessing,” I said, not meaning a single word.

Mary moved forward in a blur and punched me, knocking me clean on my ass. She pounced on me, went to punch me again and before I could hit her back Tristan picked her up by the wrist and tossed her away, effortlessly.

She caught herself before falling into the water, and regained her balance. She chuckled and rubbed her knuckles.

“Rourke, you have the hardest head I have ever hit.”

“Uh, thanks?” I said and stood up, rubbing my jaw. She damn near broke it.

Tristan stood there, seething, but not acting on his anger. His fists were balled, he was ready to hit her back. They were starting to glow with golden light, he was pulling more magic to his hands and arms. He was preparing for a serious fight. I stepped up to him and put a hand on his arm.

“Stop. Let it go man. It’s fine. I had it coming. Besides, she held back, pulled her punch so she wouldn’t break my jaw.”

“Why hit you to begin with then?”

“Because,” a man said from the doorway to the springs. “She can’t control her temper. And neither, can you.”

We turned to look. All the color drained from Tristan’s face.

 “Uncle.”

“Nephew. You and I need to have a long talk. About Barnabas. And what you did to him.”

Tuesday, July 4, 2017

Here's an EXCLUSIVE EXCERPT of my book CADDIS INITIATIVE PHASE ONE: INFECTION!



Toni shook me awake and was hissing my name.

“What?”

“Sh!” He pointed behind me. A red light was illuminating the area. I could make out tree branches and could see weird black thread-like worms crawling all over them. They were in the truck bed too.

I turned to look and stared.

Up in the tree, on the branch directly beside me, was an usually large box jellyfish, the size of a huge beach ball. Inside it there was a sack of silver fluid that was pulsing in time with the red bioluminescent lights that raced up and down its bell.

It shouldn’t be able to survive on land, let alone crawl around. It should’ve deflated and died as it dried out.

And yet there it was.

But that wasn’t the strangest part.

No.

The oddest thing about it, was that it had legs. Sea anemone tentacles, for legs. They were as thick as my thighs, and very pliable. It had them wrapped around the tree branches as it searched the area with a single tentacle that had eyes in two columns on either side of it.

The eyes looked like ones you’d find on an octopus or a squid, with little metallic flecks in the pupils.

Toni waved at me to come over to his side of the truck bed. I started to clumsily crawl over to him, and it spotted me.

Two of its legs whipped out and grabbed onto my arms and dragged me towards it. The legs stung me. I screamed. It burned, horribly. Felt like someone put a blowtorch directly onto my flesh. Where it made direct contact, my skin turned bright red and blistered.

The harder it squeezed, the more I felt its needles shove through my coveralls, into my skin, and inject it with venom. I swear I could almost see the nematocysts shoot out of its epidermis and into me.

“Becca!” Toni grabbed my arms tried to pull me away but it was too strong. It grabbed him with several of its free legs and I could see his skin near the contact areas turn bright magenta as he screamed in agony.

I was gasping for air. It hurt so much it was hard to breathe. I remembered Kiki told me once about a tiny little thimble-sized jellyfish down in Australia with a sting so bad, that the pain alone killed people. I imagined that this is what they felt when stung by it.

Toni managed to punch the large jellyfish hard enough to make it let go of him, and he tackled me and ripped me out of its legs. He had tentacle-shaped welts across his face and neck and arms, and they were covered in large blisters.

“Come on,” he said and shoved me towards the edge of the truck bed. He climbed over and grabbed my hand and pulled me out with a strength I didn’t know he had. We started climbing down the tree, and the weird jellyfish got onto the truck and I heard it smash the windows and start ripping things out of it.

“That’s not normal,” Toni said. “This isn’t right. This just isn’t fucking right. This has to be some sort of alien invasion or something,” he muttered as he steered me from branch to branch.

I wasn’t thinking at that point, just trying not to fall to my death. But I was so weak, it was getting really hard to hold on.

“Just a little further, come on Bam Bam, you can do it.”

I nodded. We were both gasping for air. The jellyfish venom was racing through our bloodstreams and it hurt. So fucking bad. My whole body burned. I couldn’t imagine what Toni felt like. He was stung more than I was.

“Come on, not much further.”

He kept prodding me along. If it weren’t for his voice, I would’ve clung to a branch and stayed there until my lungs or heart gave out.

When we got close enough to the ground, he jumped down and helped me off a branch.

I couldn’t stand, so he set me down against a tree and slumped down next to me.

“Thank you,” I slurred.

He nodded. He was gasping roughly. It didn’t sound good.

“Toni?”

He pointed up. “See how high? We made it down. We did it.”

“We did.”

He smiled and tears rolled down his swollen cheeks. “I saved you.”

“You did.” I put a hand on his shoulder. “Thanks.”


COMING SOON!


Sunday, July 2, 2017

Three Thieves of Night Part 3: Dead Man's Pass



We’d been on the trail for two weeks. Our rations were dwindling. We left in too much of a hurry. I didn’t think it through. Didn’t realize, nor count on, the bitter cold sapping our strength, increasing our hunger triple-fold. Poor sleep, worry, the constant painful itching of the wound on my back, the ever growing height of the snowbanks, it was, at best, a hellish combination.

I was irritable, tired, drained, starving, cold, so freaking cold. My fingers and toes had gone from painful cold to numb.

I wasn’t in the mood to deal with another hiccup in the journey. Tristan was quiet, even for him, he was unusually quiet. I knew he had a lot on his mind.

Every so often I had to reach over and grab his horse’s reins and pull it back on course. It tended to wander when he slept wild riding. I was beginning to suspect that was the reason why he walked it most of the way to Solomon; he was less apt to fall asleep walking than he was riding in his saddle.
The snow was wet and heavy. Thick big flakes weighed down the tree branches, causing a chunks of buildup to plop to the ground. It made me wary. I wasn’t looking forward to trekking across the Black Wolf Mountains. Heavy new snow on old, crusty iced snow on the peaks only meant one thing- avalanches.

We left the forest and bypassed the valley, staying on the plateau ridge. Ahead the black rock mountain faces loomed, framed by dark grey storm clouds. Sporadic gusts of wind buffeted us. My horse was nervous, eyes wide, staring with the whites showing. It nickered, and was answered by Tristan’s mount. They were used to traveling together, so it didn’t surprise me that the horses were trying to comfort one another.

I glanced at Tristan and he made eye contact.

“What?” he asked and cleared his throat.

“Nothing, just seeing if you were awake.”

He chuckled and shifted in his saddle. “Yes. I’m awake.”

I grimaced, squirmed, tried to reach my shoulder blade to scratch it, but couldn’t quite make it.

“Need to stop a minute?”

“Wouldn’t make a difference,” I said, skin on my back crawling and twitching. I hissed in a breath, hunched uncomfortably in the saddle.

“Rourke, you look as miserable as a wet cat.”

“Thanks.”

“There,” he said and pointed.

I squinted, but all I could see was white on more white in the distance.

“Where?”

He rode up alongside me. “Look closer.”

“I can’t see anything. What are you pointing at?”

He sighed.

His eyes were sharper than mine. He could see quite a ways, always noticed things on the horizon before I did.

“There’s an outcropping in the rock, we can take shelter there, warm up a bit, survey the land and decide which pass we’ll take.”

I grunted in agreement.

“Is that a yes or…?”

“That’s a yes.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Is something wrong?”

“Oh, no. Nothing is wrong. We’re just traveling north in the middle of winter, I’m freezing my ass off and my back is driving me crazy, that’s all.”

“Right…”

I sighed. “We’ll stop at that outcrop and get our bearings. This time of year, there’s only going to be two passes we can take through the heart of the mountains.”

“You say that as though it’s a bad thing.”

I scoffed. “It is. One’s Snakeneck. The other is Deadman’s Pass. Snakeneck meanders a bit, curves in on itself, it's longer, but safer. Only problem is that we have to traverse a suspension bridge to get to it.”

He whistled. “Let me guess. Deadman’s Pass is shorter, but more dangerous.”

“Yep. I’ll show you the map when we take shelter.”

He nodded. “Rourke?”

“Yeah?”

“I…”

“You what?”

“Never mind.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“Beg pardon?”

“You don’t talk for days, and you finally ask a question and you stop yourself? Come on!”

“You’re over-reacting. That never used to bother you before.”

“Oh, it did. I just let it go though.”

“Mm.”

“Well? Go on, ask.”

He sighed. Gave me a very annoyed look. “Will it calm you down?”

“I don’t know, maybe?”

“I shouldn’t ask. Now is not the right time.”

“Says who?

“Says your exceptionally short temper. You’re not acting yourself. I am growing ever more concerned for you.”

Well, excu-use me.”

“See? This is what I mean. Your emotions have always been very stable. Upbeat, joking in the face of danger. Cavalier even.”

“Cavalier? Me?”

“Yes. That’s why the women are always so warm with you.”

“I do have rakish charm, yes.”

“This is what I mean. Right now, that ever deepening scowl on your face. It’s not you.”

“Can’t help it.”

“I know. I am trying not to take it personally, but it is becoming difficult.”

“So I’m pissing you off, is that what you’re saying?”

“No. I’m not angry.”

“What then?”

Wind howled through the canyon. We both paused. It would be getting dark soon.

“Wolves?” he whispered.

I shook my head. “Wind rushing through the valley below. It sounds like wolves. Hence why they call it Black Wolf Mountain.”

“Fascinating.”

“Yeah.”

My mind went to John, and I shivered. Half out of cold, half out of anxiety. I wasn’t looking forward to being in the vampire city. I really dreaded going there, and that dread was growing with every passing day.

Out of habit, I checked my pistols and counted my ammo. Six shooters, on both hips, all chambers full, 10 boxes of bullets in the riding satchel, 12 in slots on my holster belt.

I wasn’t going to use them until we got to Golgotha. Until then, it was throwing knives only. Once in the vampire city, we were going to need all the firepower we could get.

“Nervous?”

“Only a dullard wouldn’t be nervous about going to Golgotha. In winter. During the longest nights of the year. When vamps are strongest and most bold.”

“True.”

We rode on, and I was having trouble focusing. My back hurt too much. It ached and itched, like something sharp was burrowing into my muscles.

Wait…if he wasn’t angry with me being short with him…what was he?

Tristan was hard to read at times. I blame bad parenting. He wasn’t allowed to voice discomfort or pain. He was punished for showing outward signs of it. So he learned to stay quiet, not show emotion. No displays of weakness were allowed when he was a child, or they’d beat him with a belt. To avoid it, he learned to hide his emotions. I couldn’t even begin to imagine how hard that was. He was tough, tougher than I’d ever be, by a long shot.

“Your thoughts are jumbled right now, aren’t they?” he asked suddenly and I stopped my horse and stared at him.

“Are you…reading my mind?”

“No. You’re just not walking your horse in a straight line, and are getting awfully close to the edge there.”

“Shit,” I pulled the horse back over closer to his and ran my hands over my face. I was getting scruffy. We both were. Tristan was a winter beard kind of fella. He said it kept him warmer. I shaved unless I was forced to go out in the snow on some fool’s errand, like this one. I didn’t feel any warmer, just unkempt and itchy.

Everything was itching now. My face, my back, my legs. I made a face.

“We need to stop. Soon,” Tristan said. “The horses need to rest, and you need to get warm.”

“Thanks dad.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Wise-ass.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I said nothing.”

He smirked and shook his head. We rode for about an hour longer and then I could see the outcropping of rock he had spotted. It was just deep enough to make a ledge overhead to block out the snow.

We set up our large canvas tent, using the rock face as a wind-blind, and sank the collapsible tent poles into the snow to anchor them. Then we went about our usual routine, minus John of course. He’d be off hunting for dinner while we set up camp. He was used to living off the land, and was very good at finding game, even in the scarcest of places. He had a talent for that.

Basically, when we set up camp, Tristan and I would get the tent up, then one of us would start a fire while the other tended the horses. We rotated. It was a simple process, but one that lent familiarity to unfamiliar territory. It usually calmed me.

But now? It just made me more tired.

I fed the horses, checked their hooves and cleaned out the snow before it froze to their shoes and made a big mess of things for them.

They headbutted me in turn, and I patted them down, brushed their backs, then stepped inside the tent.

Tristan had the fire going, the smoke vented through a hole in the roof. He was digging through his travel bags while I sat down and took off my jacket and started scratching my arms and back and sighed.

“Watching you do that makes me itchy.”

“Sorry. Can’t help it.”

“I know.” He pulled out several tins of food and tossed one at me and I absentmindedly caught it out of reflex.

“What’s this?”

“Dinner.”

“You been holding out on me, Montebalm?”

“We need our strength. The next leg of the journey appears to be vigorous. So…we should eat meat.”
“I’m glad one of us planned ahead. I sure as hell didn’t.”

“We were rushed, but something told me to stop by the general store and buy canned foods before we left. So I did.”

“Sophia blessed you.”

“She blessed us both.”

“I can drink to that,” I said fished out a bottle of whiskey from my bag and handed it to him.

“Thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

We cracked open the cans, stewed meat with potatoes and tomatoes, and set them near the fire to heat up. When the food started bubbling, he grabbed his without thinking and shook his hand.

I chuckled. “Don’t burn yourself.”

“I’ll try not to,” he said and used a glove to move it away, setting it in the snow next to him. The food was steaming now.

My stomach growled. I was so hungry, it smelled delicious. Normally it’d just smell like bland road food. But hunger has a way of making even the most boring meals delightful.

We ate our fill, and drank enough whiskey to put a glow in our bellies. Then he sat back and took off his boots and hung his socks up to dry.

“How are your feet?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Same. I guess. Maybe a little worse. Hard to tell when they get so numb from the cold.”

“We need to be careful not to get frostbite.”

“Agreed. How are the horses?”

“They’re fine. Much more adapted to rugged living than we humans are, that’s for damn sure.”

“True that.”

I took out the map and unrolled it on my blanket. He moved closer to examine it.

“We’re here. Up ahead, the trail splits off, left goes to Snakehead, right to Dead Man’s Pass. Both lead to the town on the other side of the mountain, which in turn, has a trade road that will lead us to the train station a few miles off. There we can hopefully get on-board a line that heads to Golgotha, if we’re lucky.”

“If we aren’t lucky?”

“Then we have to hoof it the rest of the way, and will be forced to buy more supplies for the road.”

“Damn.”

“The train station has a bank, last I heard,” I said.

“I might be able to withdraw there. Maybe…depends on who owns it.”

“I understand. We’ll take it one thing at a time. We’ll get to John soon enough.”

Tristan nodded, and stared at the map.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just…a nagging feeling.”

“Oh? Nagging feeling about what?”

He looked away, uncomfortable. “I’d rather not say. I don’t want to jinx it.”

“Suit yourself.” The liquor had calmed the itching and pain a bit, took the edge off. I laid back and stretched out and sighed.

“It’s awful that you have to get drunk to sleep anymore.”

“Yes. Yes it is. Good thing I got me some real fine liquor. Strong stuff lasts longer.”

He chuckled and shook his head.

“Get some rest Rourke.”

I put my hat over my face. “Hey, Tristan?”

“Yes?”

“Sorry for being a pain in the ass all the time.”

“You’re not. You just think you are.”

“If you say so.”

“I do. Now rest.”

I fell asleep to a dull pain in my back and a full belly.

I woke up screaming and in serious pain. My shoulder was on fire, white hot pain seared through me. I was flailing about, fighting off an assailant that wasn’t really there.

Tristan bolted awake and looked around, alarmed. When he saw there was nothing attacking me, he grabbed me by the shoulders.

“Rourke! Snap out of it!”

“What?”

“You were dreaming.”

“Oh…shit. Sorry. I…” I sighed. “Damn.”

“Sounded like one hell of a nightmare.”

“It was.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

“Was it about the thing that bit your shoulder?”

“Something like that.”

I didn’t want to tell him because the dream had started out being about that. I was in Concordia, chased by the black beast with the shining white teeth, dagger sharp and wicked. It tackled me to the ground, savaged me with its jaws, I managed to break free, and ran and ran and turned a corner and ran into John. But, he wasn’t himself anymore.

He was pale. Fangs in his mouth. Eyes crying blood. He sank his fist into my chest and ripped out my heart and ate it while it was still beating. Told me to turn back. Not to come find him. When I refused, he bit my neck and started tearing through muscle and the pain felt so real, I screamed and kept screaming and woke up.

I was covered in sweat. My back was soaked with it.

Tristan took one look at me and made me sit down. “Take off your shirt.”

“Why?”

“Your back is covered in blood.”

“Shit.”

I took off all my layers, and he was right, there was a big puddle of blood on my back, starting from the shoulder down to the waist.

“No wonder I’m light-headed.”

He removed the bandages, now dripping with blood, and tossed them on the dying fire. The flames flared up and devoured the cotton, and purified the ashen remains.

“Rourke…I-I don’t like the look of this. Your wound is getting wider.”

“What? How?”

“I don’t know. It’s almost as though something is trying to push it’s way out of it.”

I sat there a moment, tapping my fingers. “All right. Remove the stitches. Poke around, see what it’s doing, then sew me back up.”

“Are you sure? I thought you wanted to wait and have John take care of it. I’m not exactly a skilled healer.”

“It’s been getting worse. It’s not healing. It’s not closing up. It’s getting bigger, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then, I trust you to find the problem and then sew it back up. Maybe something got in it that the Saint of Sinners missed.”

“I don’t know, she’s pretty thorough.”

“She was also in a hurry to follow that thing, so…maybe that one time, she missed something crucial. It happens. Even to living saints.”

He sighed and rolled up his shirt sleeves. “I’ll do it. But…”

“No buts. Just rip open the stitches and take a look under the skin. That’s all you have to do.”

“Right…” He cut through the silver wire and pulled out stiff pieces of it. I could feel it dragging through and out of my skin and shuddered. It hurt. It should’ve been healed, but it wasn’t. Not even the holes the stitches made were healing over.

He tenderly pushed the skin flaps up and made a sound that was half between a gag, and a gasp. Strangest noise I’ve ever heard him make in my life.

“What?”

“It…looks evil.”

“How can a wound look evil?”

“I can’t describe it properly to you. Like a spiritual miasma is oozing out of it. Black oily blobs, slipping out of it, floating away and dissipating in the air.”

“Oh. So psychic stuff?”

“Sort of.” He eased the saints medal out of the wound and set it down. I glanced at it. It had bite marks on it, actual teeth marks in the metal.

I picked it up, wiped off my blood. The silver was tarnished, and the saint’s face was blotted out by a tooth indentation.

“What the hell? That is not normal.”

“No…it’s not. But, does it feel a little better, with that removed?”

“Hurts more, actually.”

He sighed. “You really want me to poke my fingers into your wound and feel around in there? Won’t it hurt?”

“It already hurts! What’s the damn difference?”

“More pain?”

“Just do it.”

He grabbed the half-empty whiskey bottle and poured some on his hands.

“Try not to move. I’ll make this as quick as I can.”

“No. Don’t do it quick. Be thorough. Do it right. I’m serious. I’ll bite down on something. Just…try to find whatever it is that’s making it itch so damned much.”

“If you insist, I shall do that. Raise your fist if the pain is too much and I’ll wait before moving on.”

“Fine.”

I laid on my stomach, and put my belt in my mouth and bit down as he tentatively stuck two fingers into the gash. It felt like someone was shoving a knife into my back. I balled my fists, tried not to cry out. But it was enough to make me tear up in pain and breathe fast.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “I don’t like this. I don’t like hurting you.”

“Mm-hm,” I said pitifully through gritted teeth and sucked in a breath as he felt around.

His fingers met something that shot a jolt of pain through me. I screamed and he jerked away fast.

“That cut me,” he said.

“What?” I asked, feeling even more light-headed. I wasn’t sure if I was going to pass out, or vomit, or both.

“There’s something sharp in there, on the right side, furthest away from where the medal was inserted. It cut my hand.”

He showed me. There was a long thin cut across his two fingers. Like the tip of a razor blade had raked it.

“Sophia give us strength,” I said and crossed myself.

“I don’t think…” He shook his head. He didn’t want to say it. I was in too much pain to press it out of him.

“Can you pull it out?”

“Maybe…let me get my toolkit.”

He stepped out of the tent to grab his kit from the bag I left on his horse.

I lay there and shivered. Scared out of my mind. I could feel something trying to dig it’s way into my skull, like clawed hands under my skin, reaching up my back and neck and pressing impossibly hard onto my head.

I shuddered, closed my eyes, and said, “It’s not real. You’re just paranoid.”

Tristan came back in, worry clearly visible on his face. This was bad. Very bad, if I could read it on him.

He unrolled the leather kit and removed a pair of pliers.

“Right. Now…this might hurt a lot.”

“I know. Just, get it out of me man. I can’t keep living like this.”

“It might not solve the problem you know.”

“I’ll try anything at this point.”

He poured more liquor on the pliers and his hands to disinfect them, then I felt him peel the skin up a bit further than before, and shove the metal head of the tool into my muscle. I bit down, and made pained sounds as he dug it in further and gripped something. Something that felt like it was a part of my body.

“Wait. Wait!”

“What?”

“What does it look like, can you see it now?”

“It…it’s a tooth Rourke.”

“A tooth?”

“A dog’s tooth, a canine. A fang. That’s what it appears to me at any rate.”

I let out a ragged sigh. “I’m so screwed.”

“We’ll help you. We’ll rescue John, and get you help.”

“Yeah.”

“So, do you want me to try to pry it out? Seems rather stuck in there.”

“I want that thing out of me. I don’t care if the pain makes me pass out. Just get it out of me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes! Just do it!”

“Very well.”

He took one of my throwing knives off my belt.

“Hey!”

“It has a slender blade. My knife is thicker, would make a bigger mess than necessary. I need to cut the tissue around it, separate it more so I can pull it out at the root.”

“Sophia save me.”

“She will. She always does.”

I laughed, it was bitter, angry, full of sorrow. “Sure she does.”

“She does. Now, try not to move too much. I’ll be as quick as I can here.”

“Sure,” I said, and suddenly wished that I was punch drunk. I took a long swig of the whiskey, finishing it off. “Do it.”

Tristan did work as fast as he could. Which, considering the amount of pain it caused, wasn’t anywhere near fast enough.

He cut my muscle, a circle of it around the tooth, and pried it back. It hurt so much, I was gasping in pain and starting to see red.

“Almost done.”

I nodded, and worried that I’d bite through my belt before he got done.

I felt the pliers head shove in deep and grip onto something and then twist and pull. He kept twisting it and pulling it up. I screamed, and shouted obscenities at him and tried to kick him off but he batted away my legs and sat on them and kept pulling.

Pain ran from my shoulder to my back and neck and my head, like it was all connected by some invisible thread. Every twist and pull back made it wind tighter and hurt more. It drove me mad with pain.

“Fuck! Stop! Stop!” I screamed but he wouldn’t stop and soon, I felt it give and rip out. I HEARD it rip out of my back.

I roared in pain and he sat there on my legs while I cried and thrashed and saw red. I blacked out for a few minutes, before I came back to myself and heard myself say,“You bastard!”

“Sorry. You said not to stop though. You wanted me to do that.”

“I know! But it fucking hurts you asshole.”

“I gathered that. Done now? Or do you still want to kill me?”

My stomach dropped, and my body went cold. “What?”

“You said that you were going to kill me. In my sleep. You were going to rip out my tongue and make me swallow my own blood and choke on it, then you were going to gouge out my eyes and heart and eat them.”

“I…said that?”

“Yes.”

“But…I-I--” Did I say that?

I tried to remember, but couldn’t. It hurt so much, it made me angry. I wanted to hurt him. I wanted to punish him for giving me such pain. But did I say those things? Was that really me?

“I don’t believe you,” I said, my voice small and soft.

Tristan moved off my legs and sat next to me, put a gentle hand on my good shoulder. It was then that I noticed that I was burning up. I was hot, my body felt like it was on fire.

“You have a fever,” he said. “Probably delirious from the pain.”

“No…” I rolled onto my side, could feel my blood seeping from the hole he just made in the muscle. I felt like screaming and crying and I just lay there, shivering and tearing up. “This isn’t right. This isn’t right at all.”

“Rourke. That is what I have been trying to tell you. You haven’t been yourself, at all. You never had a temper. You never flew into a blind rage like that before. Whatever is infesting your body, whatever is causing things to grow in a wound that won’t heal? It’s also attacking your mind.”

“But…why? Why didn’t I notice that?”

“It won’t let you. Not until it’s too late.”

“So what do we do then?”

“I’ll keep the tooth,” he said, cleaning it off with a kerchief. “The town we’re going to next has a hot spring. They should have a healer there. We’ll stay a few days to recuperate from traveling across the mountain, and you can spend time in the bath in the temple. It should help a bit.”

“I don’t know what to do,” I whispered. “What if…what if I go from saying awful things, to DOING awful things?”

“We’ll take this one step at a time. Right now, I’m going to sew it back up, and put fresh bandages on it. We’ll clean up and head out after we eat.”

I slowly sat up, shivering. A cold sweat dripped down my back. There was a pit of fear in my stomach.

My body was no longer my own. My mind was no longer unbreakable.

I was a mess.

Tristan did as he said, and patched me up and gave me clean clothes and got us food and I just sat there, numb and in terror.

Whatever it was that had attacked me in Concordia, it didn’t just bite me. It INFECTED me with something. That’s what he said. I was infested.

“Rourke?”

“Hm?”

“The medal the Saint of Sinners put in your back, was it bit all to hell like that before she inserted it?”
“No. It was brand new. I saw it. All polished and shiny, not a single wear or chip on it.”

He frowned, chewed his tack biscuit slowly as he thought.

I didn’t have an appetite, but was trying to force myself to choke some food down anyways. It wasn’t working very well, so I just drank some more coffee that he had made on the fire.

“When that great black beast attacked you, it bit you, and said something you couldn’t understand. Then, Mary appeared and stopped it and drove it off. Correct?”

“Yeah. That’s about the gist of it. Why?”

“I suspect that mayhap it was casting some dark magic on you. The spell was not completed. She stopped that from happening, saved you from a worse fate than what you are suffering now.”

“Wonderful.”

“I think it was trying to use your body for something sinister. But the spell backfired because it wasn’t finished.”

“What are you saying, that it was trying to transmute me into something else?”

“No. Much, much worse. It was trying to sacrifice your body.”

“Like…I was the spell component?”

“Something like that. Your blood was spilled, it started chanting, it was interrupted, and driven off before it had a chance to finish.”

“You think it’s going to come back to finish the job?”

“It’s a possibility. If it does, we can kill it and hopefully break off the enchantment when we send its vile soul to hell.”

“And if it doesn’t come for me?”

“Then we need to figure out how to safely revoke the spell. And out of the three of us, John has the most knowledge about such things.”

“Of course he does. So…my back isn’t going to get better. Just worse. Is that it?”

“I’m afraid so. It appears to me, that your wound is not healing because something is trying to use it as a means to…become.”

“Uh…what?”

“To come into being. To enter Creation. To become a living, breathing thing.”

“But what? And why?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. This mystery is quite perplexing.”

“And itchy.”

“You’re still itching?”

“Yeah.” When I saw that he didn’t put the medal in, panic gripped my chest. I held it up. “Why didn’t you put it back?”

“It wasn’t helping. Besides, with the face marred out, its power is depleted. It is no longer a holy item. It has been defaced. Sorry.”

I sighed. “It’s not your fault. Thanks for yanking that thing out of me though, it doesn’t hurt as much, just feels tender and swollen now.”

“That is good. I was worried. I didn’t want to hurt you more. You are suffering enough as it is.”
I gave him a sad, grateful smile. “Thank you. For everything. I mean it.”

“Of course. You’re like a brother to me. We stick together. Until the bitter end. Right?”

“Damn right we do.”

I saw that he put the tooth in his pocket. He didn’t show it to me. I didn’t want to know why at the time. But maybe, I should’ve asked. It might have saved us some trouble and heartache.

Then again, maybe we wouldn’t have been able to prevent what was going to happen to us, what was going to happen to me, in the long run.

I tried not to think about it, but I knew, deep down inside, I knew, that I was in serious trouble. Even more so than John was at the time.

And it was going to get worse.

You can read part four here.


Friday, June 23, 2017

Three Thieves of Night Part Two: Snow and Death



I wasn’t looking forward to traveling during winter. But, we had to go. There wasn’t anyone we could send word to in Golgotha to look in on John, to make sure if he was all right. All we had to go on was Tristan’s vision. And, it’s always been my experience that they are uncannily accurate.

The longer we were out on the trail, in the cold bitter winds, with the snow pelting our faces, the more I wanted to dig a hole, curl up in it and sleep until Spring. Or until the frosts claimed my body and froze me whole and killed me.

But…if I did that, knowing my luck I’d come back as a hungry ghost, and haunt my brothers in arms.

Tristan rode silently next to me, head down, the brim of his Stetson hat blocking much of the blowing snow, not to mention his field of view, which in our line of work, could . At one point, I caught him sleeping, his head nodding down, making him jerk awake and grip the horse’s reins tighter.

His horse surprisingly tolerated it. Mine would’ve let me fall off and kept on going until it found shelter. The jerk.

I pulled my wool scarf up over my nose, annoyed that it kept slipping down. My toes and fingers were numb. He had to have it worse though, he never was good at dressing for the weather.

“Hey, maybe we should find a place to stop and get a fire going,” I said. “My toes are going to freeze off soon if we don’t.”

He glanced over at me. “Sure.” He sounded out of it, like he was talking in his sleep.

“Tristan, I’m on fire.”

“All right.”

“Tristan, I’m stealing all your money, and am about to stab you and leave you to bleed to death in the snow.”

“Sounds good,” he murmured.

“Hey.” I leaned over and shoved his shoulder and he looked up, startled.

“What?”

“You fell asleep on your horse.”

“Oh. Ah…yes. Sorry.”

“We should find a place to stop for the night. You need to sleep and I need to warm up my toes before they get frostbit.”

He nodded.

We plodded on. The snow was getting deeper and deeper the further north we rode. It was only going to get worse.

“How about there?” he asked and pointed.

In the distance, along the tree line, there was an old cabin. The roof had caved in on one half, but it still covered a bit of the structure.

“Good a place as any,” I said and reached back to scratch my shoulder and hissed. It was starting to really irritate me again.

“Are you all right?”

“Fine. Let’s get the fire going.”

I hopped off my horse when we got there, and yanked the door open. It got stuck halfway open on the snow.

I stepped in, looked around. There was a small fireplace, a falling apart wood table, and a bed covered in snow. One half of the cabin was water damaged, and the roof timbers had slid to touch the ground.

But, the cobblestone walls still stood, so, it was better than trying to set up a lean-to in the forest. Tristan tied the horses up around back, out of the wind and fed them while I draped our canvas tarp up around the support beams of the roof to block out the snow that drifted in from the hole in the roof.

I had to stop when my shoulder twitched. The itching was hard to ignore. It got worse at night. Always worse at night.

Tristan stepped in, took off his hat and shook the snow off his duster while I started the fire in the fireplace.

“Looks like this was someone’s hunting cabin,” he said and sat down on the ground next to me.

“Oh yeah?”

“Fire wood pile in the back, well a little further off. A deer hide in the trees.”

“Definitely a hunting cabin then.”

“If John were here, he’d be out finding something to hunt for us to eat.”

“Yup.”

We both sighed and I stood and rubbed my back against the wall and hissed in relief.

He shook his head and dug out some rations.

“I’ll go get some snow, we can melt it, get some water to drink,” I said.

“Sure.”

He wasn’t usually this quiet. It was a bit unsettling.

“Hey…”

“Yes?”

“Are you…alright?”

“Fine. Just tired.”

I nodded and grabbed a small pot from my gear and went out and filled it with snow.

The wind picked up, pushed against me, and I thought for a brief moment, that I heard someone calling my name. I looked around. The sun fast setting. The sound of snow pelting my hat was the only thing I heard.

“Get a grip on it Rourke,” I muttered and rejoined Tristan inside.

With the fire going, some hard tack in my belly, and clean water to drink, I felt a little better. I took off my socks and put my feet as close to the fire as I dared and sighed.

“Better?” he asked. He hadn’t said a word for over an hour.

“Yes. You?”

He shook his head no.

“Want to talk about it?”

“Not really. But…you won’t stop bothering me until I do.”

I chuckled. “Yeah, that sounds like something I would do. Come on man, it’s just the two of us. You can speak your mind. I won’t be offended.”

“What? I’m not upset with you.”

“Hard to tell, to be honest.”

“Well, I’m not.”

“What then? Your feet still bugging you?”

“Yes, that’s part of it.”

“Then take off your boots and dry them by the fire, and put some salve on your little toesies.”

“You think you’re cute, don’t you?”

“I am a very handsome man, but this has nothing to do with it. If you don’t take care of your feet, they won’t take care of you.”

He sighed. “You’re right.”

“Come on over,” I patted the blanket next to me. “Put your feet up for a while cowboy, and let me regale you with tales of glory and plunder.”

He rolled his eyes and sat next to me. He took off his jacket and hung it next to mine, which was currently dripping dry. Then he took off his boots and set them on the hearth. I could see blood spots on his socks.

“Oh, ouch! Man, you really got it bad.”

“Don’t fuss.”

“I will. And there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

“Oh, I can think of a few things. Tie you up and gag you so you shut up for a time, and I can get a decent night’s rest.”

“You wound me sir.”

“You talk too much.”

“Tristan, we have hardly said a word to each other all day.”

“Hm. I guess you’re right.”

“Come on, take them off, don’t make me manhandle you and coddle you like a bairn.”

He gave me a wicked look that said if I did that, he’d definitely kill me.

I laughed nervously. “I’m just kidding.”

“You are half kidding. Half of the time. Always jokes with you. Never serious about anything.”

“I am so serious. I am very serious about a lot of things. Food, women, taking care of my friends. I could go on, but you say I talk too much.”

He sighed, pinched his nose by his eyes and closed them.

“What’s wrong?”

“Headache.”

“You should rest. Take care of your feet and get some sleep. I’ll babble incoherently to myself for a time and pass out.”

He sighed. “Lovely.”

“Am I talking too loud?”

“No. I think it’s the weather, or maybe this place. I don’t know…I-I have a lot of my mind. It’s wearing me down.”

“I can tell.”

I reached for my bag and dug out a fresh pair of socks and some salve. I got extra because I just knew he’d need it and forget to purchase some from the apothecary before we left Solomon.

“Here,” I said and tossed them at him.

He stared at them and picked them up. His harsh expression softened. “Thank you.”

“No problem. I kind of figured you’d need them, so I got it before we left.”

“Is that what you were doing in there? I thought you just wanted to flirt with the clerk’s daughter before we got going.”

“Well, that too, but you know, two birds, one stone and all that.”

He chuckled. “She liked you.”

“I know. If we had wintered over in the city, I definitely would’ve gotten to know her better,” I said with a wink.

He smiled and shook his head and took off his socks and set them on the hearth.

His feet were cracked on the bottom, long lines starting to fissure from in between his toes, and up from his heels. If he didn’t get that healing up, they’d stretch all the way across them by the end of the trip.

It’s happened before, but he didn’t say anything until he couldn’t walk on them anymore without limping and giving away that something was wrong.

“You know, if this happens so much, you really ought to think ahead. Try to nip it in the bud before it gets so damn bad.”

“I tell myself that every time. And yet, I always manage to forget and neglect them.”

I smacked the back of his head. “Learn a new habit. It’s called…proper hygiene.”

“I am not dirty.”

“Your feet are delicate. You need to treat them like they are and stop being so damned stoic about it. Accept it. You have lady’s feet.”

“I do not.”

“Do so. They’re soft and pale white, like porcelain and ever so delicate, like early spring flowers. Lady’s feet.”

“Rourke, I swear to Sophia I will punch you into next week if you do not shut up.”

“Tetchy much?”

“Very.”

The wind blew into the cabin, and I heard a woman’s voice say, “Rourke. Help me.”

I stood up.

Tristan paused, looked up from rubbing salve on his sore feet. “What was that?”

“I…don’t know.”

“A woman. In the wind. Her voice. Cold. She’s suffering.”

“I gathered that.”

He put the salve down and grabbed my arm when I went to look outside. He shook his head.

“Don’t go out there.”

“Why?”

“We’re in the middle of nowhere. And the wind is calling your name. This time of year? Has to be a hungry ghost. Ignore it. Go out there and you’ll get devoured.”

“Good point. I’ll uh…put more logs on the fire.”

He nodded, went back to nursing his feet. He really had it bad. I felt sorry for him. He glanced over at me, pursed his lips.

“How’s your back?” he asked and I felt the skin twitch around the wound, and it started getting prickly, I had to reach back and scratch it. I couldn’t ignore it any longer.

“It’s the same. Gets worse at night. Always itching. Hurts like hell too. Drives me nuts.”

“I have an idea,” he said and took some snow from the pot, shook the melting water off and gestured to me. “Take off your shirt.”

“Why?”

“Just do it.”

I took off all the layers I was wearing; jacket, sweater, another sweater, long wool shirt and long underwear. My torso and arms now bare, I shivered. Goosebumps rose on my skin.

“Damn it’s cold.”

“It’s about to get colder,” he said and took off the wound dressing he had helped me tie on before we left a few days ago. He pressed the snow against my wound. I could feel the ice melting and running down my bare back.

I shivered, and sighed. The pain, the itching, stopped. It soothed it. Numbed it wonderfully. I felt my whole body relax. Muscles I didn’t even know were tense started letting loose.

“Oh my gods you are a beautiful man.”

He chuckled. “You’re welcome.”

I sat there, him holding snow against the gash in my back and closed my eyes, shivering, yet not in pain. I could deal with the cold, if it meant the damned itching stopped.

I dozed off, and leaned back against him, he made a strange sound and shifted his weight and I jerked awake.

“Sorry,” I mumbled.

“It’s fine. I didn’t anticipate that you’d lean back so far.”

“Oh shit, did I hit you someplace sensitive?”

He laughed. “No, just elbowed my stomach. It’s fine.”

I grimaced. “Sorry man.”

“It’s all right. Don’t worry on it.”

I sat up, yawned, stretched. My back was still wonderfully numb. I could see where he scooped out handfuls from the little snowbank that had built up inside of the cabin under the hole in the roof. He must’ve been doing that for a while.

“You were sleeping so nicely, I wanted you to rest.”

“Tristan, you are too kind. Aren’t you tired?”

“I slept on my horse most of the afternoon, remember?”

“Oh, right, I guess you did.”

His right hand was wrinkled from being in water too long. He had taken a kerchief and tied snow up in it, and held it against my back. For a few hours at least.

“You know, you could’ve shoved me off and just tied that on me and replaced the snow when it melted.”

“Yes. I could’ve. But…you got salve for my feet and no one asked you to, so I wanted to repay you.”

“I guess that makes sense.”

Something started scratching on the window shutters, and we both stopped talking. Tristan immediately went for his sword and unsheathed it. I crept over, silently, and peeked out the window, pulling a throwing knife out of my belt.

At first, I thought I saw a long spindly clawed hand raking across the shutter. But, it was nothing more than a tree branch.

I waved at him to put his sword down and sheathed my knife.

“It’s just a branch. Wind must’ve knocked part of the limb down. That’s all.”

He visibly relaxed and put his sword back. “I thought perhaps it was a winter wight.”

“Isn’t it a little early for them?”

“Not this far north.”

I pulled the shutter closed and rushed back to the fire, shivering. “Damn that wind is bitter cold.”

“It really is. I hope we don’t end up riding into a snow storm. That would be awful.”

“Agreed.”

I took another blanket out of my travel bag and wrapped it around me and huddled up next to the fire.

Tristan sat next to me. “You fine now?” he asked and nodded at my back.

“Yeah. It’s fine at the moment. Thank you. I haven’t really slept much since it happened. Fitful dreams, the pain…and the itching. Doesn’t really make for good sleep.”

“I gathered that. You look exhausted.”

“So do you. Well, you know what’s bothering me, but what’s on your mind? What’s keeping you up at night?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Many things.”

“Such as?”

He sighed. “Rourke. I…ran into some trouble on the way to Solomon.”

“What? Why didn’t you say something when you got there? You expecting someone to come after us?”

“No. They won’t be coming for us. I made sure of that.”

The tone of his voice, so flat, so dead. That far off look in his eyes. It made my stomach sink.

“Talk to me. What happened?”

“After John and I parted ways, I was in a foul mood. I wasn’t careful. I went to the wrong town. Got spotted by someone. It got ugly.”

“Oh no. Who was it?”

He made a face, shifted his weight, uncomfortable with this conversation.

“It was a cousin of mine. My uncle’s son. Barnabas. I hadn’t seen him in years, but he recognized me right away. I was in the bar. Drunk. Hating the world. Hating myself for getting into a fight with John. Hating what you would say to me about it. Everything.”

“It’s not your fault. You were trying to stop him from doing something suicidal. I don’t blame you any. I would’ve done the same damn thing.”

“No. You wouldn’t. Not like that. You would’ve talked him out of it, like you always do. I don’t have a gift with words, not like you do. I’m all force, no parlay.” He held his hands together in his lap, rubbed one over the other, absentmindedly.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re allowed to be pissed off at him for being stupid. You know that, right?”

“I guess.”

“So what happened in the bar?”

“He pulled up a chair next to me and started chatting. I wanted to be left alone. He wouldn’t shut up. And he told me…he told me what my family was planning. To do. To me.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Word got back to my father somehow. He found out I was still alive. He put a bounty out for me to be returned to our House. He wants to turn me in to the Imperial Guard. They’re looking for more psychics. They want me in their ranks. They’re getting desperate.”

“Fuck.”

“Indeed.”

The whole reason he left home, was to avoid that. I didn’t know all the details, but I had heard some things about what they did to people like him. It wasn’t pretty.

Harsh training, brutal, deadly, and if you survived it, you weren’t the same, just a mindless drone for the Imperator’s army. No personality left. At all.

Tristan had faked his death and left home soon after he learned that his parents were discussing his abilities. He thought that he had hid them from them, but someone figured it out. This was before he started sleep walking and channeling people. That was a relatively new thing. Started up a few years ago.

“I’m sorry.”

“Barnabas wouldn’t shut up. He wouldn’t. He was making a scene, trying to get me to show him my gifts. I…I slammed his head against the table. Too hard. I knocked him out with one hit. I accidentally let my anger get the best of me.”

“Oh no. Your fighting magic…you used it without thinking.”

“Yeah,” he said softly. He sounded so sad.

“Did you kill him?”

“No. But I could have. I left him in a coma Rourke. My uncle won’t forgive me for that. He’ll come looking for me. They all will.”

“Well shit. That complicates things. I mean, I don’t have issues with fighting a minor Noble House but damn. Yours is a tough one. House Montebalm is the strongest of the Imperial Cousin Houses, mystically speaking.”

“I am aware.”

“I mean, you guys are direct descendants of House Andiron. So closely linked that their fighting magic is in your blood.”

“I know.”

“And you have a lot of relatives. Like… a lot.”

“I know!”

He punched the floor, left a deep depression and I scooted back. He was angry enough to talk now…talk or beat the shit out of me.

“So what are we going to do about it?”

“I…have no idea.”

“That’s what you’ve been thinking about? That’s what has kept you so quiet for days since we started out on the road?”

“Yes.”

I rubbed my hands down my face. “Great.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. Your cousin was a dick for doing that. Was he drunk?”

“Not as drunk as I was.”

“You’re a mean drunk.”

“I can be, yes.”

“You should’ve come straight to Solomon. You should’ve sent word for me to meet up with you sooner.”

“Yeah. I should’ve. But…I didn’t want to see you. I didn’t want to talk, to anyone. I was so disgusted with myself.”

Tristan had a bad temper. It took him a while to really get angry, but once he did? People, or furniture, got broken. I’ve seen first hand what can happen.

He’s a complicated man. I mean, I am too. We all are. But, when the three of us traveled and worked together, things were alright. We meshed well, personality wise. Apart? Not so much.

I guess I was the one holding us all together. Without me there to talk them down and smooth things over, things got too heated and they got into a physical altercation.

I put a hand on his shoulder. His stormy grey eyes met mine. Emotions flashed on his face. Anger, sorrow, frustration, fear.

He was scared.

All that anger, stemmed from fear.

“Listen to me. And listen close. You aren’t a bad man. You just made some poor choices that led to some misery. We’ve all been there.”

“Not like this you haven’t.”

“Tristan.”

“What?”

There it was, that scratching again. This time, on the door to the cabin. We both slowly looked over to it. I saw a hand, a pale, white hand, with long jagged fingernails, scraping down the door. It had reached inside, just enough to pull its fingers against the wood.

“You see it?” Tristan whispered.

“Yeah.”

“Winter wight.”

“Do they work in pairs?”

“No.”

“So just one?”

“Yes.”

We moved slowly.

I crept close to the door, pulled out several of my knives, eyes trained on the hand as it kept scraping against the door. The arm was long, impossibly long. I saw that the elbow was far back in the snowbank. It was reaching down from the roof. My eyes flicked up, I saw a hunched over figure in the faint fire light that shone on the roof. A crooked smile, full of broken teeth, emaciated human body, head against a shoulder, its neck broken, bone stuck out of it. Ice for blood flowed from the wound.

I glanced back and motioned to the roof. Tristan nodded, grabbed his sword.

We’d have to move fast. That thing could manipulate its limbs, lengthen them at will.

It’s cold dead ice blue eyes were staring right at me. The wound in my shoulder itched, and the sensation grew stronger and stronger. I gritted my teeth, waited for Tristan to step close to me.

“I’ll take the door,” I whispered and nodded to the hole in the roof.

“On it,” he said.

In a blink of an eye, I had thrown all of my knives into the wight’s arm and pinned it against the door.

It yowled in pain. Tristan bounded up the collapsed roof beams effortlessly, jumped on the roof and sliced the wight in twain. It screamed, shrieking loudly and leaped off the roof into the snowbank, it yanked its arm back, and it broke off. The hand and arm still pinned against the door, twitched, turned to snow and melted.

I retrieved my knives.

Tristan was out there, I could hear him hacking away at it, and it screamed.

“Damn it.” I threw on my long-coat and went outside, barefoot, hissing as the cold snow bit at my skin.

The wight had grown taller, at least double the size of a normal man.

Tristan had sliced it up several times, but it had reformed, leaving a scar of pure ice where the wound healed back up.

Soon, it would be covered in them.

“Go for the head!” he shouted at me. “The fetter is in there!”

“On it.”

Tristan summoned his fighting magic, I felt it stir the air. Make the hair on my arms stand up. His hands glowed gold, an aura of the same color outlined him as he ran forward and started slashing rapidly, his sword a blur.

I stood back, waited, and after a moment, the wight’s head landed in the snow nearby. I picked it up, avoiding the gnashing jaws, and grabbed its loose skin and yanked it off, revealing a skull with a magic sigil on the forehead.

“Gotcha,” I said and sank one of my knives down into it, shattering the sigil.

The wight screamed and thrashed, as its body turned to snow and melted.

I saw out of the corner of my eye, a shadow, a silhouette of a woman, wafting up into the air with a sigh as it left this mortal world and entered the land of the dead.

“I hate wights,” Tristan said, panting.

“I gathered that. You didn’t waste any time.”

He nodded, leaned on his sword, magic spent, his physical energy waning as well.

“Come on, let’s get back inside. My feet are numb. Again.”

He shuffled behind me. Worried that he’d collapse in the snow, I made him go inside before me. He slumped onto the ground by the fire, dried off his sword and sheathed it.

I put back all my throwing knives, grabbed my blanket, wrapped it around him and myself and we huddled together in front of the fire.

“It’s fucking cold,” I muttered.

“It’s winter. What do you expect?”

“Sunshine and roses.”

He snorted and we laughed. Both tired, worn out, weary, and chilled to the bone. There was a handprint on his arm, frostbite, burned through his shirt, into his flesh.

“It got you.”

“I know. I had to act fast, or it would’ve killed me before you even got outside.”

Well…sor-ry! I had to grab a jacket or I’d be out there almost completely exposed to the elements.”

“Yes. I know. That’s why I had to move fast.”

“I thought you didn’t like doing that maneuver.”

“I don’t. It’s exhausting.”

“You’re just young. You need to age, get a larger magical reserve or something.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“How does it work then?”

“No clue. Never learned. My teachers were always short with me. Acted like I was stupid most of the time, because I couldn’t quite grasp what they were saying.”

“Well…that’s dumb. Because you’re not slow, or stupid. Just different.”

“Thanks.”

“What, that was a compliment.”

He shook his head, looked up at the ceiling, like he was pleading to the heavens. “You’re welcome by the way.”

“Thanks for saving me from being frost bit to death. You're a real pal.”

“Enough with the sarcasm.”

“You were burnt by the wight. Let me wrap it up.”

I grabbed some bandages and put some salve on his burn and wrapped it up. He said nothing. Just watched me do it, then moved his arm under the blanket and shivered.

“Oh, now you’re cold?” I asked and started putting back on my clothes so that my torso wasn’t exposed anymore. It was getting really cold out there.

“Wind shifted,” he muttered, the blanket pulled up around him, and lowered his head so it covered part of his face.

“I’m going to go check on the horses.”

He nodded.

Thankfully, the horses were fine. They were sleeping huddled together, covered in their blankets. I refilled their feed bags and went back inside.

Tristan was sleeping sitting up in front of the fire. I gently moved him over so he wouldn’t fall into it if he slumped forward and sat next to him. I grabbed the other end of my blanket and wrapped it around me and shivered as I warmed up.

“They know we’re coming. They don’t want us to find Jon,” Tristan said. His eyes were closed.

“Are you asleep?”

“No. You woke me up when you moved me aside.”

“Sorry.”

He shrugged, looked at me with tired eyes. “We’re walking into a trap, you know that, right?”

“Yeah. I know. Which is why we’re going to keep on trekking. We need to get to Golgotha. Then we’re going to find him, and get the hell out of Dodge, before things get any worse than they already are.”

“You really have a great way of jinxing us, you know that?”

I laughed. “I guess. But I’m always doing that. Wrong place, wrong time, my whole life.”

“That, my friend, is quite the understatement. I just pray that our presence here doesn’t attract anything else that is undead and hungry before morning.”

I shivered. I didn’t like the way he said it. It was ominous. Foreboding.

“You really have a way with words, don’t you?”

“No. That would be you.”

I shook my head and slept very little until dawn broke. Neither of us said much as we got the horses ready and set back out on the trail.

I was worried about John. About Tristan. About myself. Things kept piling up, and they weren’t getting any better.

I couldn’t shake that little voice in the back of my head, that was telling me that by the end of all of this, we’d all be dead.


Read Part 3: Dead Man's Pass Here