“I’ll kill you Ferrum Payne!”
The last words of a convicted man. Not the first time I've heard it, probably wouldn’t be the last. It was certainly the last thing this man would say, as the executioner’s axe fell on his neck with a dull thud. Old William, the rapist and murderer, was no more.
I departed the town square and went to the local inn. It was a deprecated little place, called The Boar’s Hind. Terrible name for a terrible inn. Once inside I got a room, had a drink, and went to rest. It had been a long few days. Murderers tended to have late hours.
A knock came to my door, light and hesitant. I opened the door to see a young maid. She wore the look of desperation on her oval face, and I knew a new job was about to fall in my lap. Her olive eyes were brimming with tears, and her lip quivered almost seductively.
“Sir Payne,” she began.
I stopped her immediately with a raised hand, “I’m no noble. Ferrum is fine.”
A pause, she looked surprised, “Ferrum. I need your help, I can’t pay well, but I will give you all that I can.”
“Explain what you need, then we can talk about payment after I’m done.”
“I… My father, rather, has had some issues with a demon corrupting his crops lately.”
“What kind of Demon?”
“He isn’t sure. We just know that the crops are wilting and-”
I cut her off, “How do you know it’s a demon then?”
“Well, a local witch cursed us, so it stands to reason that-”
“Where does this witch live?”
“Near our land, I can show you.”
“Let’s go then.”
A short trip was all it took to arrive at the little hut the girl pointed to. Her name was Lilac, her father’s favorite flower. She was betrothed, but I had the distinct impression that she had another man in mind other than what her current arrangement dictated. She was pretty enough, in a commoner’s way. Her hair was ill kept, but her eyes and lips made her look youthful and vibrant. The cut of her dress made her look available. If I was correct, there were two men in town with very different ideas about her betrothal.
The hut we came to was low, round and squat. Mud was where a yard should have been, with a scrawny goat looking at me with crestfallen eyes. No windows to be seen, and a door that was off its hinges.
I motioned for Lilac to stay where she was and walked up to the door, knocking harder than was really needed. Several seconds passed, when an old crone opened the door and peered out at me with a graying eye.
“Yes?”
“Are you a witch cursing this girl’s family?” I motioned to Lilac. I don’t like to be coy.
“What now? Who’s she?”
“She claims you are a witch, and that you have cursed her family’s crops.”
“Has she now?” She stroked her boney chin.
Several seconds went by as the crone contemplated, suddenly she turned and waved me into her dwelling.
I turned back, looked at Lilac, and winked. Lilac's eyes were large and frightened as I entered the hut.
It was a marvel inside. Spotless, and tidy, with little statues and ornaments adorning well dusted shelves. There was a happy fire in a warm inviting hearth, and a pot of some sort of lovely smelling stew boiled away.
Candles lit every corner and cranny. There were cakes and bread in a basket on the table, with a neat white table cloth draped over its corners.
I sat at the table without an invite, grabbing a cake and sniffing at its filling.
“So, you might just be a witch then”
“I might be.”
“I’m intrigued, since I don’t believe in pacts with the devil or demons.”
“Maybe I’m not then.”
“My name is Ferrum.”
“I know, I’m Isolde.”
“You know what I do?”
“I do, that’s why I’m not scared.”
I ate some of the cake, it was marvelous with a cranberry filling. She sat across the table from me, silent. I knew she was testing me as much as I was testing her. Eventually, she came to a decision.
“You may want to go and speak to the town potter. He might know a thing or two about curses.”
“Anyone else I might want to speak to?”
“Maybe, the girl’s father.”
“Already planned on that.”
I finished off my cake, bowed and left the old woman. She was more than she seemed, but I still doubted she was actually any sort of witch.
Lilac was gone when I emerged outside. Interesting. I decided to head for the potter’s. I don’t like witch claims. They hold very little merit, and are usually used to do away with some nuisance the town has. Sometimes they were even used to settle personal vendettas.
The potter’s was on the other side of town, which meant a fifteen minute walk. I contemplated some of my facts, and came up empty handed. I had no idea why I was heading to the potter, or what he might have to do with all of this.
I noticed Lilac walking toward me on the street. She didn’t look exactly happy to see me, but masked it well. She approached with an awkward stride, almost as if she could not decide if she should avoid me or head my way.
I made the decision for her.
“Lilac, I was wondering where you had disappeared to.”
“I needed to run some errands for my father.”
“Of course, you don’t have any pottery in your hands though.”
The guess paid off, she stammered for a second, then recovered.
“Well, we just asked for some custom pieces for the farm, so I wouldn’t imagine I’d have those yet.”
“I imagine not. What is the crone’s name by the way?”
“I wouldn’t know, she’s just a witch after all.”
“Indeed, I need directions to your farm.”
She gave me directions, and I headed off toward the potter’s. I knew Lilac was watching me over her shoulder as we parted ways. Years of being a monster hunter has taught me one very important thing, do not ever trust a pretty face, particularly one that couldn’t pay well.
The potter’s building was a small cottage, two stories with a nice balcony. It was proper, and had flowers growing in well made pots along the railing. Daisies, daffodils, lilacs, and roses. It smelled heavenly, if you went in for that sort of thing.
A motherly woman was watering the plants, she waved at me as I entered the shop. A little bell jingled as I opened the door, and a young man, maybe twenty, came out of the back wiping his hands on a towel. His smile evaporated when he saw me.
“Something wrong?”
“You’re that investigator person. The one that discovered Old William was a murderer.”
“That’s me. Got anything to confess?” I smiled at him, making the joke.
In response, he dashed into the back room. Maybe he did have something to confess. Who knew? I hopped the counter and pushed aside the heavy curtain, then my world exploded into stars. Shards of pottery fell to the ground, followed closely by my face
I shook my head and stood. A blurry figure rose up in front of me, and another crack of pottery resounded in my already spinning head. I fought in several major wars, had scars from blades all over my body, have survived arrows and cudgels, and was currently being defeated by pottery. My life was unpredictable at least.
I got to my hands and knees, mumbling some select curse words and trying to uncloud my head when a piece of twine came around my neck. My assailant sat on my back, slamming me back to the dirt floor and started choking me. My instincts kicked in as red began tinting my vision. I pushed up with my arms, and rolled over onto my back as suddenly as I could manage. It was enough, my assailant fell off and the twine loosened. I jumped on him, my fist aiming for where I assumed his head would be. I impacted flesh at least. Again and again, pounding, heart beating in my ears, lungs gasping, head swirling.
Finally, the lump of pulped flesh was still. Breathing, but not moving. My body rejected my impulses and I fell over. My head was a mess. I couldn’t get it clear. Blurred spinning lines were all I could see.
I stood, and fell over. I collapsed into black. When I came awake, the motherly woman was lying next to me, bruised and battered. The potter himself was nowhere to be found. That, I certainly hadn’t seen coming
She was motionless, and I deduced I wouldn't get any information from her, so I simply left her there. I knew the Potter himself would be difficult to track down, so I decided to pay my benefactor a visit.
Lilac answered her door and jumped when she saw me. I didn't think I had gotten hit in the face, but her response said otherwise.
"Let's talk," I said, pushing past her into the house.
She followed, and I rounded on her. I was mad, and she could see it in my eyes.
"Want to explain to me why I was just attacked?"
“I’m not sure, maybe there was-”
“Where’s your father, I need to talk to him.”
At this Lilac paused and looked toward the door. She was nervous. Odd. I pressed on.
“Look, something bigger than I thought is happening here, and there are too many people involved. I need to know what I’m actually up against. So let’s start with the witch. Why did you lie to me and tell me she was a witch?”
Lilac inhaled sharply, “She’s a witch. Why would I lie about that?”
I waited, arms crossed.
“She put a curse on our land, and she called up a demon to destroy our crops.”
I waited.
“She’s an evil old hag.”
I sighed, “fine, keep lying. And keep your pay. I’m more interested in the truth at this point. Tell your father I’m looking for him.”
I barged out the door, slamming it behind me. I was mad, I was injured, and I was drawn into something much bigger than I was originally led to believe.
I walked. No real destination in mind, just needed to walk and think for a minute. There was a neat little house on my right, and to my left, the witch’s false dilapidation, with the sorrowful goat outside. I stared into the goat’s eyes. Daring it to speak.
“What do you know about all this? Gods, I’m talking to a goat.”
I walked up to Isolde’s door and knocked. A second later, a striking young man answered. He eyed my battered face for a moment, then turned and yelled over his shoulder, “Granny, I think it’s a visitor for you.”
He beckoned me to come in, and offered me a seat at the table. Isolde came out from the back and smiled at me.
“I see you met the potter.”
“Barely, he fled. Any thoughts?”
“Ah, you met Gilendra then.”
“If that’s the woman’s name, then I did. We’re both worse off for the acquaintance.”
“You didn’t kill her I trust.”
It was a statement, as if it was an expectation. I let it slide and decided I needed to change the direction of the conversation.
“Tell me what’s happening around here.”
“Oh, you’ve just touched the beginnings, dear. I’m afraid for my life, being a witch and all.”
“Who’s going to kill you?”
“Darling, if you haven’t figured out the true why, you’ll never understand the who.”
I realized I wasn’t getting any straight answers, and it was getting dark out. Time for some much needed rest, and some food. I bid Isolde a rather grumpy farewell, and asked her to consider helping me further.
The sun was laying low in what was becoming an overcast sky. Windows were just starting to show signs of candles in town, and a chill breeze was coming in. I hunched my shoulders into my traveling cloak and headed down the road.
A figure stepped in front of me from behind a tree. It wore a heavy cloak with the hood pulled up, and a scarf around its face. I knew it was going to be troublesome.
I slowed my pace, and saw another figure step out from behind the church. I stopped and looked around, two more were coming down the path behind me. More were emerging, a total of twelve.
Great.
They all drew knives from under their cloaks, almost in a rhythm that I couldn’t detect. I have fought in more battles than I care to think about, and I no longer carry weapons. I’m still highly proficient with them though. First thing was first, I needed a knife.
Armed, and not being surprised by pottery, I stood a chance. Probably. I had no way of knowing the skill level of my opponents until the battle was joined.
I watched. The one that came from the church had a slight limp. An advantage. I let myself slowly drift in its direction while turning and surveying the group.
“Evening.”
No response at all, a cow cried out somewhere in the distance.
“Let’s not do anything we might regret. I’m sure we can talk out whatever is wrong.”
This time there was a response. A rasp, from no particular direction.
“You brought this on yourself.”
I was finally close enough to the limping form, it favored its right leg. Excellent. I lunged, my own leg sweeping out to make contact with the figure’s left knee. I felt the impact in my shin, and heard a small popping noise followed by an agonized scream. Female. I followed through with an elbow to her jaw and she collapsed in a bundle of pain.
I scooped her knife into my hand and turned to see two attackers charging me. I went for the one on the left, throwing my knife at its face. He or she was not very experienced in combat. The hilt hit it in what would be its forehead, and a muffled male voice went “oof,” as the figure fell forward with his own momentum.
The second figure was distracted by this and halted. I took advantage and kicked it in the groin. He grunted and fell over, clutching his privates. I admit, I was lucky it was a man. I scooped up his knife and swirled to the rest of the attackers.
With three down, they were much more cautious. I stood, alert and waiting. A moment passed. The only sound was the girl with the injured knee crying. The one I had kicked in the crotch was standing back up, I surged and wrapped an arm around his throat, holding my knife’s point to his kidney.
“We can stop this all now, and nobody will be seriously hurt.”
The man I was holding chuckled and leaned himself against the knife. He swung an elbow into my face, clipping me in the jaw. I let go, but too late realized the knife had plunged into his kidney. He grunted and went down, pulling the knife from my hand.
Instantly the crowd surged. I grabbed a wrist and broke it with a twist, taking the knife. As I did so, I felt another blade slash across my ribs, covering my left side in the warmth of my own blood.
I swung and caught the perpetrator in the neck, not an immediately fatal blow, but he’d probably bleed out from it. Another slash went against my right side. More warm blood covering me.
I was getting angry.
One hooded figure lunged in trying to stab my heart, I parried his blow easily, letting him pass me, and sank my knife up to its handle into the back of his neck. He flopped and rolled from his own momentum.
A figure stabbed at me from behind, cutting into my flank, I spun with the blow, but cold steel still inserted itself into my body. The icy sensation mixed with the warm blood and my heated anger. This wasn’t going as well as I hoped.
A kick to the base of my spine sent me to my knees. I hopped up quickly, slashing at a figure. I connected, but not badly enough to do much damage. I saw a blade heading for my face out of the corner of my eye, I leaned back and it barely cut my forehead, right along the hairline. I was probably ripe for scalping with that one.
I took out another robed assailant with a hearty punch to the gut, followed by an upward swing of the knife, thudding into an eye socket. Unfortunately getting stuck there.
I heard a gruff “for William!” as another robe charged in. William. Interesting and unexpected. This new robed helion had a sword. I wanted that sword.
I drove a shoulder into his gut, and he doubled over. The sword clanked behind me. I turned to get it, and a foot hit me in the chin as my hand wrapped around the handle. I flew back and landed hard. The air whooshing out of my lungs. Unable to breath I forced myself into a standing position.
Sword at the ready, the robes faltered a bit. Now I had them, and they knew it. My breath started returning, and I started swinging. Amputated parts fell, as did their previous owners.
I was in my element, when an arrow showed up in my side. I wasn’t sure where it came from, but it hurt pretty bad. My hand went to my side to pull the shaft out.
Then a club hit me in the back of the head, and I wondered where that club came from, as I fell face first into the dirt road. The cold, comfortable dirt road.
I could see a little pool of blood forming at the base of a severed hand, everything around it was a black blur. Like looking through a cleaned piece of bamboo. It was really quite a peaceful experience, this whole death thing. I couldn't believe I had never tried it before.
The odd thing about blood and wounds, people that are inexperienced in combat tend to assume that they are far more fatal than they necessarily are. Sure, a person can bleed out, but that requires time, and the correct wound. Blood doesn’t mean death, but the less battle savvy amongst us are dreadfully unaware of that.
Unfortunately for my peaceful death, the robes were some of those less savvy people.
I had no idea where I was when I awoke. There was a healthy fire burning in a hearth. The warmth was lovely, although the light gave me a headache as if I had over indulged in wine last night. There was a makeshift bed I was laying on. It had a soft and rather enjoyable fur on it, and covering me was another equally luxurious fur.
I was naked, bandaged, and cleaned. This day was getting more interesting by the moment. Although I realized this may well be a different day, I had no concept of time that had passed since the fight. I thought to myself that I needed to acquire a proper sword if I was going to continue this investigation.
I decided to lay still, as I was injured and moving could reopen wounds. I let my head and eyes explore the room. Simple yet well kept furniture included a table with two chairs, and a dresser against the far wall.
No rugs, just a dirt floor. A separate room off to the left with a curtain covering it. There was a basic kitchen set with a counter next to the fireplace. No windows. That’s odd.
I gradually began feeling tired, and I was reassured that my injuries were still fresh, and my body needed time to heal still. I drifted back to sleep.
I awoke to the smell of cooking meat. It was lovely, and I opened my eyes to see a roast hanging over the fire. I pot sat boiling on some embers, and the whole situation made my stomach complain mightily. I had no idea how long it had been since my last meal.
I looked around the room, there were some plates and cups set out on the table, everything else was the same. No one else seemed to be around. I sat up with a painful flinch, and turned toward the curtain that hid the other room. I noticed a faint humming coming from the room. I couldn’t tell if it was male or female, but the song caught me off guard.
There are those of us who still remember the old ways. The days before this new religion came about and corrupted people’s minds. The days when people worshiped the earth and the natural order of it.
This song was an old hymn from perhaps two hundred years ago, it was an honorific to the flowers that grew outside of a great waterfall. The flowers grew nowhere else on the planet that anyone knew of, and the song was sung by the villagers that lived nearby.
My home town.
I decided to sing along to the soft hum, just to see what sort of reaction I would receive from my mysterious benefactor.
Cross the waters flowing free
Carried on by summer’s breeze
Smell of life renewed again
Falling down from the mountain
The humming stopped abruptly. The curtain flew open, and a shockingly young girl stood in the doorway. She may have been fourteen at the most. But her eyes were those of someone who had seen more of humanity than any person should.
She stared at me, cold blue intensity. I smiled sheepishly, “one of my favorite songs.”
“How do you know it?” She asked, her breath almost freezing in the air with how cold she sounded.
“It’s from my hometown. One of the songs from the ancient times. Falldillies are the flowers it’s about.”
“Your hometown?” She whispered, as she drifted into thought.
“Are you-”
She cut me off, how rude, “Please, sit. Dinner is almost ready and you haven’t eaten in at least three days.”
She began bustling around the counter, producing a loaf of bread and retrieving the boiling pot. I decided not to press the issue yet and slowly got to my feet. It hurt. A lot.
I’m pretty sure I’ve been damaged worse, but not by much. Wrapping my modesty in a fur, I staggered my way to the table and sat down. I soon learned the pot had potatoes in it, and the girl mashed them up before serving me some with the beef that had been cooking.
She even had some butter to put on the bread. I was ravenous, but I knew from experience to pace myself. I did so by attempting conversation.
“Where are we?” I tediously asked. You wouldn’t know I was an investigator if I hadn’t told you.
“I’ve moved a lot. Right now I’m from here.”
I gave her a look, “I see. And where is here?”
“Same town I found you in, Breakwater.”
I chewed my meat for a moment, “Is this your house then? You live in Breakwater?”
She smiled in response.
“Forgive me these obvious questions, I was injured as you know.”
“The robes got you pretty good.”
Now that was new information. “The robes?”
“Yeah, they’re followers of some crazy old man. More of the town are robes than you’d imagine. It’s almost a religion at this point.”
“What old man?” I was beginning to have a feeling.
“His name was William. Most of the town called him Old William. Some guy calling himself an investigator got Old William hung, the robes are pretty upset about it. You wouldn’t know anything about that I suppose.”
“My lady, I know a lot about that.”
She smiled again. She certainly looked young, but those eyes. She felt like she could be a hundred fourteen. And she seemed to know things.
“So, am I to take it that Old William’s supporters are the ones trying to kill me?”
“No. They’ve all latched on to some girl now. They follow her without question. Bunch of demon worshiping fools.”
Something clicked. “What’s this girl’s name?”
“Not sure, she uses a lot of aliases. People call her William’s Daughter, but that’s all I know for sure.”
“You’ve been hunting her.” It was a statement, not a question.
She smiled again in response. Then said, “William was a bastard. He killed, he raped, and he stole. But, he was being influenced by a demon. Her.”
“A demon hunter?”
She just looked at me with those knowing eyes.
More pieces clicked. “I know you.”
“You do.”
“You haven’t aged a day. How is that possible? It’s been, what, thirty years?”
She laughed once. “Twenty five, don’t make me older than I am. Ferrum, there’s a lot you don’t know about the world. I am part of that.”
“Your name is Helen. You grew up in the town next to mine, I met you at the falls, you were picking the Falldillies.”
“Partly correct, Ferrum. I lied about my name. I’m an Ancient and magic exists.”
I looked down at my potatoes for a minute. Processing this blunt revelation. I didn’t believe it, however. It wasn’t possible.
Finally, I asked the question I didn’t want to ask, “What is your name then?”
“Most humans know me as Gaia.”
I snorted, “You’re the earth mother? I find that a little hard to believe.”
“I am. Or rather, I was.”
“You’re cryptic. That’s for sure.
Again with that knowing smile. I finished my meal in silence, my mind racing.
“You were the one that started me on my path.”
“I am.”
“You taught me all about the old ways, and I researched them after. You’re the reason I don’t believe in witches, ghosts, or Gods.”
“I am.”
“And the whole time, you were Gaia? That doesn’t make any sense!” I was becoming upset by this revelation.
“You were so young, and so eager. I needed a soul that thought in logic. Someone that wouldn’t simply assume that a god had intervened in an event. Someone that would investigate things with a critical mind. I found that person in you.”
“But, why?” Tears were starting to form in my eyes, this couldn’t be real.
I knew it was.
“Ferrum, people lost the old ways. They started these silly religions with single Gods. They are all false. I needed to have an agent out there that wouldn’t believe the superstitions that his peers would. I needed you, as you are. But I made a mistake. You became far too skeptical, so when presented with an actual demon, you assumed there were other explanations.”
“Lilac. She’s the demon.”
“Oh? So sure? What makes you think so?
“She wouldn’t tell me her father’s name. It’s Old William. She was in charge the whole time, he was just the second in command.”
“Excellent, go on.”
I thought for another moment. “I was so blinded by the impossibility of the supernatural, I assumed he was the end of the issue. He was just the figurehead though. Once he was gone, his followers discovered the real demon.”
She stood up and got us another serving of the delicious meal. I continued to put pieces together.
“The potter, he’s a high ranking cult member, and the woman was trying to protect him. Lilac doesn’t have suitors as I originally thought. She has followers.”
“Sounds about right. There’s still a puzzle piece you haven't touched on though. Who’s the old lady? She smiled again in that wicked, evil, knowing way.
I pondered this for a moment. I had no idea. Nothing about her actually added up. The house, the goat, the grandson, and the meticulous interior. She was an enigma. Unless…
“She’s actually a witch?” I finally asked.
Again that smile. I was beginning to dislike that smile. A new question occurred to me, “Are witches evil?”
“Not all of them. The stories tend to be exaggerated. But now, I have a gift for you. There’s a great battle in your immediate future, and another that I can’t see the details of yet. But that’s in several years, for now, let’s handle what you need to do here and now.”
“I’m not sure I follow,” I said.
In answer, she stood and went into the other room. She returned with a sword and scabbard. It was a beautiful weapon, well worn leather faded in just the right way, muted metal that had been polished and oiled, and a pommel of a black jemstone I couldn’t identify.
“This is a legendary sword. It is named, but I will not tell you the name. It has been held by two others, one my friend, one a man that she became obsessed with. He did great things with this weapon, and was a good man. Now, it is on you to do great things with.”
She placed the sword in front of me on the table. It looked positively ancient. It almost sang of histories long lost to the years. The black jewel sparkled in the light from the fire, adding a red tint to the reflections it cast.
I looked at her for a long moment before I spoke, “Thank you, Lady. But I’m afraid after my last battle, I’m in no shape to do any fighting.”
“That sounds like a job for a witch,” Gaia giggled in response, “Come, I’ll show you the way out.”
My clothing was in the next room, which was nothing but dirt. I dressed, noticing everything had been mended and cleaned. I hurt terribly still, but was starting to feel better in my normal clothes.
Gaia watched. A little unsettling, but I figured she had seen enough in her thousands of years that modesty was going to be redundant. I still was having issues grasping all this new information, but I knew what had to be done at any rate.
Gaia surprised me then, she hugged me. It was tender, loving, and warm. She held on for several moments, and when she pulled away her eyes were moist. She gave me what I can only describe as a more wholesome smile, that made me feel as if my mother were in the room.
“I’m sorry, Ferrum. I sent you on this path, and I wish I could have prepared you more. You are a good man, know that I will be with you in your heart.”
And with that, she pushed me. Hard, it hurt. I slammed against the wall, except the wall gave way, darkness enveloped me as I sank into the dirt. I started to panic, but forced it down, holding my breath instead.
A minute later I found myself in the muddy yard of one Isolde, a witch. The goat was staring at me again, but this time I smiled at it. I knew all about a witch’s familiar, and how intelligent they actually were. The goat simply chewed, and nodded its head once at me.
I limped up to the door, and Isolde opened it after I knocked. She Eyed me up and down, her eyes landing on the sword at my hip. She seemed to recognize it.
“So, now you must know a lot more,” she looked back up into my eyes.
I met her gaze, and nodded as if I were mimicking my new goat friend.
She beckoned me inside, and we sat at the table. I winced as I sat, everything was still a pile of pain. Isolde seemed to know exactly why I was here, she began bustling around in the pantry, coming back with several bottles of varying colors.
Without a word, she began mixing liquids in a small kettle, and placed that kettle on her modest wood stove. She went back into the pantry for a few moments. When she came back out, she had some drugs of different leaves in her hands.
She tore them up, adding them to the mixture in the pot as it began to boil. I simply watched her, fascinated. She stirred the pot, and came and sat at the table with me.
“I imagine the mother already fed you,” she finally said.
“Yes,” was my simple reply.
“You know what I am?”
“Yes.”
She grunted, and got back up to stir the pot again, she spoke over her shoulder, “The man who first visited me didn’t believe in witches. I guess the mother changed your mind. She’s good at that. Now, the question becomes,” she handed me a cup with the liquid she had been brewing in it, “Do you trust a witch?”
I took the cup from her, and tenderly drank the steaming liquid. It tasted vaguely of berries, and possibly mead. I looked her in the eyes as I spoke, “No, but Gaia seems to, and I trust her.”
Isolde’s eyes widened, “You speak the mother’s name? Bold.”
She sat back across from me, and picked up one of her wonderful cakes. She munched in silence as I nursed her brew. The concoction was reasonable tasting enough, if a bit sweet for my pallet.
After several minutes went by in silence, I finally had a question for Isolde, “Do you know where the girl is?”
“I do. She has an underground home beneath her fake father’s house. Old William was a clever man, sick and demented, but sharp. He knew how to hide her true identity.”
I began to feel better, the dull ache of battle dissipating. My body felt invigorated, I was ready for action.
Isolde noticed the change in my posture and said, “The medicine only masks the pain, not heals the injuries. After it wears off, you will still need to heal. If you live that long at least.”
I nodded and drank the remainder. I was feeling wonderful, and was ready to take on the world. I stood, ready to leave when Isolde stopped me. She pointed at the sword and said, “Did the mother explain that?”
I looked down and frowned, “A little, is there something I need to know?”
“That is no ordinary sword. It’s been enchanted by the old ones, and holds immense power. It will not allow you to strike an innocent person. It will also cut through the wicked like a hot poker through wax. I could tell you its name if she didn’t.”
I thought about that, and decided against it. I shook my head, and took my leave of Isolde. I felt amazing, however, I checked my bandages and saw that I indeed was not healed, I just didn’t feel the pain.
It was dusk, and I headed directly for Lilac’s house. She had given me directions to the modest farm after all. That, and I was aware of where Old William’s house was.
I arrived as darkness set in, there was a group of people in the yard, all talking with each other in hushed tones. They all wore robes. I supposed these were the wicked that Isolde had mentioned. I drew my sword, and noticed it had a faint glow to it in the darkness.
I hopped the fence, and strode into their midst.
“Where’s Lilac?” I asked the first robe that saw me. Instead of answering, he gave a quick shout and charged at me. I swung my new sword and he fell in two. Hot poker through wax indeed. I hadn’t even felt resistance.
The rest of the robes turned and daggers started being pulled out. A few swords could be seen. Rematch time. I was angry.
I swung my blade in a quick salute, and waded into the fray. Bodies started piling up quickly. The sword made short work of my adversaries. Limbs came off with no effort. Blood fle about, and the sword seemed to get brighter as I went.
Before I knew it, there were no more robes left. I looked down and saw that there was a dagger sticking out of my leg. I couldn’t feel it at all, but I knew that was going to be painful once this was all over.
I kicked open the door to the modest farmhouse. The potter was sitting at a table with several other men. They all had robes on, but their hoods were down. Evidently they hadn’t heard the commotion outside as they looked genuinely surprised.
They jumped up, and I dispatched them with relative ease.
I searched the house, going from room to room until I found a small door hidden under a rug. The floor had been cut here, and it was obvious this wasn’t a feature of the original design.
I opened the little door, and was greeted with a set of stairs and rock walls. I looked about quickly, and descended into the dark. If it hadn’t been for the glow of my sword, I would have been blind.
The stairs led to a hallway, and I felt as if I was in a castle dungeon rather than a farmhouse’s makeshift basement. I didn't bother lighting the torches, my sword was enough and I was hesitant to make myself more visible.
I came upon a locked wooden door. I tried to push it open with no luck. I took a more, shall we say polite approach, and simply knocked. A muffled, unintelligible voice came from inside, and the door opened.
I kicked it open the rest of the way. Inside was well lit. There was a stone table in the middle of the room. Blood was everywhere. On the table, the walls, the floor, even the ceiling. The smell was enough to make even my war hardened senses gag.
There was a man in front of me that I assumed I would never see again. His eyes blazed when he saw me, and he bellowed, “You!”
Old William was alive, and attacking me in a savage flurry. I would have to figure this mystery out later. I swung my blade at his head, he dogged the blow and punched me. The blow was shocking. I flew against the wall. I didn’t exactly feel the pain, but the breath was knocked out of my lungs by it.
I sat against the wall, gasping for a moment. Old William slowly walked toward me.
“I told you I’d kill you,” he said, spitting at my feet, “My mistress takes good care of her disciples. Though I am surprised you’re even alive. No matter, I get to enjoy ending your existence this way.”
He grabbed my shirt collar and lifted me off my feet, I dangled in his hands. He smiled, crooked teeth rotted in his mouth. He seemed to forget I still had a sword in my hands. A magic sword at that.
I shoved it into his belly.
Old William roared in pain. He threw me aside, and grabbed the sword that hung from his belly. He pulled it out and charged at me. The blow would kill me. I had no protection, no room to maneuver, and no breath to draw.
He swung, and stopped. The blade was a finger’s breadth from my head. William looked puzzled and swung again. The blow stopped before hitting me. Isolde’s words about innocence echoed in my mind. William drew back a third time and swung.
This time however, the sword actively fought against the attack. It burst into blue flames, blinding me as Old William screamed.
I stood up as he collapsed. He dropped the sword, and I picked it up. He was crying on the floor now, holding his hands close to his body. I looked down at him and said, “This blade only slays the wicked.”
I swung and lopped off William’s head. His eyes rolled and blinked several times as his mouth continued to silently scream. Then all was still and silent.
There were no other doors to the room, but there were a few things on the table. Some candles, an old book in a long forgotten language, and a letter with my name on it. There was a wax seal with a skull impressed in it. It smelled faintly of lilac flowers. I opened the letter and read:
My dearest Ferrum,
At this point you must be either dead or have defeated my followers. If you are reading this it must be the latter.
I can’t say I’m surprised by that outcome. There’s something about you that I haven’t been able to identify.
As for myself, I have left. I have no interest in battling you, and my followers here will either continue my work, or fall to you. Either way, I have other places to be.
Perhaps someday we shall meet again, my sister believes so. She’s a constant nuisance to my plans, and I have the sinking feeling she may be who sent you.
There is so much I wish I could explain to you. But, I won’t bother. You are a man who thrives on answers, so keeping them from you is my little piece of vengeance for disrupting my plans here.
Enjoy.
Lilac