novelsnovelsnovels

[novelsnovelsnovels]

Chapter 3

Our hero

tw// mentions of ptsd symptoms

He was pacing again.

Every time Buck caught himself doing it he went and made another batch of herbal brew to soothe his nerves. This was the seventh one tonight, and his stomach and bladder couldn't take it anymore. He could swear his piss came out lavender-scented now. And it did nothing to calm him down. He'd have to ask Sivale for something stronger; this plant mix just wasn't helping anymore. He paused to stare at his hand. It wasn't shaking yet, thank Baar, but his unrest was growing by the hour. The temptation to go look for a bottle of his father's brandy was dangerously persuasive tonight, and only the memories of his previous drunken mishap kept him away.

Mishap. Hah! What a cute word for it.

He was already on the thinnest of ice, and one tiny blunder was all it would take to get him kicked out of Runrick permanently. If he was lucky. He'd get skewered by someone's rusty pitchfork if he wasn't. But he couldn't fault them for hating him. He deserved it, and then some. If it weren't for his mother, he probably would've thrown himself at the townfolk’s mercy, and let them punish him however they saw fit. Heavens knew there were enough mothers and fathers that wanted nothing more than to take out their anger on him. Anger he had caused. And grief. So, so much grief. It might even help him a bit with his own feelings of guilt, but he didn't think he deserved any absolution.

Common sense would dictate that he leave Runrick, preferably in the dead of night, when it was least likely that someone would be waiting for him around a quiet corner with a pocket knife. There was no future for him here. He had no friends anymore. Only a heart-broken mother and a disappointed father. And it killed him to see how the town's reproach was extended to his parents as well.

They had been nothing but supportive neighbors and productive members of this community, kind and welcoming to everyone, yet no one was willing to cut them some slack because they had the misfortune to be saddled with a useless, piece-of-shit son like him. The fact that there was a town gathering taking place right at this moment and they hadn't summoned his father was a loud testament to how ostracized their family had become. It was another blow to his father's weakened heart. He didn't know how many more he could take.

Yes, it would be in everyone’s best interest if he just left. Only…he had nowhere else to go.

Buck stared out of his window. He could see the tower of the prayhouse from here. Was the gathering still going on? It was already dark outside, and that meant the way home was more dangerous now. The thing came mostly at night, after all. Or maybe they thought it was safe now since the beast had just claimed someone and should be satiated (poor Bramby) That was a hunter logic, though. This thing wasn't an animal. A predator, yes, but from Shulffa's accursed lot. It had no distinct pattern of attack, nothing about its behavior was akin to any animal they knew; sometimes it was sighted twice in one day, sometimes it disappeared for weeks on end, then reemerged thirsty for blood at completely random intervals. And not just to eat. It often left entire carcasses behind, which meant it would also kill just for the fun of it.

It had first gone after their livestock, then started killing people, went back to cattle, and then back to humans. Even now, another assumption about the thing got turned on its head. Up until today, everyone thought it only attacked at night, but Bramber's remains were found early this afternoon. He had been seen alive this morning, which meant the creature had paid him a visit in the middle of the freaking day. And that wasn't even the worst of it. He had been ripped to pieces in his own home. So not only was it willing to hunt during daytime now, it also came after you in your own house. Bramber’s home was well away from the outskirts of town.

Maybe that's why the gathering was taking so long. Maybe people simply thought that the holy prayhouse was the only place left in Runrick that could protect them, and they were now stalling so that they could stay in it for as long as possible. If Baar's house of worship was indeed the only thing that kept the creature at bay, then he felt even worse for getting his parents shunned from it.

Deep down, though, he knew it would eventually come after them there, too. As long as the thing was alive, it would keep killing. Hiding wouldn't save them. It needed to be stopped. He believed this wholeheartedly. Even now, after his disaster of an attempt to personally rid Runrick of the monster. He also still believed that bringing together Runrick's strongest men, and going after the creature armed and prepared had been the right course of action; he just had been the wrong person to lead the party. Oh, he had looked the part, alright, and had actual military experience to boot. Sure, Buck came back a bit odd after his time on the front, had a bit of a drinking problem too, but hey, he was still good, ol' reliable Buckcrown. The rowdy but promising youngster turned Runrick's pride and joy when he had been accepted into His Majesty's army. The only man in town ever with that accomplishment.

That had to count for something.

Well, turns out, it didn't.

Buck cursed every story he heard as a child about brave and noble knights, cursed that one book he read over and over as a boy that made him dream of just wars and honorable soldiers, but mostly, he cursed his own stupid and naive younger self. Every one of his childhood friends had been content with becoming hunters and woodcutters and steelworkers. And they had all wanted to stay in Runrick. That hadn't been good enough for Buck. He had wanted more; strongly believed he was meant for more. Everybody told him so, too. So he enrolled in the army the second he found out about the war at Alcsania's border against the barbaric Borsecia nation. He wanted adventures, hoped for riches, but most of all, he desired glory. The prestige that came with a clean uniform and a shiny medal.

He came back with none of that. Instead, what he got was nightmares, an unsound mind, and a number of nervous habits that had mothers warn their children to stay away from him. The incessant pacing was only one of them.

Now that he reminded himself of it, the need to start pacing again returned. He kept still, but now his right leg started twitching. He let it. He kept staring at the tower.

There was probably nobody they wanted to see less than him right now. His campaign had been a tragedy. He had led their sons and brothers and husbands right into the creature's waiting maw. Those who hadn't perished right then and there, had come back either mauled or marked. Only him and Bramber had escaped without a scratch; Bramber, because he ran at the first sight of it, and him because he froze up. The creature ignored him in favor of screaming, squirming prey. Apparently, even monsters thought he was too pathetic to be worth their time.

Why in the world did he think he could pull off the brave leader bit?!

No, he knew why. Buck had wanted to relive the time when he had everyone's admiration and trust. A time when he stood in front of his friends boisterously, proclaimed bold dreams, and was cheered for it. He so, so desperately wanted to prove to them, to his parents, and to himself, that he was more than the sad, quiet man that drank himself under the table and then picked fights with garden fences. That the war hadn't broken him completely.

Reality had punished him for his selfish, childish aspirations once already. And he hadn't learned.

Now, the sound of firing canons in his nightmares were accompanied by the screams of his friends and the slash of overgrown claws ripping through flesh.

His breathing and heart rate was picking up. At this rate he'd lose another night of sleep. He needed to do something. He still kept staring at the tower.

They probably wouldn't even allow me in, much less listen to me.

For a while now, a semblance of a plan had been stewing in the back of his head. He had tried to snuff out the initial sparks of the idea, simply because he had failed so spectacularly with his first one. He had no right to go and form another one. Still, he had needed something productive to occupy his long, sleepless nights and so he let his mind wander. Or wander wasn't really the right word. His thoughts kept circling the same thing over and over. Fire. They had tried shooting it, stabbing it, poisoning it. Nothing worked. But they hadn't tried burning it yet. Witches and the bastards of Shulffa were tied and burned at the stake, after all. Fire had to be the answer. But how to capture the thing and keep it still long enough to light it ablaze? Well, this is where his idea turned grim. Someone needed to lure the monster inside a small structure - a shed maybe - somewhere it couldn't get out off easily, and that someone would then set the whole thing on fire with it, and himself, still in it.

That someone, of course, was supposed to be him.

As sad as it was, it made the most sense. For everyone. They'd get rid of not only the monster, but the town's useless drunkard as well. The self-sacrifice might help clear his name, his parents might be forgiven, and the aggrieved families would get their vengeance. Win-win for all.

If he presented it like that, they might listen to him.

…........

Alright, he'd give it try. What's the worst they could do to him for suggesting it?

His parents were down-stairs; they never went to sleep until they knew he was laying still in his bed. They must have heard him pacing and were now sitting at the table concerned that their son was going to have another bad night. If they saw him head out at this hour they'd just worry even more. He'd climb out of the window and return before they'd notice he was gone. He was tired of causing them heartache. This idea of his....it would hurt them too, but at least they'd have some peace afterward. He grabbed his tattered jacket and quietly opened the window.

He hadn't done this since he was a child.

Back then, he and the others would meet after night fall and have the best of times while everyone else was asleep. They'd play games; hide-and-seek was far more challenging in the dark. Or they'd go spy on the inn, the only place in town open at night, and try to listen in on what the adults spoke among themselves. Whoever brought back the most interesting gossip was the winner, whoever got caught would lose.

They'd even venture out into the woods, as a test of courage. He'd always win that one, going further and staying longer than anyone else. That game had been his idea, of course. Great Mother's mercy, had he been a stupid kid. He had been dragging his friends into danger since childhood, it seems. There weren't any monsters back then, but wolves and bears were regular visitors. The grown-ups always warned them to never go into the woods alone, but they wanted to prove they were as brave as their elders. One hungry, wayward wolf was all it took to finish a child, and it had simply been pure luck that nothing happened to anybody back then. Stupid, stupid kid. And he had stayed stupid. No one had died then, but Buck had to go and rectify that. Galb, Bolovan, Rokhau, Marou; they all had been his friends, and all were now dead. Egbrim's arm got ripped off; Mullber was still ailing in bed from his wounds; Nad lost his mind to madness after staring into the creature’s eyes for too long. The others escaped mostly intact, but with scars that would never fully heal. They were probably at the prayhouse now too. Meeting their eyes was going to be hardest part. If they could bear to hear him out just one more time, he'd promise to pay his dues to them. He took one deep breath, and stepped out.

________________________________________________________________________________

The air was brisk, the cold cutting into his flesh mercilessly. His jacket was barely of any help, but it had been difficult enough to climb down the vine even without a thick winter coat weighing him down. He walked fast with large steps, but didn't run. It was easier to pay attention to surrounding sounds this way, in case something was creeping around in the shadows. Buck had gotten used to having street lights while down in the south-western provinces. He didn't feel as comfortable as he used to be, walking around in complete darkness, monsters or not. And he wasn't the only one. He could catch the occasional flicker of the candle light inside the houses. Most buildings around here didn't even have a fireplace, and any form of electricity was completely out of the question. Before, when it got dark, people just went to bed. Now, there was at least one candle burning in each household every night, and at least one person staying up to watch over it. At least the local tallow business was getting a profit from this.

There, just one more turn around the corner. He contemplated going in through the backdoor to observe the group and the discussion secretly from the side before making his presence known. Feel the room so to speak, and assess whether or not it was safe for him to approach them. One the other hand, if he went in that way he'd might just chicken out and leave. By using the main entrance, he had no choice but to stay and face everyone.

One pause to collect himself, one more deep breath, and he swiftly turned the corner -

And stopped dead in his tracks. Blinked. Froze.

There was something moving in front of the prayhouse's entrance. It was as black as the darkness surrounding it and the only reason he was able to notice it was because of its erratic back and forth movement.

It was the creature. What else could it be?

He was right, the prayhouse wasn't any safer. The large number of people was what must have attracted it all the way over here. It found its way right to the center of town, and was about to burst in and slaughter everyone. He couldn't let that happen. He had to rush it. No, it would just kill him instantly, and that would ultimately help no one. He had to yell, as loudly as he could. Get its attention, while warning the others at the same time. Maybe enough would manage to escape by the time it was done with him. It wouldn't save all, he realized this. Some would die, but if he could help save just a few, it would be worth it.

Except he couldn't get his throat to make a sound. He couldn't even get himself to start breathing. He wanted to make noise, any noise, but his body wouldn't cooperate. Buck could feel his lips moving, trying to form words, but there was no strength in his chest to push out any sound. He couldn't even whimper.

Again. He was going to stand by and watch people die, again.

Please, please, please no.

And then it stepped forward. The prayhouse was one of the only well lit structures in town, with a large chandelier and several other candelabras illuminating the interior. Some of that light was spilling out into the street from the round glass window hanging above the double doors. As it approached the steps leading up to those doors and stood in the sallow light, Buck could finally make out its actual shape and size.

It...was a man.

He was dressed head to toe in black. Who even had threads this dark? Clothes around here tended to be either white-gray, a variation of the color brown, and the occasional dirty green. No one wore black here, not even at funerals. The beast was pitch black. The beast was the blackest thing he had ever seen; a huge, misshapen splotch of living ink with long spider-like limbs. Whenever he thought of it, the first thing that came to mind was that deep, eerie obsidian. No wonder he had thought first of the monster.

Who was that man? He wasn't from Runrick, that was for certain. He doubted anyone from Pelase would come here anymore. A traveler?

Who in the holy fuck would willingly come to Runrick? Around this time, no less.

He suddenly felt very angry at the newcomer for having scared him like that. It was silly and irrational, but with the way his insides were still quivering from the shock, he thought a little bit of unjust irritation was excusable. He was about to open his mouth and call out to the man when the man suddenly turned around and went the other way. Two, three, four large steps, and then stopped. Turned around and walked up towards the doors of the prayhouse again. This time, he reached for the handles. Stopped. And turned around again. This was what he'd been doing before too, when Buck couldn't see him clearly. Pacing nervously.

Now Buck wanted to laugh. He didn't know if it was because post-shock hysterics were setting in, or because he found this image of the jittery mystery man hilarious, but he felt like he was going to start guffawing any second now. Then the man did something even stranger. He pulled off his hood, and ran his hand a couple of times through his locks. The movement was brisk, but vigorous, and not entirely a nervous gesture. Something gave Buck the impression that the man was now feverishly wishing he had a mirror.

He still couldn't see him very well, but the sight of that rich head of dark hair seemed familiar. He was still certain the man wasn't from Runrick, but he had met him somewhere before. The military? Was he here for him? He would've started worrying if not for the fact that he couldn't quite convince himself that that's where he knew him from.

The man arranged and rearranged his locks, then pulled up his hood, pulled it off again, picked at his tresses again, and pulled up the hood, this time for good, apparently. He then started to brush and smooth his clothes with his hands. As he bent down, he seemed to just notice how muddied his boots and lower side of his pants were, and cursed. He couldn't hear him that well either, but “Shit, should've at least changed these fucking pants!” sounded like a plausible conjecture. He saw him raise his shoulders and then lower them with an audible exhale. He was bracing himself for something.

Who was inside the prayhouse that made him so anxious? The man looked at the house resolutely, and almost rushed at it. With one motion he pulled open both large wooden doors, and stepped inside – a little too dramatically, if Buck were to be honest.

He had been so absorbed in his observations of the newcomer that it took him disappearing from view to snap Buck out of it and into action. Guess he was still a little woozy from that scare earlier. Either that or the lavender was finally kicking in. He looked at the slightly ajar double doors the man just walked through. He couldn't enter that way now, so he ran back around the corner and prayed Suisel had left the backdoor unlocked. He wanted to see what this was all about first before he let anyone know he was there.

The backdoor led to a small antechamber located at the far side of the left wall, right next to the main shrine. He could see the entire room and entrance from there, while still remaining relatively hidden from the congregation. He didn't need to bother with being discreet though, since everyone's back was turned to him. They were all now facing the newcomer that had interrupted their exclusive gathering. Something had just been said before he came in. Buck only caught the fading echoes of someone's voice resounding in the room. He was pretty sure it belonged to the stranger. What had he said?

The room wasn't as full as he had expected, but it was still quite the turn out. Seemed like not everyone was willing to brave the darkness after all. Their small prayhouse wouldn't have been able to fit in even a fifth of their town anyway; but Buck knew that should disaster strike them, and this building was the only safe place left, it would the people present here now that would be given sanctuary before anyone else. Especially those seated on the newly added benches in front, right next to the shrine. These people were Runrick's gentry. Chief Slatrim, the priest and his wife, Olvic with auntie Eshe, Ogette and Olle, ol' man Ceric, Gulver and his whole family, Piencer and his whole family, Furcut , Utmar – anyone who was either of higher rank or a rich merchant, or a boot-licker to one of them. The rest had to stand.

Chief Slatrim was the first to speak. “Who are you?” He slowly got up from his seat, a chair placed right in the middle of the dais, right before Baar's shrine, so he could overlook the gathering. Next to him, Priest Santr chimed in. “How dare you say that name in Baar's house,” he croaked, but remained cautiously seated.

Buck heard the stranger huff in amusement. “Funny, you didn't seem to have a problem with saying that name over and over again last time I was here.”

Last time. So, Buck had been right, he had met him before. He must have visited Runrick in the past, before Buck left for the military. That voice didn't sound at all familiar, though. If he could only see the man’s face, but it was still mostly obscured by the shadows of his cowl. He was also too far away from where Buck was hidden.

He was just standing there, a dark frame hovering in front of the entrance, and seemingly uninclined to come any closer than that. There was something ominous about his presence in here, a stark contrast to the almost comical little routine Buck had witnessed out-front. The others grew more agitated too. He saw Suisel sneak up to the priest and whisper something to him. The priest then nodded, and Suisel disappeared behind the shrine. He came back out holding a shot gun and went to stand behind Santr and his wife. Chief Slatrim had his helpers with him too. Shumper and Slaop left the wall they had been leaning against to take up their positions as the magistrate's sentinels. They were large, bulky men, practically raised by Slatrim to be his personal labor dogs. “Don't make me ask again,” roared the magistrate. “Who are you and what do you want?”

“You should know, you sent for me.”

There was moment of silence as everyone looked at the magistrate, but Chief Slatrim just stared back in confusion and replied in a low, angry voice “I didn' send for no one.”

“Is that so,” the man replied with fake surprise. “Oh dear, then that letter must have been about a different town named Runrick that is being plagued by a strange, dark-furred beast. Guess you folks don't need any help, then. My mistake. I'll take my leave.”

The entire room reacted at that. Chief Slatrim squelched the racket. “We do have...a problem,” the magistrate continued hesitantly,” but I don't remember sendin' anybody any letter.” He turned to look at Priest Santr questioningly. The priest shook his head, a little too urgently, “It wasn't me. I promised, didn't I.”

“It was me.”

Every head turned to look at Olvic. The merchant stood up, his face set in grim determination, but there was a little bit of guilt marring it. “I had to. There was no reasonin’ with ya no more.”

The room was quiet again, save for the sound of someone taking in a deep breath, and then releasing it slowly and unsteadily. The magistrate was furious, and fighting back his natural urge to start yelling. Slatrim was facing away from Buck, but he could already imagine the man's jaw quivering, teeth clenched and face flushed; those beady eyes peering sharply at Olvic. Slatrim had always had a bad temper, but it had gotten so much worse with age. He didn't take too well to being disobeyed, but Olvic wasn't someone he could push around easily. The head-merchant stood his ground. “We’re bein’ killed here, Slatrim. How many more 'til ya see we can't take care of this on our own?”

“If ya don't like how I run things, leave! Take ya own damn family and go!”

“I tried!” Olvic looked away in shame. “But Pelase won't take us. Said they don't want any of us comin' there. They're afraid we will bring misfortune, as well as that thing, with us.”

The room started buzzing with hushed discussions, people clearly concerned about what the merchant had just told them. It would seem quite a few of them had considered leaving the town themselves, and the news that it was no longer an option alarmed them.

“It gets worse,” Olvic continued,” they're thinking of blocking the road, so that none of us can leave. To keep the curse contained, they said.”

The buzz grew into an agitated commotion, people now outright frightened and despairing. It was one thing to not be welcomed anywhere else, quite another to be practically trapped in with the beast. Runrick only had one road that connected them to the outside world, and that led to Pelase. If they lost that, the only other way to leave would be through the forest, on foot, and that was practically suicide now.

Some yelled their outrage, others cried and moaned, but among the uproar Buck picked up one particular sound that took him completely aback. It wasn't loud, shouldn’t have been distinguishable in all that noise, but it was the dissonance that made it stand out so garishly. Everyone else started hearing it too, and slowly quieted down to look at the newcomer incredulously. The man was chuckling. When he noticed everyone staring at him, instead of stopping, he doubled down and started laughing. Soon, all that could be heard was the stranger's chilling laughter reverberate in the room. The magistrate's ire cut in. “This funny t'ya, boy?”

The man finally quelled his fit, but he kept his smile on. No, not a smile; that was a smirk. Even with him so far away, even without seeing that specific malicious glint in the eyes, Buck knew that there was disdain behind that upturn of the man's lips. It was wide enough to show a row of pearly white teeth, and there was something about that display that made Buck's blood run cold. He knew now, without a shadow of a doubt, that this man was trouble.

“Yes,” he replied earnestly. “Very. And I think neither you, or anyone else here, would hold it against me if they knew why?”

“Well, then why don't ya share it with the rest of us,” hissed the magistrate.

“Alright,” chirped the stranger.

He then started moving forward, walking casually towards them. People bustled to get out of his way, all eyes on him. He walked down the center of the nave with long, purposeful strides, right up to the magistrate. The shorter man tensed, Shumper and Sloap also ready to jump in to help their boss. The man didn't stop, didn't even slow down, as he went right passed the magistrate. The old man had wavered and stepped aside when it became clear it wasn't him the stranger had been walking towards. He casually passed between Shumper and Sloap, both towering over the hooded man, completely unfazed by their attempt to intimidate him with their fierce glower. He walked down the aisle and climbed up on the dais, looked at the chair Chief Slatrim had been sitting on, turned around, and plopped down on it. The uproar was back. The priest and his wife, who had been sitting next to the magistrate, now jumped out of their seats too. “This is insolence,” cried the priest, but made sure to get off the dais before he did so. Instead of responding, the man grabbed the now empty chair the priest had been sitting on and used it as a leg rest. Without so much as uttering a single word, the stranger had managed to insult both the magistrate and the priest more than they had ever been in their life. Not even his old teacher had ever gone so far. Buck wasn't particularly fond of either the magistrate or the priest, both having expressed their displeasure and disappointment in Buck harshly and condemning him to isolation without any remorse, but they were still his elders, and the leaders of his town. They still deserved some respect. Who is this cheeky little shit? He was close to Buck now, but the proximity didn't help any. His profile was covered by his hood, only a straight, sharp nose and a hint of lips peeking from behind it.

Chief Slatrim was still as a statue, only the muscles in his jaw twitching. He might have been a short-tempered, bitter old man, but he was shrewd enough to recognize a power play when he saw one. “Well?” he demanded. The man didn't reply immediately. Instead, he just kept staring at them. A slight rotation of the hood indicated that he was surveying the gathering, as if to take note of who was there. Buck made sure he was well hidden behind the corner of the room.

“Most of you were there that day, so you all should understand why I'm so pleased by all of this.”

The magistrate lost his patience “WELL?” he roared again. “Will ya just fucking explain yourself already?”

“Better than that,” the man chirped, “I'll show you.”

And the man pulled of his hood.

It didn't hit immediately. The anticipated reveal turned out to be underwhelming when the man's face didn't instantly tell Buck anything about his identity. But as he kept looking, it slowly came to him, bit by bit, separate pieces that he realized fit together. The more the puzzle filled out, the more familiar the image became.

The thick, black locks he had recognized outside suddenly appeared in a long-forgotten memory; a pale-faced boy sitting alone underneath a tree. The boy had deep dark eyes that always held a bit of resentment when looking at you, just like the man before him did now. The shape of the nose, the cut of his cheekbones, and everything else about his face matched a little with what he remembered. Some things were definitely different about him. He still had that same sickly complexion, but the dark circles under those eyes had disappeared, and his cheeks weren't sunken in anymore. He had filled out, you could tell. He was also radiating confidence now, to an obnoxious degree to be honest, whereas before he had been rather gloomy and skittish.

However, Buck's most glaring memory of him was that of his yellow-tinged pupils looking helplessly back at him, mouth too filled up with sharp teeth to speak properly. That memory was then followed by another one, just as vivid; the boy, bruised and beaten, was furiously yelling at them, the raw hatred in his voice and Ogette's frightened sobs spurring Buck into action. The last thing he did to Luric, before he left town to be raised and trained by one of the most prominent and powerful families in the country, was hurl a rock at his head.

“Shit.”

It was only when he saw Luric blink in surprise and begin to slowly turn his head in his direction that Buck realized he had said that out loud. And Luric had heard. He immediately pulled his head back behind the corner, twisting so that his entire backside was now plastered against the wall between them. Buck needed the support; his legs were shaking. He was breathing hard, his heartbeat loud in his ears. Had he been fast enough? Had Luric seen him? He tried to listen if footsteps were coming his way, but there was nothing. He didn't dare peek around the corner anymore, so he kept his ears open.

Meanwhile, recollection started to dawn on the rest of the townsfolk as well. Buck could tell by the higher pitch and urgency in their voices, and the tumult kept escalating as doubt and confusion dissipated, and realization struck; the past had come back to bite them in the ass at the worst possible time.

“It can't be him.”

“No! No, no!”

“Are ya kiddin' me?!”

“There is no way, it's not him.”

“I told ya all. I told ya he'd come back someday. I said it!”

They were getting hysterical, just moments away from running out the door. Luric was here for vengeance, they were certain of that. So was Buck. He felt like at any moment he'd change into that horrible creature and maul everyone in the room. Buck's fears would come true in the most unexpected way. Same scenario, different monster.

“QUIET,” Chief Slatrim's voice thundered, and everyone got shocked into silence. Buck leaned his head forward only slightly, just enough for the chief to appear into his line of sight, but not enough to be visible from Luric's position. At least, that’s what he hoped. The magistrate had a steely glare fixed forward, almost as if he was trying to stare Luric down. Buck heard the preacher shriek at the merchant. “Who in Baar's beard did you write to?”

“To...the Institute of Occult Science or somethin'.”

“You what?”

“I have friends in Pelase. Or I used to. Before things got too bad, I sat down with Kishker. He has a cousin' down in Ratimu, and he said that they had their own troubles with a damned creature too. They sent for someone from the Institute. They came and got rid of it. That's what they do, they send people to kill these things.”

“Ya sure 'bout that?”, the magistrate rumbled. “As I recall, they said somethin' 'bout rounding 'em up to use the damned things.”

Shut up, you stupid, pig-headed old man, Buck thought anxiously. The magistrate was set to prove that Luric didn't scare him, but the barb could cost everyone their lives. The preacher and Olvic thought so too, and hurried to move past that loaded little moment. “D-Does it matter,” stuttered the merchant,

“if they took it with'em instead? Ratimu got rid of it all the same.”

“Does this look like we're in good hands to you?”

“Well, I didn't know they'd send him, now did I?”

Great! The last thing they needed now was for the priest and the merchant to go off at each other like they always did at the alehouse. But Luric's voice cut all of that short.

“I could leave if you want.”

What?

“What?”

“You're not obligated to accept our help. You are the town officials, after all. Just say the word, and I'm gone.”

This time Buck did look all the way around at Luric. This was a taunt, it had to be. The chief thought so too. “Really, now? Ya' not here t' finish what ya started? Or watch us get eaten by one o' yours? How are we t’know this isn’t all yer doin’.”

If you suspect that, don’t say it to his fucking face! Buck wanted to punch the magistrate right in his stupid, wrinkled mug. This stubborn old man will be the end of them.

“I mean it,” Luric continued as if the magistrate’s accusation wasn’t worth wasting a single thought on. “I'll go, if that's what you want.” Another commotion, another wave of doubt and hope. Buck saw Slatrim narrow his eyes in suspicion, but opened his mouth to speak. Luric cut in before he had a chance to say anything.

“However,” he started loudly, “don't expect anyone else to come in my place. The only reason they even sent someone all the way in the middle of no-one-gives-a-fuck was because of me. Because I volunteered. No one else was interested in coming to this pigpen of a town. Your case wasn't exactly high on our list of priorities.” He leaned forward and leered at them, smirk wide again. “Now, I'm telling you to consider this carefully: You have a monster creeping around and picking you off one by one. You can't get get rid of it on your own, and you can't escape it either, now that Pelase cut you off. Winter is fast approaching too, and once you're snowed in, it's over. I assume you're not doing too well with provisions either, what with that thing killing your animals, and trade with the outside stopping completely.” He leaned back in his chair. “So, I'm asking you just once. Do you really want me to go?”

Buck was stumped. Everything Luric had just said was right. They were trapped, in more ways than one. And with a great number of Runrick's young men either dead or wounded thanks to Buck, their greatly diminished man power left them weakened not only in the face of this threat, but in the face of the merciless winter as well. What choice did they have?

Buck had come here with the intention of offering his sacrifice in exchange for their safety and forgiveness, but he doubted he'd receive more trust and jubilation than Luric. But...were Luric's motives as honest as he proclaimed? Was it wise to accept the help of someone who had once wished death upon them? He thought again of the young boy screaming at them, eyes mad and fangs bared.

“Do you speak the truth? Are you really here to save us?”

Luric looked at the priest. “I'm here to kill the monster. That’s all.”

“What can you do alone, that a dozen of our strong, young men couldn't,” yelled a brave voice from a safe distance.

Luric started laughing. “Well, I could give you all a demonstration of what it is exactly that makes me special and best suited for this job, but…I think you all already know.”

Everyone fell silent at that. Priest Santr kept glancing over at Slatrim, as if expecting him to say something. The old man was oddly silent, eyes still locked on Luric. Luric then sighed and reached inside his coat. He brought out a small hand book and tossed it at the priest's feet.

Santr hesitated but bent over to pick it up. Buck noted how he tried to touch it with only the tips of his fingers. He opened it, and his eyes grew large. He leafed through it, disgust more evident with every turn of the page. “What are these vile drawings supposed to be?”

“Those are renditions of the monsters I personally fought and killed,” Luric explained casually. “Consider that my letter of recommendation.”

Slatrim turned to look at the book then, and several other people behind them slithered closer to peek at it. Various exclamations of amazement and horror could be heard. Buck really wished he could get a look at it himself. “These things,” the priest started, “do they really roam our earth so freely?”

“Those don't anymore, but many more like them, or worse, do.”

“Great Mother of Baar!”

People whispered some more. There was a shift in the tone, Buck noted. Less trepidation, more debate. People were starting to consider.

“You'll note that most of those pages are empty. It gets filled with every monster I bring down. It depends on you whether or not the next page will have a drawing of your creature or not.”

The debate grew more heated.

Buck dared another look at Luric. There was a pensive expression on his face as he watched the townsfolk talk amongst themselves. No, not pensive; it was cold and calculating.

“Do you finally understand what it was that the Duchess meant then? Why she traveled the country to find people like me?” All attention was on him again. “What you didn't understand back then is that there is a difference between a real monster and a man that change into one at will. Unlike you, she still regarded me as human...just with extra abilities that could be harnessed for the benefit of fine people such as yourself. You all know the saying 'fight fire with fire', don't you? Well, that's what this is. What you saw as a curse, she saw as an enhancement. A fire in us that could be used against creatures like the one you have now.” A pause as Luric leaned forward again, elbows on his knees. He peered into the crowd, an almost gentle smile om his lips. “I wonder, if you hadn't made me leave,” another pause,” if I had still been around when the creature first appeared, maybe, just maybe, I could've stopped it. Maybe nobody had to die.”

The crowd erupted. Luric's words had struck their target dead-center. It was especially effective because the gathering was full of people who had lost someone to the monster, and their pain fueled the contention that was blooming in their mind. For the first time since Buck could remember, people were questioning the magistrate’s choices.

“YOU DID THIS!” Slatrim's ear-piercing roar echoed for what seemed like an eternity, promptly silencing the talk and the direction it was heading in. This had always been his method of garnering attention and securing orderliness; coerce everyone into submission with the force of his vehemency. The man was so convinced of his and everyone else's place in this community, and he bludgeoned that conviction into everyone else's head too. People questioning his decision was unfathomable, which is probably why Buck thought there was a hint of alarm in his eyes. “Ya brought this upon us! Back then, when ya cursed us. This is ya doin'! Ya just here t'see it through!”

“Didn't you listen back then, old man!? That's not how it works. I can't-”

“ I don't give am damn what that lyin' bitch told ya!”

Oh, no. Oh shit!

The magistrate was trying to bring back everyone on his side and did so with all the subtlety and finesse of a sledgehammer. Slatrim saw that he was losing ground, and the man was nothing if not territorial.

Buck held his breath and waited for hell to break loose at Luric’s hands.

“I see,” Luric said with eerie calmness. “Well, guess that settles it then. Sorry to have wasted your time.”

“Wait!” That was Olvic. “Don't go. It is as you said. Ya leave, it's over for us.”

“Olvic!” yelled the magistrate.

“No, Slatrim. This time YOU listen! I will not let my family die because of yer pride and stubbornness.” He then turned to the rest. “What choice do we have? We can't save ourselves, that has been made clear. Don't y'all want this to be over? To stop fearing for ya life and that of ya loved ones?” Another buzz, and then-

“Baar's beard, I do.”

“Olvic's right, this has got to stop!”

“I want it gone!”

“Kill that wretched thing! Kill it!”

“We want vengeance for our son!”

“I want t'see its fuckin' head on a spike!”

And just like that, the current turned around completely in Luric’s favor. Where before there had been only apprehension and distrust, now there was anger-fueled exaltation, and it was only growing in intensity with each interjection. Buck understood it where it was coming from. They had all been living in a permanent state of fear and despair, and this was the first whiff of true hope they had gotten in weeks. It was what had helped Buck gain support for his attempt too. They needed release for all that built-up tension, and Luric had come in and opened the flood gates. Buck could practically taste their gratitude.

There was enough common sense left in Slatrim to understand that even his iron grip couldn't hold this back, so he endured it, mutely and stone-faced. The priest, on the other hand, tried to shrink and disappear.

Buck looked back at Luric again. His gaze was directed downwards, eyes hidden behind his bangs. He was smiling again. Luric had smiled a lot since he came here. And not once had it looked kind or genuine to Buck. All of his smiles had been disquieting, but this one in particular worried him. Just as he was trying to figure out what it could mean, Olvic's shout drew his attention.

“Apologize, Slatrim! Tell 'im to stay and help us!”

Oh,dear!

Obviously encouraged by the support, Olvic rounded on Slatrim. There was another power play becoming evident now, Buck realized.

Then Luric's voice cut in again. “I think we're well past apologies, wouldn't you say?”

The room calmed. Luric suddenly got up, all hints of a smile gone. He stood tall and imposing, the platform he was on only adding to this air of dominance. He raised his chin slightly, and though his eyes were looking down on Slatrim and Santr, Buck knew he was addressing everyone there. “I want you to beg for my help.”

The chill in his voice sent a shiver down Buck's spine.

“B-Beg, my lord?”

“'My lord'? Wow,” Luric chuckled. “Quite a step up from 'bastard of Shulffa'. And let's not forget 'spawn of a whore', 'wretch', 'mongrel', 'sheep shit'. Some of those I think were even before we found out about my condition. Those really hurt, I tell you. But you know what hurt even more? Getting kicked and punched in the head and stomach repeatedly. Any of you remember that?”

The room was deathly still. Buck was afraid to even breath.

“I remember everything clearly. I begged. I begged you to stop, I begged you for help, I begged you for forgiveness, even though I had done nothing that warranted your forgiveness. None of you cared. You kept hitting and spitting on me. Do you remember? It happened right here.”

People were whispering again. The apprehension was back.

“So yeah, I really am fucking pleased about this. I think you're getting just what you deserved. For what you did to me and to Mr. Carshtin. And for your sake-” he eyed Slatrim and Santr, who were frozen in place “- I'd try not to spout that bullshit again about me being the one that attacked and killed him. Not in my presence. I was there, I saw who did it. I don’t know if you’ll ever admit to giving the order, but there’s never been any doubt in my mind that you were behind it.” Slatrim had the good sense to keep his mouth shut this time.

“So, you really are here for vengeance, then.”

As soon as the questions left his mouth, Buck started praying that he had yelled it loud enough for it to bounce of the walls and make it harder to discern where the voice had come from. Luric seemed caught enough in his own descant to not care about who had just spoken. He just raised his glare towards the cluster of confused faces.

“Don't worry,” Luric answered to no one in particular, “ I will only do what I was sent here to do. I will not raise my hand to hurt any of you. You're not worth the effort. Not to mention that I don't want to touch any of you. I will kill the monster and do nothing else. But as I said, only if you beg.”

There was no mistaking the malice in his voice. Buck had been right to suspect that he was here for far more than what he claimed. This was all about getting back at them. But that knowledge didn't change their circumstances in the end. Luric really was their best bet at getting rid of it, assuming of course his oath of not raising his hand against them was true. If not, Runrick's bloody plight had just gotten bloodier.

The townsfolk were restless, some already pushing for Slatrim to start begging, others still reluctant. There was no clear cohesion among the masses anymore.

Even with Luric's contempt laid so plainly before them, some were still willing to take their chances with him. Luric had dangled hope in front of their faces, and they had all taken the bait. Now they were hooked on his promise of salvation.

“I'm not beggin' for nothin'! Y'all wanna sell ya' soul to Shulffa's bastard, go ahead!” Slatrim’s stance was firm, but Buck couldn't help but notice that the fire had gone out of his voice somewhat.

“Pigheaded fool! Do our lives mean nothing t’ya?” Olivic pushed himself forward through the crowd and threw himself at Luric’s feet. “Please! I beg ya, my lord, help us! Take yer anger out on me if you wish, but help us!” It was quite the show, and the audience was clearly moved. After all, nothing garnered admiration and devotion more than the willingness to sacrifice yourself for others. Luric’s cocked one eyebrow at Olvic’s gesture, one corner of his lips slightly upturned. He seemed a little impressed, but a whole lot more amused. He saw right through it. Buck was just close enough to see him mutter something under his breath. He was pretty sure it was something along the lines of, “Sly bastard.” For whatever reason, he went along with Olivic's game.

“I suppose that will have to do for now,” he said, while staring at Olvic’s bowed head. “Tomorrow, I will set out to find the thing.” He was speaking to Slatrim again. “I want you to prepare all documentation regarding the monster, so I can have a better understanding of what I am dealing with here. Expect me and my colleague around noon.” With that, he stepped down from the podium and strode towards the exit. This time even Shumper and Slaop jumped out of the way. As he passed Slatrim, Luric paused, as if he just remembered something else he wanted to say to the magistrate. “Oh, and by the way” he leaned in, voice low yet still audible in the silent room. “I know I said I wouldn’t hurt anyone, but if you ever say anything disrespectful about Lady Archvel again, I will kill you.” And without waiting for a reply, he continued towards the door. Before he walked out, he looked over at Utmar. “I’m staying at your inn, just so you know.” A screech, a loud clang, and he was gone.

Everyone stood in shocked silence.

They all had trouble wrapping their head around what had just happened. Buck too was absolutely stunned. Talk about an unexpected turn of events. So much for his attempt at redemption; how could he even compete with Luric waltzing in and stealing the show like that? If Luric really was as strong and capable as he claimed, then there was absolutely nothing left for Buck to do.

But….

Again, the image of that furious little boy flashed before his eyes, and the feeling in his gut tightened. Was it wise to leave their lives in the hands of someone who despised them so profoundly? Luric still held a burning grudge towards them, that much was clear. As long as he delivered on his promise and nothing else, then it didn’t matter, but it was hard to imagine that he’d be satisfied with simply verbally browbeating his past abusers while he was here.

Something about this just isn’t right.

When he heard the others move, Buck quietly slipped away through the back door. He needed to get home before his parents noticed his absence.

No, it was better to tell them where he’d been, and who he had seen. This way it will be easier to convince them to stay inside the house the next few days. He turned to look towards the square, in the direction he assumed Luric would be walking to get to Utmar’s inn. He swore he could still make out the blackness of his cape in the dark, right before he merged with it.

[novelsnovelsnovels]

Chapter 2

Boyhood Curse

A loud thump startled him awake.

Luric’s body reacted instinctively to the sound, curling up into a ball with both arms raised to shield his head from more blows. It took him a moment to realize he was still alone. No one had come to get him yet. A shaky sigh escaped his chapped lips, partly because of relief, partly because of anguish. He had barely woken up and already he was on the brink of tears again. But he was hurting all over, he was cold, he was hungry, and so, so scared.

They can’t do this, he thought pathetically.

There was some commotion coming from upstairs, people talking animatedly, but he couldn’t make out what they were saying. Though that might’ve been for the best. He didn’t want to hear what they planned on doing to him.

Luric sat up slowly, mindful of his broken ribs, and started to look around the room again. He had done so ever since they had locked him up down here, inspecting every nook and cranny of the cellar, turning over every object within his reach in hopes he could find something – anything - that could help him. If he didn’t come up with something soon-

I’m going to die.

It took every ounce of self-control to keep himself from dissolving into a wailing, trembling mess. He had to stay calm and make use of every second he had left until they came for him. He had to think of a plan. But nothing had changed since he had fallen asleep. Luric’s mind still drew a blank while his eyes searched the room from corner to corner.

There was nothing in here that he could use; just an old, rotten stand with shelves full of nothing but cracked and empty pottery, a bunch of moldy, wooden boards thrown haphazardly in one corner, and large wine casks that he couldn’t open and were too heavy to lift.

The only remotely useful thing he had found was a rusty hammer, but his enthusiasm swiftly dropped when it became clear that he had no way of holding it. They hadn’t been content with only shackles around his wrists, so they stuffed his hands inside a thick leather bag filled with linen bathed in holy water. To keep him from sprouting claws, they said. He didn’t even know how to do that. Same with his teeth. Priest Santr had taken another piece of cloth, drenched it in holy water, and shoved it so far down his throat he was afraid he was going to throw up and then suffocate. To keep his fangs from growing back, they said. He didn’t know how to do that either.

Then they had tied his mouth to keep the cloth there and thrown him in the prayhouse's cellar. But not before giving him another beating. The priest had been against it, but only because he was afraid the men - his assailants - could catch something by touching him. Apparently, he was also contagious, and could leave them cursed. Luric wished he knew how to do that.

There was one more item down here with him, but he didn’t even consider going near it. Couldn’t even bring himself to look at it properly. He didn’t want to see the stern, condemning eyes stare back at him. The painting was obviously very old, with the colors having faded away for the most part, but the figures depicted there would still be immediately recognizable to any Alcsenian. Sitting on his throne and judging silently was Protector Baar, with the young Suin on his right, and wise old Meherth on his left. He knew this image better than the back of his hand; it was found in almost every book at school, on icons in every household in Runrick, on all four walls of their prayhouse. This image used to be so commonplace, a constant presence as familiar as it was frequent. All his life, grown-ups had told him that when in need, to look towards Protector Baar for guidance, towards Suin for courage, and Meherth for wisdom. Now they told him that he had no right to do so; no right to ask for protection because he was something the Three Great Men protected real people from. Lord Baar wasn’t his protector, not anymore. He was his executioner.

The voices were clearer now, closer, accompanied by the sound of heavy, stomping footsteps growing louder and louder. They were coming for him.

Panicking, Luric looked once more around the room and made a decision. He quickly approached the stand, found the largest, heaviest vase, held it between his forearms, lifted it up, and smashed it against the floor. He then examined the broken pieces of ceramic and chose the sharpest fragment he could find. He maneuvered it with his feet, holding it up with the blunter side pointing towards him, and pushed it against the thick leather bag tied around his hands. He pushed lightly, trying not to have the piece break apart even more, until he could feel the intrusion through the thick materials, and had his fingers clamp around it as hard as he could to keep it steady. The sharp, pointy edge sticking outward.

The wave of relief he felt at this tiny accomplishment was abruptly cut short with the resounding clank of the cellar door being unlocked.

Luric’s first thought was to hide, but his only options were to either huddle behind the wooden stand or crouch between the casks. And he knew it would be pointless, because the entry was well above the basement floor, atop of a staircase, giving them a good view of the entire room. It would be foolish to think that they wouldn’t be able to spot him easily in a few seconds, and those extra seconds would serve no purpose other than to anger them even more. No, the only measly chance he had was to take them by surprise, which meant not retreating, as they probably expected him to, but attacking.

He ran up the stairs and went right to the door. He kneeled so he wouldn’t immediately be in their line of sight. Luric knew he wasn’t being fueled by courage, but by fear and desperation. And anger. He hadn’t paid attention to it before, - too much pain and grief stifling everything else - but it was there. With each shaky breath he took he became more and more aware of it, and the harder he focused on the jagged end of the shard sticking out of the leather bag, the hotter it burned inside his chest. He tightened his hands even more, making sure his hold was firm, so that he could deliver a proper thrust.

He briefly wondered who it was going to be. Was it Piltrim that was unlocking the door? He had been the one with the key last time. He had stood quietly by the side as the others beat him, before locking him up. He hoped it was Baliger. That hideous man had been the most eager with the thrashing, not even caring what the priest had said about potentially catching a curse. Luric had heard people say Baliger was not right in the head, and now Luric got to see – and feel – the depths of his depravity up close. Why was he not down here, tied up? The man had actually enjoyed beating the shit out of Luric when they caught him. Had even tried to convince everyone to hand Luric over to him, so that he’d gut him open, like he did with his pigs before winter. Yes, he hoped it was Baliger.

Whoever it ended up being, they would have to use both hands to push the heavy door open, which left the stomach an easy target. If he could manage to wound the first person enough so that they’d fall over and cause the others to jump back in fear at the sight of him, then he could try to make a run for it before they’d get their bearings. He was lucky they hadn’t thought to tie his legs as well. He’d always been a good runner; he was one of the faster kids in Runrick and even wounded, he doubted there were any adults that could keep up with him at full speed. He only had to reach the woods before they caught him; no one would follow him in there so close to nightfall. Not anymore.

They were taking their time, talking nervously among themselves. He could understand them now. Baliger was there; he was trying to convince them to let him have few minutes alone with Luric. Piltrim and Suisel were there too, arguing fervently against it. Were there only three this time? Suddenly all of them went silent. He heard light footsteps come to a halt. Someone else had joined them.

“Our apologies, Sir, we didn’t mean to take so long. We’ll get’im right out,” he heard Piltrim say with a trembling voice. But to whom? It couldn’t be the priest, because Piltrim didn’t call him ‘Sir’? Was it the Chief? No, Chief Slatrim wouldn’t have been so quiet.

There was a creak as the door finally began to move.

It was Piltrim pushing it.

His right arm came into view as the amber light from the torch behind him started spilling into the room and around Luric. He was sitting in Piltrim’s shadow, so he didn’t get spotted right away. He had to make his move before Piltrim’s eyes could adjust to the darkness, but just as he started to tense his legs, Piltrim got grabbed by an arm and shoved to the side.

Storming inside now was Baliger. He was the one holding the torch, so when he entered, the entire platform Luric was on lit up.

“Where are ya, ya little-”

And then Baliger saw him. In that split second Luric noticed Baliger’s expression change from fury to surprise, and he understood he had to act before it settled on comprehension. There was something else Luric noticed; one hand was busy with the torch, the other still pushing Piltrim behind him. His entire stomach wide open.

Perfect.

He lunged.

Luric forced every muscle in his lower body and propelled himself forward, arms stretched in front of him and pointed directly at Baliger’s big, fat belly. Despite everything, he closed his eyes as he heard Baliger’s grunt of shock turn into a scream. He didn’t feel the shard go in, but it must have, because Baliger stumbled backwards and fell to the ground holding his stomach. There was a brief flash of white as the torch got whipped around and then dropped to the floor, shadows twisting and convulsing along the walls of the hallway and then freezing still in long, dark strokes when it stopped rolling.

As he had hoped, Piltrim and Suisel glued their backs to the wall to get as far away from him as possible. With the poor lighting they probably thought that he had managed to get his restraints off and had attacked using his claws or something. He had to move before they realized he was completely defenseless now. The shard had shattered to pieces when he stabbed Baliger with it. He could only pray enough of it got lodged in Baliger’s flesh to keep him writhing on the floor.

There was a figure standing in the middle of the hall a little further away, the light not quite reaching them. The mystery person. And they didn’t seem at all shaken by what had just happened before them, giving no sign of whether they intended to withdraw or come at him. Which meant Luric would have to push past them to get out. It was risky, but he had no choice.

Luric sprinted, rushing straight towards the figure. If he could gain enough momentum he might be able to intimidate the person into moving out of his way, or he could trick them into thinking he was about to ram into them, and then, at the last second, plunge into the space between them and the wall. He’d decide when he got there.

Not even four steps into his run he felt something grab his ankle, making him lose his footing, and fall face-first to the hard floor. When he turned to look behind him he saw Baliger’s face grimace back at him.

Kick it! he immediately thought. Kick his fucking teeth in!

Luric drew his right knee up, prepared to punt the ugly bastard right in the nose, but Baliger raised his other arm and grabbed his right leg too. He tried to wrench himself free, only Baliger’s hold was firm and painful. Without letting go, Baliger got up on his knees, grunting and swearing, then dragged Luric’s body underneath him. There was no blood on his tunic. The stab had done no real damage.

I should’ve gone for his throat!

Baliger braced one large hand against Luric’s neck, not really tightening, but letting his entire weight push down on his windpipe. Luric looked up at him, trying desperately to hit Baliger’s face, his neck, his armpit, any soft, vulnerable place he could reach, but with the thick leather bag constricting his movement the only thing he could manage were weak, dull punches against his chest that resonated pathetically in the hall. The right side of Baliger’s face was glowing from the light of the discarded torch, blotches of red marring his cheeks and forehead. He was staring down at him like a mad man, eyes large with fury, the whites visible even in the darkness. He curled his lips back in a fierce snarl, revealing his crooked, broken teeth. Luric had seen drawings of demons before, and none had come close to what was before him now.

I’m supposed to be something worse than this?

“Ya think ya so smart, ya little shit!? Think ya got me, huh!?” Baliger growled.

Luric had been so focused on Baliger’s face that he hadn’t notice the fist looming above it until it hit and smashed his head against the floor. There was no pain at first; the punch hadn’t made him lose consciousness, but it must’ve have knocked his senses out of whack because for a few moments white was all he saw, heard, and felt. But the pain inevitably came, and the lack of air made him see everything through a thick haze he just couldn’t shake off. He was about to pass out.

Maybe it was better this way. If there was no longer a way for him to escape, then maybe he should at least not be awake when they killed him. He could just silently slip away into the darkness now, instead of kicking, screaming and crying at his captors. He wouldn’t have to see them drag him around the square, all of them mumbling, judging and rejoicing as they witnessed his death. People he’d grown up around. Who he’d known all his life. Who he had talked with, shared meals with, and had done chores for in order to get them to like him a little. They hadn’t been forgiving to his kind Mrs. Carshtin, so Luric should not expect any mercy for him. The townsfolk had always been mistrustful of him; the strange, sickly looking orphan that lived at school. And now they finally found their reason to get rid of him.

No, he wanted to be awake. Through all of it. To watch them as they watched him die. And if there really was something in him that could leave behind a curse, then he hoped with every fiber of his being that it was listening, because Luric wished them all the misery and heartache in the world. It was only fair.

He started struggling again, and put the last remnants of his strength and energy into thumping his fists against Baliger’s face. One black eye, that was all he was asking for. But his feeble flailing only pissed off Baliger even more, and his face somehow managed to distort further into grotesque fury. He raised his fist to strike Luric again, and this time Luric knew - knew from the way Baliger coiled his arm all the way back, to the way he balled up his hand so tightly that he could practically hear his skin creak, to the way he was shaking with anticipation - that he wasn’t going to survive this. Even if the force of this punch wasn’t going to splatter his brains all over the floor, Baliger was going to hit and hit until there would be nothing left of his head. He had seen what this man did with his pigs.

So much for cursing them to their faces. He wished he could do it from here, but right now he couldn’t even scrunch up enough malice to wish frog warts on them, because what he felt as he stared up at the large, fat fist that was about to end him was tired, defeated and sad.

He saw the fist twitch, and Luric closed his eyes.

Please, just let one be enough!

But the hit never came.

Luric felt Baliger’s body shake, and go suddenly still. He heard him give a disgruntled cry.

“Wha -?”

Luric opened his eyes. Above him he saw Baliger’s upper body twisted upwards, no longer facing him, head turned to look up at … a man. A man Luric didn’t recognize, but then again, he couldn’t get a good look at him from his position. He was standing right next to his head and towering over Baliger, who was blocking most of his view of the stranger. The figure from before?

Luric gazed up along the line of the long, black coat of the man, all the way up to his shoulders where his dark shape blended with the shadows on the ceiling. He followed it to the black-clad arm that had sprouted from his coat and was now gripping Baliger’s fist and keeping it in place.

A harsh, hoarse voice spoke.“What do you think you’re doing?”

Before Baliger could answer, another arm shot out, grabbed Baliger by the back of his tunic, hauled him up and tossed him out view so suddenly it took a moment for Luric to register the change in scenery. He barely had time to appreciate being able to breathe again, before the man turned and bend over him. He was now staring at an unfamiliar long, pale, hollow cheeked face scowling down at him.

The man gave him a brief one over as if to assess the damage and then spoke again, just as harshly. “You’ll live.”

He saw an open palm descend on him and Luric closed his eyes again, but all he felt was the stranger’s fingers close around the front of shirt, grabbing a handful, and then hoist him up on his feet. From the corner of his eyes he caught Baliger’s form crumbled on the ground, staring bewilderingly up at them.

“Can you walk?” the man asked.

Luric didn’t know; he couldn’t test the strength in his own legs because the stranger was still holding him up by the shirt, so high that his toes were barely touching the ground. Even slightly bent as he was now, the man still looked about twice Luric’s size, and Luric wasn’t short for his age. All he could do was stare at him, too afraid to move.

The man’s frown deepened as he then lowered his head to have a better look at Luric’s face. He groaned at the sight of the gag, and with one fast, sudden movement ripped it off. But Luric still couldn’t talk; the cloth had been lodged so tightly and so far down his throat he wouldn’t be able to get it out without the use of his hands. The stranger looked at him again, sneered, and shoved his fingers in Luric’s mouth to take out the material. As he felt it slide out he heard Piltrim’s panicked words. “Sir! You sh-shouldn’t!”

“Shouldn’t what?” came the gruff response. The man held the cloth between his thumb and forefinger, and looked at it in disgust. “What is this?”

A second of confused silence and then Piltrim spoke again “Priest Santr said it was to keep‘im from turning.”

“And how in the fuck is a scrap of cloth supposed to do that?”

“It had holy water, Sir.”

The man shook his head and casually threw the piece of cloth at Piltrim, who recoiled as if burned.

“Backwater morons,” he heard the man grumble. And then all his attention was back on Luric. “Can you talk, boy?”

Luric had been coughing and massaging his sore jaw, not sure if he could still feel and move his tongue, so all he could manage at that moment for an answer was “Ah-uh…”

The stranger just shrugged. “Good enough.” And then grabbed him by the scruff roughlyand started pushing him.

Luric was so dizzy he couldn’t tell which direction they were heading. Did the man plan on throwing him back in the cellar? Everything was going by in a dark blur, and if it hadn’t been for the hold on his neck he probably would’ve tumbled over. Hurried steps along the hallway, up a short flight of stairs quickly, a shove, and then daylight hit him in the face.

After two days of darkness, even the gentle late afternoon sunlight illuminating the nave of the prayhouse was enough to hurt Luric’s eyes, and he needed a few seconds to clear his sight.

The first thing he noticed after he blinked the tears away was that the house was full of people, and everyone was staring at him. The second thing the noticed was that the crowd was very distinctly split into two groups. On the right side, standing almost in a huddle towards the center of the prayhouse and gaping horrified at him were the townsfolk. On the left, closer to the entrance, were several other strange men, all dressed with the same black cloak the man behind was wearing. The third thing he noticed was…..

Blue.

A brilliant, bright blue, such as he had never seen before in all his life. Not on the petals of field flowers, not on expensive paintings in the merchants’ houses. He was so taken aback by the intensity of the color that at first, he didn’t even realize what it was that he was looking at. Or who he was looking at.

The color belonged to a long mantle that was hanging off of the shoulders of a tall, slim figure. On top of those shoulders glimmered a crown of golden locks brought up in a fancy-looking bun like he’d seen in pictures of city ladies. Girls around here sometimes tried to imitate the style, but to him they always looked as if they were wearing nesting hens on their heads. Nothing like the neat, dignified twirl of clean, glistening tresses he was seeing now. The woman had her back to them, and she seemed to be studying the chipped-off murals on the wall in front of her.

The man behind him spoke. “I brought him, my lady.”

The woman - no, lady - finally turned. She wasn’t young - well past marrying age - but she was still the most beautiful person he had ever seen. Two long ringlets of hair were flowing down her temple and brushing against pale, defined cheekbones. Her features were sharp, but there was a delicateness to them that somehow made her seem both dainty as well as imposing. She had a long, straight nose, and her brow was decorated with thin, arched eyebrows. Her chin was pointy and slightly protruding forward, and her lips were a peach colored line that was barely visible on her otherwise ghostly white skin. But her eyes were large and round, soft with kindness and understanding when she looked at him.

That, most of all, shook Luric to the very core, and for some reason, felt the need to latch onto her like a lifeline. But he didn’t know her. He didn’t know any of these people. The only people he knew were the ones on the right side of the room, and they all wanted him dead. Who were they? What was going on?

The woman tooks a few steps towards him, but stopped when Chief Slatrim’s voice blared through the room.

“Careful, m’lady! We roughed’im up well, but he may still be dangerous.” He extracted himself from the group of cowering people reluctantly, but mindful not to get too close to either the lady or Luric.

Without taking her eyes of him, the lady answered the magistrate. “Yes, I can see you did quite a number on this poor boy.”

“This ain’t no poor boy, m’lady. It’s the demon child we told you about. Shulffa’s fuckin’ spawn, right here in our town. Pardon my language.”

She did turn to look at him at that. Not just at Chief Slatrim, but at all of them. And then she turned back to Luric for a brief second, before raising her eyes to address the man standing behind him in a stern, commanding voice. “Take off the shackles.”

Shocked murmurs broke out among the townsfolk, men, women and children shifting frantically and looking at each other in worry. Chief spoke again.

“I-is that wise, my lady?”

“Fear not. These gentlemen I have with me are the most experienced warriors when it comes to dealing with a Blighted.”

“Blighted?”

She turned back to the magistrate, and smiled at him. Coldly. Luric couldn’t help but feel that she was subtlety mocking him.

“It’s what people like him are called in our profession.”

“But - I don’t understand. He ain’t people. That’s a monster.”

The lady just stared at him quietly until Chief Slatrim started to look uncomfortable and averted his gaze, as if he was ashamed of something.

Slatrim had been town magistrate since long before Luric had been born. A single-minded and inflexible old man that held the entire town in his firm grip. He was unusually short and skinny for a north-born, with ashen skin that reminded Luric of dried up tree bark, thin grey-white hair, and small, beady eyes that were only really visible underneath those heavy wrinkled eyelids when they lit up in anger. To Luric, he had always looked ill and weak, but what he may have lacked in physical capability he more than made up for in fierceness and fortitude. Luric had seen hunters and wood men that could have picked him up with one hand cower before this stern gaze and admonition.

There weren’t many people in Runrick that would stand up to him, and only Priest Santr and the head-merchant Olvic had the power to sway his mind. Like when Slatrim wanted to close down their school because he saw no reason for Runrick's children to waste their time on being taught things they’d have no real use for, like reading and studying numbers, instead of helping their own parents around the household and learning the family trade. Mr. Carshtin had vehemently opposed him, but it had been Priest Santr’s argument that everyone should have the privilege to read Baar’s book whenever they wished, and Olvic’s reasoning that it would help with collecting taxes correctly, that ultimately settled the matter. But he had never forgiven the teacher for his public opposition, and the consequences of getting on the magistrate’s bad side had been dire. There was no doubt in his mind that Chief Slatrim had a hand in Mr. Carshtin’s death.

But the person Chief Slatrim was facing now wasn’t someone he could intimidate, and it was obvious he wasn’t used to dealing with people that were above his station and demanded humility from him. The lady was clearly a noble. Everything about her, from her fine clothes, to her poise, to her mannerism spoke of the power and wealth of the midland and southern provinces, possibly even the capital, and that alone was enough to make any small town lowborn bow their head. The group of armed men hovering protectively around her probably helped too.

It was obvious to everyone in the room that she was the one in charge here.

But Slatrim was nothing if not persistent, and he wouldn’t back down so easily.

“Forgive us, m ’lady. We have thrown away the key. We wanted to make sure there was no way for him to get out and he was supposed to remain with those until we were sure he was dead. For the safety of my people.”

Another long, uncomfortable pause.

“I see. How very cautious of you.” And then she turned back to Luric and her smile took on a hint of mischievousness. “Mr. Visloc? If you please.”

A surprised grunt came from behind him. “What? Now? Here?”

“If it’s not too much trouble.”

The way the hand on his nape tightened momentarily made Luric think that the lady’s words were merely a courtesy rather than an option for the man. The man - Mr. Visloc? - grumbled, and he could’ve sworn he heard the word “bitch” somewhere in there, before he stepped around and turned to face him. He was standing so close that the width of his chest filled up Luric’s entire view. He was hunching over slightly with his back to their audience, almost as if he wanted to shield Luric from their scrutiny with the size of his body alone. Luric stood completely immersed in the man’s shadow. He gathered his courage and raised his eyes to get his first good look at him.

The man looked even scarier in the light than it did when darkness had muddled his features. He was the tallest man he had ever seen, and Luric had lived all his life around tall and big-boned people. But it wasn’t his size that Luric found most unsettling. Everything about him seemed somehow elongated, including his face. It was long and drawn-out, with deep hollow cheeks and a prominent hook nose. There were deep wrinkles around his mouth, and the way his lips were drawn up in displeasure made it very clear that those weren’t laugh lines. Thin, greasy tendrils of mud-colored hair were hanging around his face and off his shoulders in a disarranged fashion. What struck Luric the most, however, were the man’s brows, or more precisely, his lack of eyebrows; what he had instead was a protruding brow ridge that seemed to be etched in a permanent scowl. He had never seen a person without eyebrows before, and it made the man’s already alien-looking visage even more frightening. Inhuman, was the word that came to mind, but he tried to will it, and what else it implied, away. Underneath the heavily furrowed brow were two large eyes, each dotted with strangely small irises; like little black pinpricks that fixed him in place with the intensity of their stare. Eyes like that would usually hint at an unstable mind, but despite everything, the man didn’t strike Luric as mad. Just really angry, and that was only marginally better.

“You better keep quiet, you hear,” the man growled and then hunched even more, raising his shoulders slightly and dipping his head further. Suddenly Luric got the impression that rather than trying to cover him, the man was trying to shrink and hide himself behind his own mantle.

And then he felt a rumble.

Where exactly it was coming from he couldn’t tell, but his body responded regardless. An unexpected agitation rose up inside of him and he started shaking violently, breath caught in his throat. He knew now what this was. Luric had yet to come to terms with it, and as much as he believed he didn’t deserve to die because of it, he at least accepted that there really was something wrong with him. Something wrong in him. It always started in the pit of his stomach and spread from there uncontrollably all over inside his chest, radiating outwards until he felt it in the tips of his fingers. Sometimes even further than that. The last time he had felt like this was right before they found him. He had been hiding behind a pile of logs when he sensed the townsfolk surrounding him, and the closer they came, the stronger the sensation got. Instincts he couldn’t quite understand or control were warning him then, and they were warning him now too.

He had to get away from this person at all cost, but before he could dart backwards two large hands clamped around the cuffs, and he froze. Large, as in larger than they had been before. And way whiter than they were supposed to be. They looked corpse pale, with bulging blue veins snaking towards and between large knuckles. The fingers were so long he could have sworn they had one too many joints now.

And that wasn’t the worst of it. He felt something shift above him, a movement his awareness deemed so unnatural it made his skin crawl. Without looking, he knew the man was still hunching over him, and had not moved a single muscle, and yet there he was, somehow rising further in height. He kept his eyes glued to the hands, too afraid to witness whatever it was that was happening over his head. With his vision pointed downwards, he caught sight of the edge of the man’s shadow moving, its girth growing in size. The man was turning. Into what, he didn’t know, and didn’t want to know. If this was how they decided to have him killed, he’d rather not have his last image in life be that of a grotesque monstrosity.

Unlike with Baliger, he didn’t even attempt to struggle against this, and closed his eyes for the second time in frightened resignation, waiting for whatever it was that was about to happen to be over.

“Oh, will you stop being so god-dammed dramatic.”

The voice still sounded the same. Still deep and hoarse and human. That was somewhat reassuring. But before he could start mulling over the meaning of the man’s words, a loud sound pierced the silence. A powerful crack, and then he felt cold pressure around his wrists. Maybe the man had broken his arms and the pain had yet to reach. But what followed wasn’t pain. Instead, he felt a gradual warmth replacing the clammy coldness, and a series of small metallic clings resonated as pieces of something were hitting the floor around his feet.

He opened his eyes.

The hands were back to normal. Still large, still dirty and calloused, but normal. The warmth was coming from the man’s palms that were now wrapped directly around his skin. Laying in pieces on the ground were his shackles. The man then gripped the sides of the leather bag tied around Luric’s hands, and in one try, ripped the material in half.

Luric stared at his bruised and swollen limbs in amazement.

The man – Mr. Visloc - straightened and turned around to reveal Luric’s form to the lady.

“Happy?” he grunted in annoyance.

She only smiled in return.

“Oh, mother’s love, why would they do that?” a woman wailed. Mrs. Lasre, the butcher’s wife?

The sight of him out and unbound had sent the townsfolk in a frenzy, some running to stand closer to Baar’s shrine, others making a start towards the exit, but stopping when they realized that the lady and her group of men were standing between them and the door. Luric would’ve been lying if he said that he didn’t get any satisfaction from watching them shake and whimper pathetically like that. His eyes didn’t linger on them for long, and instead were drawn back to the lady’s dazzling figure.

She was watching them too, her head slightly turned in their direction, glancing at them from the corner of her eyes. She seemed to take some delight in their discomfort as well. When her eyes glided back to look at him her smile widened; he felt like they were sharing a private joke.

It was Priest Santr’s turn now to disentangle himself from the gaggle of squirming people. He stepped forward boldly, back stiff and head held high, all the while throwing a steely glare in Luric’s direction.

“Please forgive us, my lady. We are a community of poor and simple mountain people. We are so often at the mercy of the forest and the darkness that dwells within it, and with only our faith and this house to serve as protection. The king’s well-meaning oversight seldom reaches us, and we are often left to fend for ourselves. I had heard from my brethren in Pelase about an official decree to inform the prelacy of any apparitions and cursed men, and I did send a letter a few days ago when the boy’s true nature revealed itself. We just didn’t expect to receive any help so soon and chose to take matters into our own hands so no more of our people could fall victim to him. This is …the only way we know how.”

“And just how many have fallen victim to him?”

The lady’s prompt and dispassionate reaction to his little hardship tale left the priest a little flustered, and he paused for a moment to consider her question. He licked his lips nervously and stuttered a reply.

“There was – well, that is - he hasn’t yet, uhm - oh, Carshtin! He-he killed the teacher. The man that raised him, accepted him as family, was eaten by this wretched creature.”

“LIAR!”

It felt like he had made the very walls shake with the force of his outburst, but he knew that it was just his own flesh that was trembling in uncontrolled rage. Something was rising in his chest again, but this was a familiar sensation that he recognized and understood well. And it was human. He had been living with muted anger lingering in the depths of his soul for years, occasionally lapping at the edges of his consciousness when things got bad, but he always tried to snuff it before it could consume his mind. Mr. Carshtin had always told him a clear and calm head was what separated them from the brutes that always picked on him, so he tried to live by his guardian’s rule. Also, when you’re small and weak you can’t afford to act up whenever you want. Stay quiet, stay alive. But staying alive was off the table now, so what use did he have now for impulse control?

It was just too much. The pain, the fear, the cruelty, the unapologetic unfairness wrought upon him by these people, and now hearing this out-right brazen lie accompanied by murmurs of agreement whispered behind the priest. Did they expect him to say nothing? To stand by quietly and docile, as they spouted their self-serving bullshit? Not this time. This time he’d let the flames run rampant through him, because Luric didn’t care anymore about how all of this would end for him. This entire miserable debacle had been an unending lineup of agony and despair, and every time anything that gave him hope presented itself, it was quickly followed by a blow that left him reeling in disillusionment. Like these strange people that took off his restraints and smiled kindly at him.

They were sent by the clergy, or some other high and important people, but apparently, they were executioners too. They just had nicer clothes. This meant that it didn’t matter what he said, how he said it, or if it was true or not. His fate was already decided. Luric couldn’t keep the bile raging inside from spilling out anymore, so he might as well have this one final moment of catharsis.

Every eye was on him now, and he met their frozen stares with fearless accusation.

“You fucking liars! How dare you!? You killed him! All of you! You beat him! An defenseless man! Then left him bedridden, and abandoned him to die alone and in pain.” With every blared word in their direction, he saw them draw back in terror more and more, as if being the target of his verbal barrage alone was dangerous. He enjoyed watching them squirm. It was the least they deserved. He couldn’t hurt them with his claws and fangs, but he would settled for seeing them piss themselves like this.

He then turned to the lady in blue, eyes wide with desperation. For some reason he wanted for her to know his side of the story, regardless of what she intended to do with him.

“All I did was scratch someone. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t know I could - that I had these… They were pushing me around and I got angry. But it was an accident, alright?! I didn’t know I could – change . But they didn’t care, so I ran into the woods to hide. They told Mr. Carshtin they would help him look for me, but they only wanted to lure him away from the town to beat him up. They told everyone I was the one that attacked him, and no one came to tend to his wounds because they all thought I had cursed him too. Chief Slatrim and Priest Santr! They killed him! They hated our teacher because he wasn’t as stupid as them, and people started to want to listen to him more than them.”

Luric was breathing hard now. He had poured every ounce of his anguish filled heart into his outburst, and the ferocity of his cry had rendered his abused throat raw with pain. He felt liquid build up in the back of it and wondered if he had somehow managed to rip something inside that was now bleeding. But he wasn’t done. He wanted to continue yelling at them, to have them cower before his fury. To make sure they would have nightmares about him for the rest of their lives.

That’s right, I need to place a curse on them!

He had no idea of how it worked, but he was pretty sure that they didn’t either. If he told them that he had placed a curse on them, they’d believe him, and he’d leave this world knowing that they’d fret and agonize over what great misfortune would befall on them because of him. And it would, regardless of whether he had these powers or not. It was only a matter of time until something terrible would happen, because life around these parts was harsh and bleak. Some sort of disease, a landslide, a long and devastating winter that would take many lives; he had lived through trying times himself in his twelve years and he had seen how people reacted. They would think it was Luric’s vengeance damning them. They would think they had make a mistake in killing him, that they should have left him alone instead, and they would blame Slatrim and Santr for bringing this upon them. That thought alone gave him some comfort.

He fixed them with the most hate-filled glare he could muster, and though it hurt to talk he drew in a deep breath and pushed the words forward.

“I hope you all will get to feel the same pain that you’ve caused me. No, I want you to experience it tenfold. To have everything taken from you, to be beaten down and spit on, and have no one to come help you. You idiotic, heartless bastards.” They were writhing and whimpering - he could even hear someone sobbing - and a desperate plea for someone to stop him from continuing. It only spurred him on. “May the rest of your pathetic, miserable lives to be filled with only agony and rotten luck. Oh yeah, and death too.” He finished with a bitter grin. “It’s only fair.”

He hadn’t felt so exhilarated in forever, the satisfying thrill washing over him and leaving his skin tingling. He didn’t want it to be over. He deserved more of this. It wasn’t just about what they’d done to him these past few days, they had treated him like crap all his life.

Orphans were outcasts, touched by misfortune from birth, and no one really wanted them around. Especially the unfriendly, pale little boy that fell ill so often. Years of pent up frustration couldn’t be compiled into a few spiteful words; he had opened the floodgates, and the discharge felt amazing. What else should he say? What was the worst thing he could tell them? Oh, yeah!

“May Shulffa’s eyes be forever on you, her talons picking at your threads, your tears her nourishme- ”

Something hit him in the head, hard and loud, and he tumbled backwards landing on his behind. Bright pain flared sharply at the side of his temple where the object had struck, making his eyes tear up behind tightly shut lids. Had Mr. Visloc punched him to make him shut up? When he opened his eyes he saw the tall man look down at him in surprise and the whip his head in the direction of the townspeople. Next to his feet was a small rock, just barely larger than a pebble, round and dull, but it had been thrown with such a force that he thought it might have left a dent in his scalp. He sat there, a hand on his throbbing head, looking at the rock, stunned.

And just like that, all his momentum fizzled out and disappeared, leaving behind a state of utter bewilderment. He could already feel it slowly being replaced back with the dread of his impending doom that he had come to know so well these past few days, and it brought with it tears of shock and crippling fear. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry, not yet…. He couldn’t afford to look pathetic now, lest it take away from the impact he hoped his words had had on them.

It was out of sheer curiosity that he looked to see who had thrown the rock. A boy around his age had emerged from the huddle and was glaring at him.

He should have known. Who else could it have been, aside from Runrick's brave little champion?

True to his self-proclaimed righteousness, Buck stood imposingly between him and the people he had come forth to protect. His face was set in a grim and confident expression, slightly upturned to stare him down, but the wideness of his eyes betrayed the courage he was trying to exude with all of his body. Nevertheless, he had come far closer to him than either Chief Slatrim or Priest Santr had dared.

Whatever Luric thought about the boy's obnoxious sense of self-worth and his childish dreams of gallantry and heroism, Buck at least did all he could to live up to them. He was everything Luric was not. Spirited, hardy, overly passionate, but in a way that most found charming instead of annoying. His antics were tolerated, and even applauded, because he was an amusing and honest kid. And he was brave.

Last year, he had illicitly participated in Suin’s trial, a contest meant only for the young men of Runrick as a rite of passage into manhood. Buck had jumped in the ice-cold waters of the recently defrosted lake before anyone was able to stop him, but then had swum faster and surer than any of the older boys, and won. He was the one to retrieve the wooden sword and bring it back to Priest Santr. His face and behind got slapped thoroughly for his insolence, and he was made to stand there in the cold late winter air, wet and naked, while they tossed Suin’s sword in the lake again and until one of the young men brought it back. He hadn’t been as fast as Buck, though.

His parents, the priest, Chief Slatrim, and other grown-ups, all had severely chastised him, but Luric had also heard them praise him under their breath. A child had to be disciplined, be respectful of his elders, but boldness was an admirable trait if it was backed up by strength and skill. Luric had looked at Buck while he had been standing there, freezing and bruised, and noticed that the self-satisfied smile never left his lips, even as they were turning blue from the cold. He was cocky. Buck never backed down from a challenge and could hold his own in a schoolyard fight. He had all the makings of a fine northerner, and would grow up to be a great man. All the adults said so. Even his parents had given him a name that preordained how he would turn out: Buckcrown. It suited him well, even if it was a little old-fashioned and presumptuous.

In a way, Luric looked up to him as much as he resented him. He was funny and fun to be around, and everybody wanted to be his friend. Luric was no exception. But Buck and his friends barely knew he existed.

He would often look forlornly at their hassle and horseplay in the schoolyard, trying to convince himself that he didn’t want to be asked to join in. He’d pretend to read his book at the base of the large beech tree, but he’d glimpse at the other kids more often than not.

He and the other orphans didn’t fit in so well, even though the school was technically their home. Mr. Carshtin never differentiated between his wards and the other kids during learning hours; everyone was his student then. Being a little friendlier with the host would’ve been a nice courtesy, Luric often thought sourly. And unless a serious fight broke out, Mr. Carshtin never intervened in the children’s dealings. He gave advice, he encouraged you, but he wanted you to learn to deal with your peers on your own. That was his way. Which is why Luric also never went to Mr. Carshtin when someone was picking on him. Izver, usually.

There were plenty of kids that were mean to him, but Izver was his only real bully; a brash, impetuous brute that tried a lot to be like Buck, only he was completely unlikeable. If you didn’t look too closely, Buck and Izver might appear to be best friends, always together, with the same ideas and attitude, but Luric did look closer and therefore knew better. Izver was jealous of Buck. Under the guise of camaraderie, Izver would always challenge Buck to games that pitted one against the other. He rarely won. And every time he failed to match up to his rival, Izver looked for someone to take out his anger on.

Luric wasn’t his favorite target, but he went after him often enough. Luric would sometimes even provoke him, because Izver’s favorite target was Sivale. Sivale was an orphan like him; a meek and gentle boy that never did anything to deserve anyone’s ire. He might even consider Sivale his best friend of sorts, even though he knew they hung out together mostly because no one else would. Outcasts of a feather.

And Luric could run. When he was in good health, Luric was a fast runner. Faster than Izver in any case, maybe even faster than Buck. One of the few times Buck had talked to him was when he had literally run Izver ragged around town chasing after him; Luric had thrown a mud ball at his face to get him to back off of Sivale. Buck had complimented him for his speed and for sticking up for his friend. As much as he was ashamed to admit it, it was one of the best moments of his life. Buck noticing him and praising him. He went on to imagine getting closer to Buck, maybe even challenging him to a race. If he won, he might win Buck’s respect too. Or even his friendship. He might become friends with the other kids as well.

Luric fancied himself a cerebral loner, who didn’t need the companionship of rowdy brats, but one lousy compliment had turned him into a giddy, hopeful fool.

Come to think of it, this was how it all began. Trying to get Buck’s attention again. Weeks went by and nothing changed. Luric was still sitting alone at the base of the tree, Buck running around completely oblivious to his existence. It was painful, having all his hopes shattered like that. If he had only known how much worse things could be, he would’ve stayed put under that tree. But no one could’ve foreseen the turn of events, so he made the wrong decision. Luric put his book down, walked out of the shadows and into the center of the schoolyard.

He was feeling great that day. In fact, he had been unusually energetic for a while now. Maybe he was finally growing out of those strange bouts of weakness that struck him so often. He was heading for Buck, who had stopped running to look at him as he approached. Luric was finally going to issue the challenge, race him, and win. And then everything would change for the better. He was certain of it.

But before he could even raise his hand in greeting, a violent push from behind sent him flying.

Most were already giggling by the time he removed his face from the dirt. When he turned around he saw Izver. “What ya think ya doin’, ya little sheep shit?! Go back t’ya tree!” And that’s what he should’ve done. Kept his mouth shut, and left. What he did instead was shoot up to his feet, and push Izver back, hard.

Izver was a little shorter than him, but broader, sturdier. Imagine his surprise when he saw Izver actually stumble backwards until he fell just as gracelessly. This time they all gasped, including Izver. Then the giggling started, and Izver face turned red from rage.

“Ya gonna pay for that, Lulu!”

Gods, he hated that nickname. He was going to make Izver regret calling him that. He was going to make him regret everything he ever did to him. Luric was done running away, done with staying quiet and hidden because people were uncomfortable around him. What had he ever done besides get abandoned as a baby and then be sick all the time? None of that was his fault. Izver was mean and rude and stupid, yet he had more friends than him, had better clothes than him, had a real home and parents that loved him despite his ugly, bloated mug.

It’s not fair!

Izver got up to his feet and rushed him. He knocked into Luric and both went tumbling down. It occurred very late to Luric that he had no idea how to fight, and Izver was always in one skirmish or another. He was also heavier, so Luric couldn’t push him off. All he could do was bring up his forearms to shield himself from the onslaught of random punches Izver was blindly throwing at him. When he got tired of that, he grabbed Luric by the hair and started shaking.

Luric didn’t know what to do. Between the pain and the fear and the shame he had no time to think of a way to escape. If he tried to hit Izver back he’d leave his face wide open for his punches. What if he lost an eye? He wouldn’t be able to read anymore.

Izver started pulling even harder, dragged him by the hair until his upper back arched away from the ground. He was being held up by his hair alone, and it felt like the skin on his head was peeling off. It was too painful, and he instinctively lowered his left arm to brace his elbow on the ground in order to support his own weight and relieve some of the tension; his right hand clutched Izver by the arm that was pulling him. And then Izver slapped him. Not a punch, a slap.

It was strange; a slap didn’t have the strength and damage potential a punch did, yet there was something about the impact of an open palm against his cheek, and the sharp, burning, stinging imprint it left behind, that made Luric feel it more acutely than the dull, throbbing pain of a punch. He hated getting slapped. There was something inherently humiliating about a slap. He even found the sound of it vulgar and infuriating. No matter the circumstance or how well-deserved it was, a slap always made his stomach burn with indignation. And this time was no different.

Izver didn’t stop at one, though. He was no longer interested in inflicting physical pain. He wanted to taunt now. He slapped Luric again.

“What was that?”

Slap!

“Ya wanna say somethin’?”

Slap!

“Go on, whoreson, I’m listening.”

Slap!

“Though, for ya sake, it better be an apology.”

Slap! Slap! Slap!

Insult to injury, tears of frustration were starting to well up in Luric’s eyes, and he couldn’t stop it. Izver’s grin widened at the sight of them.

“Awww, what’s the matter? Thought ya were supposed to be brave now.”

Slap!

“Go on, say something!”

Luric wanted to call him a wretched pile of dung and then spit in his face, but he also wanted this to be over. If he laid there quietly, Izver would eventually get bored of him. But he was not going to apologize. Never. And Izver wasn’t letting up so easily.

“Say you’re sorry!”

SLAP!

“Say you’re sorry!”

SLAP!

“Say you’re sorry!”

SLAP!

The acid in his stomach burned and then spread to his chest. He felt a strange shiver come over him, yet oddly enough, his body wasn’t trembling. It was like a vibration underneath his skin.

The muscle in his shoulders and upper arm tightened, and he then felt that tension run up his neck and in his jaw. Luric clenched his teeth so tightly he was afraid he was going to shatter them. For some reason, they felt bigger than before, his tongue also not quite fitting inside the cave of his mouth as neatly as it should. It made him draw his lips back.

That’s when he heard Izver scream.

He jumped off of him, ripping his wrist from Luric’s hold. He scurried away, face pale and eyes large with panic. Luric blinked in confusion, but took his chance and got up to his feet before Izver could recover from whatever had spooked him. That’s when he noticed Izver cradling his arm protectively to his chest; the arm that Izver had been holding him with.

Thin rivulets of red were flowing down from four identical and evenly spaced puncture marks. Right where Luric had been clutching him.

There’s no way I could’ve done that, he had thought while raising his right arm to look at his fingers. He couldn’t have the strength to get his blunt fingernail -

They were sharp.

They were long.

As were the fingers.

And the span of his palm.

This wasn’t his hand.

But it seemed to be attached to his arm that was attached to his shoulder that belonged to his torso. He tried to get his fingers to move a little, and sure enough, the hand before him complied. But there was a disconnection between what he was seeing and what he was feeling. This isn’t mine. This isn’t me. He grabbed it with his left arm, almost as if this was a costume glove and he wanted to tear it off. The left hand wasn’t his either. Same sharp nails, same long fingers.

“M-Monster. MONSTER!” yelled Izver.

What? Where?, was Luric’s first thought, but Izver was looking only at him. He turned around. Someone had to help him. Someone had to go get Mr. Carshtin.

The kids that had gathered around all flew backwards in fright when Luric turned to them. Some screamed, some ran away, but most where just standing there, looking at him with the same terrified expression Izver had.

Wha- did something happen to my face too? When when he tried to speak his teeth got in the way, and what came out was a spit filled gurgle that scared even him.

He brought up those hands that weren’t his to his face to feel around his mouth and found there teeth that weren’t his. He had been right, they were bigger. And sharp. Fangs? WHAT HAPPENED TO ME?, was what he meant to yell, but an inhuman wail was what he heard.

And then.

“Auntie was right,” someone said breathlessly. Luric looked up to see Buck staring at him. He had come a little closer now, standing between him and the other sniffling, whimpering kids. His face showed the same kind of terror the others were wearing, but his eyes held a shine of fascination as they ran over his changed features. But it was his next words that broke Luric.

“Ya really are a cursed child of Shulffa. That’s why ya don’t have any parents.”

A cursed child. A bastard of Shulffa. That couldn’t be right. No! He wasn’t. But then how could he explain this? Was this really the reason he had been abandoned? Or did he even have real parents to begin with? Didn’t he read that monsters were spawned from darkness? Or were those the shadow critters he was thinking of? He couldn’t remember. He read so many books about legends and lore and mythical monsters, and his mind was reeling. But there was something he did remember clearly, and that was what people did when they came across someone like this.

When he heard one of the kids yell for help, he ran.

He ran, and ran, and ran.

Then he hid.

Then cried until he fell asleep.

The next day, he heard them come for him. Heard Mr. Carshtin call his name. By the time he reached them, Mr. Carshtin was already on the ground, unconscious and bloody. He watched them carry him away from behind bushes, too much of a coward to do anything else.

He creeped back to his school and into Mr. Carshtin’s bedroom where he was lying alone and unattended to. Nobody came to care for him. Luric sat there helplessly and watched the life of the only person he had ever loved expire.

He had cried again, loudly and bitterly. That’s when they heard him. He ran again, but not far this time. He stood close to town, because he needed food and he didn’t know how to hunt. He stole an egg here, a loaf of bread there. He managed to evade them for a while, but eventually, they caught him.

And just like he remembered correctly from his books, sentenced him to death.

——————————————————————————————————————————————————————————-

He had finished telling his tale between sobs and hiccups, no longer caring what anybody thought of him. No, that was lie. He was ashamed to look at Buck. And the lady. He stared at his legs splayed before him. He hadn’t bothered to get up. Probably didn’t have any strength left for it anyway.

When the room grew quiet, he heard a girl’s voice whisper desperately to her parents. “Mother! Father! Make him take it back. Make him take back the curse”, before she started crying again. Ogette. She was Olvic’s daughter, and the prettiest girl in Runrick. She and Buck were also sweet on each other. Ah, so that’s why, he thought bemusedly. The hero had jumped in to protect his fair maiden. Classic Buck.

But he would never take back his words. Never!

As if on cue, Olvic’s voice boomed through the room. “Ya know how to do this proper, right m’lady? How to kill the beast and cleanse us of his curse?”

No, no, no. He wasn’t going let them get away that easily. This was all he had left. At least let them live on in fear. He was owed that much. “I’m not taking it back,” he said weakly, but knew everyone heard it just the same.

“There is nothing to take back, I’m afraid.” Luric looked up, and stared at the lady. There was a lightly mirthful expression on her face. “There is no curse here. Your kind can’t do that.”

What?

“Do you mean that, m’lady,” Priest Santr asked in a hopeful tone.

“It’s a popular misconception among the common people, but I assure you, Blighted can’t curse or infect other humans.”

The sound of relief he heard coming from the townsfolk cut him to the very core. So, he wouldn’t be granted even this tiny bit of vengeance. He lowered his head dejectedly and tried to tune out the merriment that followed the lady’s words. Everyone quieted down instantly, though, at what she said next.

“They can rip them to shreds, though.”

Luric blinked, not quite comprehending what she meant. The townspeople seemed equally confused.

“M’lady?”

But she wasn’t talking to them anymore. Instead she addressed the strange man standing next to Luric.

“So, what do you think, Mr. Visloc?”

Mr. Visloc shrugged. “I’d have to get a good look at his arsenal, but from what I’ve heard, it seems to be the usual. Claws. Fangs. Maybe a tail.” He then looked at him and smirked. “The boy got one hell of a thrashing before my very eyes, and I didn’t feel him turn. That’s always a good sign. It’ll be easier for him to learn control if he doesn’t change skin at the slightest provocation. Yeah, I can work with him.”

The lady brightened at that. “That’s wonderful!”

Wait, work with him?

“I don’t understand, m’lady.” Chief Slatrim came forward again.

Her smiled dimmed a little. “Of course, you don’t.” And then she did the last thing Luric expected to see. She extended her arm and called Luric to her in a kind, reassuring voice. “Come here, my child.”

Apparently he didn’t react fast enough, because the man picked him up by the scruff again and shoved him unceremoniously towards the lady. He stumbled and staggered his way to her, but stopped before he was within arm’s length of her.

He didn’t know how honest her invitation was. Either way, people like him weren’t supposed to get too close to a person of high status, blighted or not. But then she closed the distance herself, and placed a gentle hand on his head.

He froze at first. The only time he came in physical contact with somebody else these days was through a punch or a kick. He had forgotten what a caress felt like. For some reason, he felt like crying again. When she gave him an understanding look, the feeling got even stronger. She then reached around to lightly grab his shoulder so she could turn them both towards the townspeople that were staring at them, dumfounded.

“Allow me to explain,” she started. “I am Duchess Berjeen Archvel, Blood of the King, and the founder and head of His Majesty’s Institute of Occult Science and Affairs. The decree you mention was issued by His Majesty on my behalf. Our objective is to find individuals of … his nature, and employ them.”

There was too much to process at once. Where to start? She wasn’t just a noble, she was a duchess. She called herself Blood of the King; only those who were directly related to him were allowed to do that. He was standing next to royalty. And she founded an Institute of….Occult something? For…for people like him. To employ?

Did this mean -

“Ya not gonna kill ‘im, ma’am?”

That was Chief Slatrim asking the one question that really mattered, but Luric was too busy looking at the lady – Lady Archvel. He wondered when she was going to disappear and reveal that it had all been just trick of his mind. Or a dream. Because this couldn’t be real. He had lived with fear for his life for so many days, had seen his demise in his head over and over again, that her next words nearly shattered him.

“No. As I said, we want him to join us.”

“The monster?!”

“The Blighted,” she corrected.

A harsh murmur tinged with shock and disbelief erupted among the gathering. This wasn’t what they expected. This wasn’t what they were here for. This wasn’t what was supposed to be done.

“But - we thought you were here for- but, they’re not supposed to be allowed to live. Protector Baar says so! ” Chief Slatrim again, Priest Santr joining in to agree with him.

“Yes, we are devout followers of Baar and his teachings. He clearlys tell us to -”

This time Lady Archvel’s voice turned a little severe, as if she was losing her patience with them.

“I assure you, we have received approval from your spiritual leaders as well, and they have given us their blessing for this endeavor. If you do not wish to take my word for it, I will gladly bring you to stand before both the First Disciple of Baar and Our Majesty himself. You can voice your complaints to them in person, my esteemed gentlemen.”

Luric had never seen so many faces pale so fast. Chief Slatrim and Priest Santr’s in particular seemed to take on a light shade of blue.

“No, my lady, my duche - your highness, uhm, we were just - ”

The lady’s graciousness waned and her tone was sharp when she cut him off. “You should consider yourself fortunate that we got here when we did. Judging from the preparations outside, you were just getting ready for the execution. A highly barbaric one, I might add. I believe the decree clearly stated that you were not to take any action against a person you deemed unnatural, simply report your findings and then wait for official aid. Had you killed him without our consent, you would’ve been charged with disobedience of a direct order from the king.”

Now they were sweating instead. Priest Santr tried to defend himself one more time; behind him he saw Olvic grab him by the robe and whisper urgently through clenched teeth “Be quite, ya fool!” The priest pushed him away.

“I did read it carefully, Duchess Archvel. It also clearly stated that we were allowed to defend ourselves from it, and that killing was permissible if our lives were in danger. They were. He already killed one.”

Luric opened his mouth to throw that accusation back in his face, again, when he felt the Duchess’s hand tighten briefly. He got the message and kept quiet.

“That’s not what happened, according to him.”

And that’s when Chief Slatrim momentarily forgot to be humble and scared. “You believe Shulffa’s bastard instead of us?”

“You really don’t seem to understand,” her smile was back in place, but it was cold. “His life is worth more to our king and country than this entire town put together.”

Luric wished he had been clearheaded enough to think of looking at the others as this was being said. He wished he had seen the exact moment the Duchess’s words sank in. As it were, he was having difficulties wrapping his head around what was happening himself. He was still struggling with one notion.

I’m going to live.

Luric did look at them after a while. These were the people he had grown up with. He had helped Mrs. Bilbad around the house when she had broken her leg; he had been there with the other kids to dig out old man Pipperic when the snow had buried his little house all the way up to the ridge of his roof; he had helped Mr. Carshtin care for Gulvan and his family when they all came down with a strange fever, when even the doctor didn’t want to come close to their house out of fear of catching it; he ran errands for Mr. Likik, the butcher and Mr. Erd, the pharmacist, for the egglers and pie makers, and sometimes, even for Chief Slatrim himself. He did all of that in the hope that they might start liking him a little more and he could become a proper part of the community when he was older. But none of that had mattered.

Yet he had never felt more cut off from them as he did now, with him over here and all of them standing together at the other side of the prayhouse. And for the first time in his life, he didn’t mind it. Better yet, he liked it. On this side was the Duchess, and Mr. Visloc, and her other guards. This side had important, powerful people, far more important than Chief Slatrim or Priest Santr or the head-merchant Olivic could ever hope to be, and they wanted him to be a part of it. He stood above them and could, Luric realized now, look down on them.

“Well then, guess we will take our leave now. We have a train to catch in Pelase. We would’ve stayed a little longer to rest, but I think you made it quite clear that you don’t want this little boy around anymore, so we will take him off your hands sooner rather than later. Luric?” He turned to her startled. “Is there something you’d like to say to them before we go?”

Yes, so much. Or rather, he felt so much, but he couldn’t find the appropriate words to express them. Should he accuse? Should he deride? Should he mock them? Should he ask the lady to sic her guards on the townsfolk for what they did to Mr. Carshtin or would he be overstepping his bounds? There was too much going on in his head and heart; aside from bitterness, there was also this new sensation of relief and elation that was coming over him, and the contrasting emotions were leaving him a bit dazed. Afraid he was going to end up saying something frivolous or stupid, he just shook his head.

“Alright then.” The duchess then put her hands on his shoulders and turned them around towards the exit without so much as offering a nod in parting to the magistrate and the priest. Luric just let her lead him wherever she pleased. Two of her guards rushed to open the doors for them. A carriage was waiting outside. It was pristine, gleaming, heavily decorated and clean, and looked severely out of place in the mud- and shit-caked town square stretching behind it. There were other townspeople gathered around it, and even more loitering around near the middle of the square. They all stopped to look at them when they walked out of the prayhouse. That’s when Luric saw it; a large pile of dried up branches with a long wooden pillar jutting out of it. Ah, so this is how they were going to do it.

He had wondered about this, about how they had been planning on killing him. Deep down he had truly believed he wasn’t going to survive, even when he was fighting for his life.

He looked at his pyre, at the people that had gathered around it. Everybody had come to watch the show. First in line were Izver’s parents. When they saw him, they started yelling. “Bring’im here! Let us light it. For our son, to cleanse him of his poison!” The crowd was cheering. They cheered, and they roared, and they hurled insults at him. Behind him, he could hear Chief Slatrim and Priest Santr trying to get them to stop, but they were still inside the prayhouse so no one else could hear them.

That was alright; Luric could bring the rest of the town up to speed.

“IF YOU WANT TO SEE SOMEONE BURN GO AHEAD AND LIGHT YOUR OWN ASSES ON FIRE BECAUSE I’M NOT DYING TODAY!”

He was going to have a sore throat for days probably, but the memory of the abrupt hush that came over the square was going to be his source of joy for far longer than that. The light chuckle from the duchess and the brash laughter from Mr. Viscol pleased him too. The other guards, the ones he had yet to properly look at, seemed amused as well. He was going to like being with them.

Then, a moment of inspiration. He turned around to look at Chief Slatrim and the others.

“I may not be able to place a curse on you all, but I still hope either Baar or Shulffa damn you in my place. I don’t care which.”

And with that, he turned around to walk down the steps towards the carriage and didn’t look back once. Once inside he started wishing he had, though. He wanted to see what Buck thought of all of this. Had his self-righteous confidence disappeared too? Was he afraid and ashamed of what he’d done? What did he think when he saw that Luric wasn’t the villain of his own little story of heroism? Luric would wonder about that for years to come.

The duchess climbed inside, sat on the bench opposite of him and signaled to the coachman to go. The other guards were mounting their horses. It was over.

He was safe and protected. He wanted to smile, he wanted to laugh, he wanted to thank the duchess for saving his life, but she was conversing with Mr. Visloc, who was riding next to her window, and he didn’t want to interrupt. Then, as they drove out of the square, they passed right next to the pyre and Luric got a good look at it. And though he knew he shouldn’t have – because he was safe, and protected, and leaving Runrick to never return – Luric still broke down and cried.

Back then he was certain he was never going to see this place and any of them ever again. Had he known he’d find himself standing in front of this prayhouse years later, only seconds away from coming face to face with the people that still haunted his nightmares every so often, he would have tried to come up with better parting words. As it were, he had to make due with referencing what he had said. He wondered if they would remember it. It had been over ten years after all.

He was a little angry at himself for being nervous; he was older, stronger, and richer than any of them. There was nothing they could do to him anymore. Moreover, they needed his help. This was their punishment. This was his vengeance. With that conviction, and a little annoyance at having forgotten to change his mud-splattered boots and pants, he barged into the building. The screech of wooden doors being pushed out of the way seemed deafening in the sepulchral room. Every head turned to look at him.

And there they were, the demons of his past.

“So, guess both Baar and Shulffa were listening that day.”

[novelsnovelsnovels]

Chapter 1

Home Sweet Home

“Ow, son of a -”

The sudden jolt of the coach car sent Luric's head in collision with the cold, hard window frame, the sharp flash of pain on the left side of his skull making him forget the nightmare he had been having moments earlier. He rubbed his concussed skin through his disheveled, thick locks while a low hiss escaped his lips. Still a little drowsy, he slowly became aware of the violent way the wagon was now wobbling; a sure sign that the train had left the even plains of the Anlalize province and was now chugging down the old, worn out tracks of the north-western highlands. Home sweet home, he thought sourly while looking at the dreary landscape.

Luric had been eagerly waiting for a chance to be sent back here for years- the Institute choosing him over his more experienced colleagues due to his familiarity with the region- but his excitement had subsided quite a bit over the course of the long journey. He dimly recalled the dreadful dream filled with angry, accusing faces and then the brutal way he had been awoken from it, his mood darkening further. But then he also remembered why he had dreamed of the angry, accusing faces, who they were angry with and the reason behind their accusations, and he felt his zeal to see this endeavor through successfully return. No, he would not allow anything to spoil this for him.

“Your face is unpleasant.”

Including her.

Sitting on the bench opposite of him, posture stiff and expression stern, was his companion. Her presence on this trip had been compulsory. Or so his boss had insisted when he protested. He had still tried to change his mind until the last moment.

“I know quite a few women who would strongly disagree with you on that.” He shot her his most feral smirk, wondering if he should let a little bit of fang peak between his lips to add to her discomfort.

“That's not what I meant,” she said rigidly. “Can't you feel it?”

He looked at her confused, but then took notice of how her eyes were wide with alertness, shoulders raised with tension, how her hands that were nestled in her lap had balled into tight fists. She tried to hide it, but her entire body was poised for either fight or flight, and he tried to suss out what had triggered this reaction. There was no immediate danger he could sense and right now it was him she was staring at intently.

That made him pause.

Him?

He turned back to the window, but this time instead of looking through the glass out into their surroundings he focused on the faint, transparent reflection of his face, and he finally understood what she meant.

Whether it had been the nightmare or him hitting his head or both combined, he didn't know, but something had triggered his fight or flight response and for him that meant something else entirely. Forget a little bit of fang- he had brought out both rows of white, razor sharp teeth, his canines gleaming menacingly as his jaw dropped a bit. How had he not felt them when he spoke just now? His eyes had bulged too, pupils unnaturally dilated and irises now a just a thin ridge of bright yellow. Even his ears had turned a little pointy. Unpleasant, indeed.

“Sorry about that,” he mumbled in her direction, and then focused on retracting his monstrous features.

It wasn't hard; not much of the beast had seeped through. There was only a sliver of agitated force vibrating around his skin, a feeling he had become so used to that it was no surprise it could move past his barriers and out into the open without him noticing when his mind was too preoccupied or his heart too perturbed. Still, it shouldn't have happened. Not to a Graduate. And definitely not in front of someone who was tasked to monitor his conduct and report back to his boss. Shit.

She wasn't looking at him anymore, head turned pointedly towards the window, but eyes too unfocused to claim there was anything of interest to her outside. Luric frowned. If this was all it took to make her so uncomfortable, then she was definitely in the wrong line of work.

He closed his eyes, let a long-practiced calmness wash over him, then reached out towards and around the edges of his essence, and slowly started to push back the prickly energy he found there, radiating outwards. He pushed and pushed until it dwindled and disappeared somewhere within the deepest part of his being, taking the fangs and the yellow eyes and pointy ears with it.

There, all better.

“Nelle?”

She only turned her head a little to look at him, nodded once, and then shifted her gaze back to the window, shoulders still tense. It would seem that calming down didn't come as easily to her. Unfortunately, that would likely reflect on her assessment of him.

He sighed and leaned against the cushioned backrest of his seat, aware again of his aching head. Suddenly, a long-forgotten memory dislodged itself from the crevice of his mind, and the new-found irony almost made him laugh. Back then, when he had been riding these same tracks out of the high lands, he also had an injured head. That particular bump, though, had been courtesy of a special perpetrator. Recalling his face - recalling all of their faces - made him feel that initial excitement return, though not without a healthy dose of resentment. Beneath his skin, the beast's energy simmered tepidly.

He couldn't wait to get back home.

To call this a train station would have been too generous. The cracked platform that they had stepped onto was shorter than the entire length of their train and barely three meters wide; a tiny, lone cabin for the station master stood at the other end. It was empty. As was the rest of the station. No one else had gotten off here, and it wasn’t hard to imagine why. The image that greeted them was as uninviting as it was sobering. The station was situated at the top of a small, flat hill and it gave them a good view of the bleak-looking town stretching before them. A canopy of rust-colored roofs punctuated here and there by rickety prayhouse towers. Everything was in shades of brown or gray, and it matched the dreariness of the overcast late autumn sky. The few crows swirling overhead - their harsh caws though loud and piercing somehow accentuating the silence - completed the picture of a desolated Podunk town at the arse-end of nowhere. If only this were as bad as it got.

“This doesn’t look so bad,” Nelle breathed.

“I’m sure the people of Pelase would be happy to hear you say that.”

Nelle turned to look at him in confusion. “Pelase? You mean this isn’t -” She reached into the pocket of her overcoat and retrieved a neatly folded paper map. She opened it only enough to look at their location, eyes quickly finding the name written sloppily in bright, red ink next to the printed one that marked Pelase. “It should be the next town over. We got off at the wrong station.”

“I’m afraid not. Whoever wrote down Runrick so close to Pelase on your map has obviously never been around here. And trust me, Runrick is nowhere near as pretty as this. No railroad leads to that shithole.”

She stared at him, wide-eyed, then looked back at the ratty little town, probably trying to imagine something worse and unable to. He didn’t blame her. Under any other circumstance he, too, would’ve rather chained himself to a cliff than accept an assignment that would take him so far from civilization. And he spent the better part of his childhood here. Nelle was born and raised in the capital. He wouldn’t be surprised if she had never even seen a cow before, much less smelled its dung.

He flung his travel pack over his left shoulder and bent down to pick up hers as well. Startled, she quickly grabbed her bag before he could touch it, shot him a curt “I’m fine, thank you!” and scurried ahead without looking back. Working with her will be so much fun. With that solemn thought he followed suit, albeit at a much lazier pace.

He caught up easily enough, the hillside gravel road leading into town proving to be a bigger challenge for Nelle’s pavement-crafted legs. Idly he wondered how another offer to take her luggage would be received, then realized he intended to word it as patronizingly as possible, so the outcome could only be one. Getting under people’s skin was a favorite past time of his, but Nelle was proving to be surprisingly unamusing when irritated. He decided he preferred the silence but loitered behind just in case her flimsy legs failed her. He would want front row view for that.

It took them an hour and an absurd amount of money to find a coachman willing to take them even near Runrick. And by near, he meant a good hour-and-a-half on foot from where he left them. The wooden sign next to the crossroad where they had been dropped off was chipped and the paint no longer readable, but it still pointed dutifully towards the path they had to take. Before them lay a dirt road, just wide enough for one carriage, that cut through a tiny stretch of grassland before it got swallowed up by the forest.

Luric dared a glance at his companion. The long journey had obviously left its mark on her poise. When he met Nelle just a few days ago in Lord Ashladd’s office, the very first thing he noticed about the woman was her prim and proper appearance. Nothing else about her stood out. She wasn’t anything noteworthy as far as beauty went; a simple bowl cut framing a fairly insipid-looking face with a pair of emotionless, dark, gray eyes staring back at him from underneath blunt bangs. It was obvious that she cared about her appearance though, not because of vanity, since there was nothing cosmetic to be found on her, but because of decorum. There was not one hair out of place, eyebrows were expertly plucked and even, clothes clean, ironed, and befitting an employee of his Majesty’s Institute. Now, her neatly combed blond hair was slightly disheveled, her attire wrinkled and flecked with mud. She looked tired and weary, as well as a little unsure when she gazed into the dark shadows of the forest they now had to enter. Nelle must have sensed his eyes on her, because she suddenly drew herself up, fastened her hold on her luggage, and pressed on.

Thankfully, the road snaked around the hills instead of over them, keeping their hike on even ground, but the muddy, bumpy path proved to be too much for Nelle either way, and she soon fell behind. Luric was trying to slow his step without it seeming deliberate, but even he was starting to lose his patience. He was almost completely caked in mud beneath the knees, and that pissed him off far more than it should. He cared about his looks too, though in his case it was about vanity. He liked looking good and important. Especially now. Especially here.

It was well past sunset before they even caught a glimpse of lights in the distance. The wind had picked up as the darkness fell, blowing dust and dry leaves in their faces. The clouds had looked heavy with rain for most of their journey from Pelase and it seemed like the downpour was ready to start.

Nelle was now several steps behind him, staggering against the gale. She was walking hunched, face half buried in the collar of her coat and eyes scrunched up to slits, trying to shield them from the biting wind. He almost felt sorry for her. It was obvious that she had tried to prepare for this journey, judging from her thick coat and long boots, but her choice in clothing still spoke loudly of the inexperience of someone born and bred in a southern city. Around here, a woolen coat alone didn’t cut it. Boots didn’t have to be just long, but also warm and impervious. She hadn’t thought to bring a scarf either, probably thinking the roll-neck pullover and collar of her coat would be enough. It would’ve been, for the mellow winters of the capital, but a north-born would’ve known to choose something with a fur cowl. Would’ve known to choose fur instead of any other material.

On the other hand, Luric was north-born, knew what to expect coming here, and still dressed as if going for a stroll through the park on a drizzly day. His long, black cashmere mantle adorned with a loose shoulder cape of the same material provided barely any protection against the harsh weather. But he didn’t need it to. He could withstand the cold on his own; his clothes served another purpose. Until the rain began he wouldn’t even bother to pull up his hood, the wind having messed up his hair enough already. Something else he was slightly annoyed with.

Another strong gust blew over them, the loud howl joining in with the cacophony of rustling leaves. From somewhere behind, them a low branch broke off and fell to the ground with a heavy thud, and with that sudden sound, the last remnant of Nelle’s composure finally snapped. She let out a terrified cry as she whirled around, hastily dropping her luggage in case she needed to run from whatever her imagination was telling her had caused that noise. She tripped and fell backwards on her behind, eyes still frantically searching the darkness. Earlier, he would have found the sight amusing, maybe would’ve made a joke at her expense, but as he was running dry on patience himself, he found it pitiful instead.

He casually sauntered over to her and picked up her bag, confident there would be no objections this time.

“There’s nothing there. I would’ve known if there was,” he said calmly.

She looked up at him over her shoulder, still shaky and scared, but the words seemed to have registered. He turned around and continued, walking past the scattered brief case that she had been carrying alongside her duffle bag. He knew better than to even attempt to reach for that. He knew exactly what its contents were and it was a weight she could still carry herself.

It wasn’t long before he heard Nelle’s hurried steps behind him, struggling to keep up and stay close to him. He didn’t slow down this time.

________________________________________________________________________________

It took a lot longer than the coachman had told them to reach the outskirts of Runrick, but even then they had yet to come to the end of their trek. As far as Luric could remember, the only halfway decent inn around was near the market square, at the center of town.

They made their way through the dark, empty streets, barely any light streaming through the tightly-closed wooden shutters of the candle-lit houses. Every so often a guard dog would start barking at them from behind a fence, but otherwise the town was deathly quiet.

As they approached the center, the houses grew a little bigger and were more densely-packed, most of them made of stone or clay bricks instead of cob. This is where the good folk lived. And would you look at that, some of them even had lanterns hanging from their frontage now. Luric was impressed. Ten years ago, any sort glass oil lamp would’ve been considered a modern commodity and only a few households could afford them. Paraffin, together with many other far more essential things, was hard to come by in these parts. It seemed, though, that Runrick wasn’t ready for cobblestone yet. Perhaps it was for the best, since shit tended to stand out less on muddy streets. Live stock was still free to roam wherever its owner pleased, apparently. Most towns these days forbade animal trade inside its bounds, precisely because of the mess it left behind, but obviously that memo had yet to reach Runrick.

Luric looked around. Nothing he’d seen up until now had awoken any distinct memories. There was only so much he could make out in the dim light, but he still expected to recognize at least a few street corners, or a broken-down shop front, a run-down alley. It was almost a little disappointing. He’d thought the sight of this old home town would’ve stirred his mind, and heart, a little more. Perhaps he had misjudged the impact this place had left on him. And that worried him a little.

To Luric, this excursion was all about personal gratification, and that depended solely on the importance this town and its people still had to him. He had tried to put his childhood behind him only out of sheer defiance, and to help mold himself into a better, stronger person, but he had always made sure that somewhere in the depths of his soul a wound remained open just enough to help him remember this place and what it did to him. If that wound had closed over, then there was no pain to feed the bitterness he needed for that gratification. And coming here had been a mistake.

It wasn’t until they reached the main street leading up to the market square that he started to feel a vague sense of familiarity, but nothing beyond that. He spotted a large stone house with glass windows from where the inviting glow of the fireplace beckoned. It looked presentable enough to be an inn, so he made a beeline for it, Nelle in tow. But instead of entering immediately, he paused in front of the window to peer inside between the iron grills. The dining hall was empty, save for a lone woman sitting behind a wooden counter. She seemed to be struggling to stay awake, her head constantly dipping forward as her eyes fell shut before jerking back up. He tried to get a good look of her face to see if he could recognize her.

And he did.

Recollection hit him with such force that it left him momentarily stunned, and when the shock subsided he felt an unexpected surge of emotions wash over him.

She was older, fatter, but he recognized her. She had been there that day. This woman hadn’t been someone close to him in the past, had only seen her in passing as a child, and he couldn’t even remember her name, but he was certain he had seen her face in the crowd he still had nightmares about. She might have even been there in the one he had on the train earlier. And that was all that mattered.

Guess the wound is still very much open, he thought, relieved.

He moved away from the window, started to formulate a plan on how he wanted go about this. Beside him, he felt Nelle shift, probably wondering why they hadn’t gone inside yet. Maybe he could use her.

“Would you mind being the one to talk to the innkeepers?”

Nelle frowned up at him and opened her mouth to say something, but then closed it in resignation.

It was obvious that this didn’t make any sense to her. Why should she be the one to talk to the locals when he was the one who had lived here in the past? It seemed, though, that his gentlemanly deed from earlier had paid off; without asking any questions, she went for the front door and opened it. Luric was right behind her but pulled the hood over his head before stepping inside. He didn’t think the woman would recognize him immediately, but he wanted to make sure she didn’t alert anyone of his presence before he wanted her to. When Nelle saw this, her frown deepened, even looked a bit exasperated with him. It hadn’t rained yet, he hadn’t used the hood at all while they had been out in the cold, why on earth would he pull it up now, indoors? – was written all over her face. To her credit, she still didn’t ask any question. Just sighed and turned around to walk towards the woman.

Said woman was now fully awake and alert. She looked at them in disbelief, hands sliding slowly behind the counter. He wondered if she had a rifle there. Runrick was so remote even the innkeepers were confused when they actually had customers, he thought bemusedly. Though he supposed two strangers clad in black, appearing in the dead of a stormy night on your doorstep, would put anyone on edge. She did look a little scared. Good.

“Um…,” was all the woman could muster.

Nelle didn’t wait for her to get her bearings.

“Good evening, madam. We are from the Institute of Occult Science and Affairs, and we have been sent here to aid you in your plight.”

“In my….” The woman was obviously still having difficulties.

Undeterred, Nelle went on. “Your town executives have sent a message to us about a shadow critter causing havoc in your community?”

A beat.

“Oh - OH!” Apparently, it had finally hit home. “You’re the - you’re here to- OH, THANK GOODNESS!”

The woman brought her hands to her chest as she heaved in relief. She was still a little shaken and tears were now welling up in her eyes. “We thought it got lost on the way. Or that…m-my husband said, city folks don’t bother with people like us.”

And they normally don’t, thought Luric. The woman was now throwing worried glances in his direction. He had kept his distance and stood silently near the doorway, hood half-covering his face. He must’ve cut a frightening image. Nelle interjected, trying to keep the woman’s attention on her.

“We apologize for taking so long. The Institute will offer compensation to anyone who has lost livestock during the time it took for us to answer your call.”

The woman looked at her oddly, as if unsure on how to answer that. She then mumbled something in a small, broken voice that even Nelle had trouble hearing.

“I beg your pardon, madam, could you please repeat that?”

“P-people, m’lady,” she stuttered. “It stopped commin’ after cows and sheep weeks ago. It kills people now,” she finished with a sob, and the tears were now freely running down her face. Luric raised his head in surprise. Nelle, on the other hand, had gone rigid.

“Mother’s love, we keep hearing ‘bout someone disappearing every couple o’ days now. We even tried - when we saw that no one was coming, we tried to kill it ourselves, a-and it-it - OH, those poor boys!” She had completely broken down now, palms frantically wiping away at her face.

We’re dealing with a man-eater? Well, he had encountered monsters like that plenty of times before, so he wasn’t all too worried. He looked over at Nelle. Her back was ramrod straight, her entire frame completely still and silently watching the crying woman in front of her. It was probably fair to assume that she was quite a bit worried. The initial message had been about a black-furred pest with bright red eyes, lurking at the outskirts of Runrick, and stealing their animals. The people at the Institute had concluded that it was a shadow critter that had outgrown squirrels and rabbits, and was now looking for larger, easy prey. Sheep and the occasional bovine, nothing more. But shadow critters never went after people. Whatever this was, it hunted humans, and that changed the parameters of their mission. Something else she hadn’t come prepared for, judging from her reaction on the road earlier.

“Please stop crying, madam. We will take care of it.” Nelle’s voice was steady. Luric was impressed. She had pulled herself together far faster than he had expected. Well, to be fair, she knew it wasn’t her that had to fight the damn thing anyway. She was only here to observe him.

The woman had settled down somewhat and started pacing back and forth, as if she couldn’t decide which way to go. “I have to run to tell’em. Oh, but I don’t wanna go out into the night alone. But they have to know.”

“We will inform the town council of our arrival first thing in the morning, madam.”

“But they’re havin’ a meetin’ right now. At the prayhouse. “

Luric perked up at that.

“It got another today,” she explained. “Bramber. Oh, that kind, sweet boy.”

He paused at that name. Bramber. Bramber….Bramby?! Suddenly, the image of a short, stout, blond haired boy sneering at him popped up in his mind. He remembered him, only he had been neither kind nor sweet. Bramby had been one of the meaner kids at his school. They hadn’t been friends or even gotten along. Younger and smaller than others, Bramby had liked following the bigger kids around; being with them made him feel more important, higher up on the food chain of the school yard. And if those kids liked to pick on Luric, then so did Bramby. Still, Luric was a little sorry that he died.

He sure would’ve liked that little kiss ass to see him now. Would you have started following me around this time? He huffed, amused, to himself.

The sound had caught the woman and Nelle’s attention. Nelle looked at him disapprovingly. If only she knew how little he cared about propriety right now. Ignoring her, he addressed the woman with a calm, even voice. “Leave it to me then, madam. I’ll go now to let them know we’re here.”

She looked at him with a mixture of gratefulness and uncertainty.

“Would you, m’lord? Thank you!“ She was leaning in a little, trying to see his face under the hood.

He let her. “It’s my pleasure.”

Luric turned to Nelle, who had gone from disapproval back to confusion.

“I assume you can handle it from here?” he said while dropping their luggage unceremoniously on the floor. As he turned to open the door he heard the woman say hurriedly.

“Wait, m’lord! I haven’ told ya where our prayhouse is.”

He paused. He turned back to her, pulled back his hood so she could see his face fully, and smiled at her.

“Don’t worry, madam, I still know where it is.”

She blinked. She didn’t understand. She didn’t recognize him. But as he was closing the door behind him, he saw her face twist into something like realization. Pleased with himself, he stepped into the night.