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creative-type · 7 years ago

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Monster of the Salt Rock Hills VII

First

AO3

AN: So this is shorter than I would have liked it, but I have had a dearth of writing time lately, and the choice was shorter (hopefully) more frequent chapters versus longer, more sporadic updates

Summary: The day after stopping a drath summoning gone horribly wrong, Orrig and his team are summoned to the Salt Rock Hills to find and eliminate a monster that has been ravaging the countryside. But things quickly go awry and it soon becomes apparent that nothing about this case is as it seems. Thistle must learn to work together with her new coworkers and overcome her own insecurities to find the truth of the monster of the Salt Rock Hills. Set immediately after Chapter 6: The Knowing Ones

Chapter Seven: In Which Some Questions are Answered (and Others Aren’t)

It wasn’t long after Thistle ended the spell with Orrig that she began to have second thoughts. She was absolutely convinced that what Rhys had done was wrong and certain that Isla was innocent, but she wasn’t sure there was anything Orrig could do about it, or even if he would want to. This wasn’t their job, and they were scheduled to leave once it got light enough to travel. Rhys even had the local authority backing his actions.

It was truly none of their business, but Thistle couldn’t forget the way Isla looked at her as she was being drug away with all the care afforded a sack of potatoes—like she were some kind of monster, and not a person. Just remembering it made Thistle furious, but it was an impotent anger. For all her magic, she was powerless. Powerless, and weak, and useless…

Thistle waited for Orrig from the porch of Dr. Malady’s house. The sky was beginning to stir with soft, pre-dawn light, bathing the landscape with pockets of shadow and bleaching the rest of its natural color. Thistle saw best in true darkness or complete light, and this in-between made her eyes smart. Or perhaps it was the lack of sleep. She rubbed her eyes as a hulking figure crested of the hill leading to the house, trailed by two smaller figures.

None of them were properly dressed. Orrig wasn’t wearing a shirt at all, while Brent’s was on inside out. Lyra almost looked presentable, but her hair was struggling more than normal to escape its tie. They had come as quickly as they could, leaving everything except for their weapons behind.

“Hey Thistle are you—“ Lyra yawned enormously. “—Are you okay?”

Their thoughtfulness made Thistle feel even more worthless. “There’s been some sort of mistake. Rhys arrested Isla Clark. He says she’s been poaching winged horses.”

“The mage from the dead mercenary team?” Brent asked.

“He just took her away without listening to what she had to say. I saw her leg, and there’s no way she could have gone to the Hills and back all those times,” Thistle said frantically. “I-I know I should have waited until it was properly morning, but Rhys was hurting her. She wasn’t even wearing shoes, and when I tried to stop him he said he’d arrest me too.”

Lyra’s expression hardened. “He what?”

“I didn’t know what I was supposed to do,” Thistle said. “He had Mum and Rizaek with him, and a warrant for Isla’s arrest. He can’t do this, can he? The guild doesn’t have the authority to put people into prison?”

She looked up helplessly at Orrig for answers. He’d not said a word except to say he would come to Dr. Malady’s house. Her confused rambling made his mouth drew into a tighter line. “You did goot to call. Did elf say vhy he arrest mage?”

“No, he just said that she’d confess once she saw the evidence he had.”

“Hmn.”

“You walked with Isla out to the Hills,” Thistle said. “You don’t think she could go out to the springs for weeks to kill winged horses, do you?”

Orrig sighed heavily. “Nyet. Vas…painful vatching.”

“This doesn’t make any &$#% sense,” Brent said. “Rhys could get in a lot of trouble for arresting the wrong person. *#&@, he shouldn’t be the one arresting her!”

“Well, I’d say it’s because she’s a mage,” Lyra said. “Do you think a bunch of backwater hicks who’ve never seen any magic in their lives would want to try to apprehend a mage without any firepower of their own? Rhys has got those &#*@#&! bracers plus a pet spellslinger of his own. If he’s smart he’ll charge a little bit extra for doing something outside of his initial contract, but I’m not so sure he’s got two good brain cells to rub together.”

“But why go through all that effort? You saw the horses out here. They can’t be worth that much,” Brent protested.

“Five gold pieces a feather,” Thistle said quietly. “Do you remember? The wings were missing when we got there.”

Lyra let out a surprised hiss, and Brent winced. Together the three of them looked up to Orrig for his verdict. Though his face was unreadable as ever Thistle found herself ready to trust whatever he decided. The feeling surprised her, but she quickly buried it.

Slowly Orrig nodded. “I vill talk to elf. Ve wait here until full light. I agree dat mage probably not one killing horses, but maybe elf have proof. Need more information. Until den, ve rest.”

“You expect us to just wait?” Lyra said.

“I expect to be smart,” Orrig said, his tone brooking no room for argument. “Elf has job, ve intruding. Make mistake and mayor vill throw us out on zhopa. As is right.”

Orrig leaned his axe against the outside of the house before ducking inside, stopping only to give Thistle a reassuring pat on the shoulder. Grumbling, Lyra followed, while Brent fumbled to unbuckle the sword from his hip. He set it next to the axe before turning to Thistle, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Are you okay? You, um, look kind of stressed out.”

Thistle’s shoulders slumped. Was it that obvious? “I guess I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“Did you really look at that mage-chick’s leg?”

“Yeah. It wasn’t pretty.” Thistle shook her head. “I don’t understand, that bite is proof enough that there’s something in the Hills. Does Rhys think she killed her teammates too?”

“Dunno, but Orrig’s going to find out.” Brent held the door open for her. “If you didn’t sleep good that means you need rest most of all. I think we’re all going to need a clear head to figure this one out.”

Thistle went to the parlor, now empty and forlorn. The three beeswax candles burned brightly, dripping wax onto the wrought iron stand. There was no need for them with dawn quickly coming, and with a snap of her fingers Thistle doused the flames.

A small black mass stirred from the chair that had until recently been occupied by Isla Clark, and Salem blinked his golden eyes as the ripple of magic passed overhead. He looked at Thistle and meowed, as if in question.

It was only in stories where witches befriended black cats, but it seemed like this one had taken quite a liking to Isla. Thistle wandered over and patted his head. “I don’t know, but I promise that I’m going to find out.”

It took a few minutes to figure out where everyone was supposed to go. Despite suggesting rest, Orrig insisted that he was fully awake and settled at the table, deep in thought. Lyra went to Thistle’s room to freshen up while Brent dozed in the parlor. Thistle knew she ought to do the same, but she was full of restless energy and found herself drawn to the back garden.

The sun was just beginning to crest over the horizon as Thistle slumped into the chair Dr. Malady had used the day before to snap beans. The bucket had not been touched, and Thistle used her magic to set it over near the heaping pile of garlic.

For a moment she allowed herself to just sit, taking deep breaths of the crisp country air. Her eyes fluttered closed, so heavy with sleep that Thistle wasn’t sure she’d be able to pry them open again. The image of dead horses and malicious mercenaries were tattooed to the back of her eyelids.

Orrig would sort it, and Thistle trusted his judgement. There would be plenty of time to question the wisdom of that decision later, but seeing how Rhys treated employees and employers alike had made her realize how lucky she’d been to end up with this group of mercenaries, flawed and dysfunctional as they were.

It was strangely comforting to know that she wouldn’t have to solve everything by herself. Thistle drifted into an uneasy slumber that was only broken with the return of Dr. Malady.

“Well hello there. I wasn’t expecting you all quite this early.”

Thistle jumped out of her seat as Orrig responded, his voice too low for her to pick out, and rushed back into the house. Dr. Malady stood in the entranceway of the house, a bemused smile on her tired face. The white coat that marked her profession was creased, with a dark stain on the cuff of her left sleeve. She shrugged it off after setting down her heavy black bag. “Oh, things went quite well. Healthy mother and baby, and I’ve time for a nap before setting off on rounds. I terribly sorry, I’d planned to have breakfast ready before you left.”

The doctor’s smile faltered when she saw Thistle. “Is everything all right? You look exhausted.”

Thistle glanced at Orrig, who gave a subtle nod, and swallowed hard. Then, praying that Dr. Malady would forgive her for failing to protect Isla, she told her everything that had happened.

Dr. Malady’s anger was a quiet thing, and somehow that made it worse. She listened to Thistle’s disjointed tale without uttering a single word, except to occasionally ask for clarification on an unclear point. A steely glint entered her eyes, and her lips pursed into an increasingly thin line. When Thistle was finished she strode over to her small kitchen and put on a kettle of water to boil.

“I’m beginning to think that elf doesn’t know his head from his @$$,” Dr. Malady said darkly. “He wouldn’t even been in this godsforsaken town if it weren’t for Isla, and he’s going to accuse her of killing the winged horses?”

“What do you mean?” Thistle said.

Dr. Malady leaned against the counter, her back to Orrig and Thistle. Her hands clenched into fists, each tendon stretching taunt against her skin. “You have to understand, we thought that the monster was dead. The search team that found Isla, Marco, and Lucian never did find a body, but there was the matter of the missing sword. Everyone assumed…” She sighed, and began pulling mugs from a cupboard. “Does everyone like tea?”

Thistle felt Brent come up behind her, and a moment later Lyra emerged from the bedroom. On some unspoken cue they joined Orrig at the table.

“It vould be much help iv you tell us vat you know,” Orrig prompted.

“And what are you planning to do with the knowledge?” Dr. Malady asked. “What happened in the Hills that night has been subject to enough rumor to ruin Isla’s life without me spreading tales I only half understand.”

“Look, we’re just trying to help,” Lyra said, not unkindly. “We can’t prove Rhys wrong without evidence.”

Some of the defensiveness left Dr. Malady, but she remained guarded as she said, “Isla doesn’t remember everything that happened during the attack. I’ll I can tell you is guesswork and hearsay.”

“That’s better than nothing,” Brent said.

Dr. Malady considered this as she polished her glasses. “Do you really think you can help Isla?”

“We can try.”

Thistle was surprised that the words came from her. She’d been content to let the others speak for her. There was less chance she’d mess something up that way. Dr. Malady returned her glasses to their rightful position and studied Thistle as if she were one of her patients and she was contemplating the best course of treatment for a deadly disease.

Finally she came to a decision. With deft motions Dr. Malady filled five mugs with steaming hot water and set them before the adventurers. “Before the town voted on whether to hire a mercenary team, Mayor Stone had me conduct a post-mortem on one of the horses Carson found. I’d never seen anything like it before in my life.”

She swirled the contents of her mug and took a bracing sip. “At first I thought it’d been ripped apart by scavengers. Then I seen its heart. It…I don’t even know how to describe it. Exploded, I suppose, blown apart from the inside out until only shreds was left that held it together.” Dr. Malady let out a humorless laugh. “For a time I didn’t even recognize it was a heart.

“That convinced most of the town that the monster was real, though a few argued otherwise. It almost came to blows, but the vote settled it. Everyone contributed as their means allowed, and Jacob Swinehart was commissioned to hire a team out of Crossroads.”

“Vhy Jacob Swinehart?” Orrig asked.

Dr. Malady shrugged. “His business takes him to town quite often. Suppliers don’t come this far north, so he has to go south. If anyone would know where to go to hire out a team, it’d be Jacob.”

“Even though he doesn’t believe in the monster?” Lyra said.

“He wasn’t too happy about having to give up his hard-earned coin,” Dr. Malady said, managing an approximation of a smile. “In any case, Marco Russo specialized in tracking and trapping monsters. He brought Isla and an elf by the name of Lucian with him, but weeks passed and even he couldn’t figure out what was doin’ all the killing. He had me exhume the one I’d examined for clues, but no such luck.”

“So he decided to wait and see if they could catch the monster in action,” Thistle said.

“Just so,” Dr. Malady confirmed. “When they didn’t return the next morning a search team was formed. They found Marco with his throat cut out, while Lucian had been thrown against a boulder with enough force to crack open his skull. Isla was unconscious in a pool of her own blood. They brought her to me, but whatever magic she’d done had already closed the wound.”

“I heard she had claws,” Brent said.

“People need to learn to keep things to himself,” Dr. Malady said with a beleaguered sigh. “But it’s true. Her finger- and toenails were like claws, and her hair had grown and greyed. People thought the monster had possessed her—some still think the monster possessed her. I didn’t know what had happened, and she wouldn’t wake up. I had to call every favor ever owed to me t’ get a proper healer to look at her, for all the good it did. I was told the hair and nails was a side effect of the spell that Isla did on her leg, and that she’d either wake up or she wouldn’t. There was nothing that could be done.”

Dr. Malady sighed again, the lines in her face deepening. “The search team scoured high an’ low for the monster but didn’t find a thing, and later someone realized that Lucian’s sword had gone missing, too. A couple days later Isla came to…I had to tell her what happened. She blamed herself for everything, said it was her fault the monster attacked them.”

There was uncomfortable silence, and an involuntary shiver went up Thistle’s spine. She couldn’t imagine how horrible it would wake up and realize your coworkers were dead, or what it would be like to have to break that news.

“Did she give reason?” Orrig finally asked.

“No. Isla didn’t say anything at all except to say the last thing she remembered was Lucian attacking the monster, his sword drawn. So the question was, if he attacked the thing, where’d his sword go?” Dr. Malady shook her head.

“Enough time passed that everyone figured that Lucian managed to land a death blow before succumbing to his wounds and the monster went off somewhere to die. No one except Carson was willing to go far into the Hills, and his father wouldn’t let him past the abandoned mines. The matter was settled, and as the one surviving member of the team Isla got the bounty.”

Something told Thistle that this was important, and she remembered Orrig’s look when Mayor Stone said that his people had paid twice for the same job. Luckily Lyra asked the question she was thinking. “Wait, Isla got the entire payout?”

“Who else would it go to?” Dr. Malady asked. “Marco Russo was licensed—the guild has got benefits for surviving family in the case of something like this, and according to the records we were given Lucian had no next of kin. We didn’t even have a place to send the body. I think he’s the only elf in our cemetery.”

“But the monster wasn’t dead,” Brent said.

“No, but the books were closed on it as if it were,” Dr. Malady said. “We had to submit a completely new request once this new round of killing started, but since it was a confirmed man-killer it was considered a more dangerous job.”

“More expensive,” Orrig said

“Exactly,” Dr. Malady said. “We could barely afford Marco. There was no way we’d be able to afford a more expensive team, except Isla give over every penny she had to make up the difference. I tried to talk her out of it. What she had would have gone a long way for a prosthetic leg, but she wouldn’t hear of it. I’m telling you, there’s no one who wants to the monster killed more than Isla Clark.”

Dr. Malady looked nearly sick with worry while the rest processed what she said. Orrig drank his tea in one gulp before rising to his feet. “Thank you. Is very helpful. I vill tell elf vat you tell me.”

“And if he doesn’t listen I’ll punch him in the face,” Lyra added.

“No,” Orrig said. “I vill go by self.”

“But Orrig…”

“No but. Go find Isla, ask vat happen. Maybe she know more than she think.”

“How’s that gonna help when she doesn’t remember anything?” Brent said.

“She remember elf attack monster. Go see vat else. I vill take care of Rhys.”

Orrig’s voice took on a particular tone when he was giving orders, an unmovable authority that had come to a decision and would not be moved off course. It was a subtle change, but one that Thistle was beginning to recognize. She hurried to her feet, her tea untouched. “Um, I need to get something. Just give me a minute.”

Without waiting for an answer Thistle hurried down the hallway and entered Isla’s bedroom. Silently apologizing for the invasion of privacy, she scanned the room until she found what she was looking for. In less than a minute she was back in the parlor where Orrig, Brent, and Lyra were readying to leave.

“What was that all about?” Lyra asked.

Thistle almost died with embarrassment under their quizzical stares. “Rhys didn’t give her a chance to put on her shoes,” she mumbled, holding the sturdy boots to her chest. The left was bulkier than the right, some sort of leather brace giving extra support for her bad ankle. The healing Thistle had done had helped, but Isla would still need to take precautions to avoid injuring it any further.

Lyra shrugged, while Orrig gave an approving grunt and Brent nodded. Thistle let out a small sigh of relief at their non-reaction, only to realize that Dr. Malady was still staring at her, utterly dumbfounded.

It took her a moment before Dr. Malady could speak again, and when she did her eyes were shiny with unshed tears. “I’ll leave things in your capable hands. I’m glad that Isla has someone like you on her side.”

#The Monster of the Salt Rock Hills #daughter of the lilies #daughter of the lilies fanfiction #Thistle #Orrig #Brent #Lyra #creative-type writes

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