Band of Freaks

Peter’s newfound mare galloped and heaved throughout the entire evening. He couldn’t bring himself to look back, even with Tinnie fidgeting in place, nor could he bring himself to dwell on the fact this could indeed be some sort of hell, that he actually jumped from the parking garage and this was his punishment for it. Not only was he nothing more than some lowly office drone a couple of days ago, now attempting to hunt, sleep and piss in this unknown wilderness, but his efforts led to an entire city, who had the misfortune of naming him their shapeshifting lord, now ravaged and abducted by what only seemed like silly cryptids a week ago. He knew he’d spiral then and there, Krsnik powers be damned, the closest thing he had to a lifeline and friend now was a gangly scribe with a broken nose and a maddened imp on his back. The odds of him making it through the week spoke for themselves.

He travelled until the soil grew damp again, and his panting mare could no longer keep her footing in stride under the weight of the slipping mud. Peter crawled down the mare, nearly planting face first into the bog. But Like a moth to a flame, this bog had called to him like so many times before, leading him back to find the putrid remains of Zemliharos’ newfound residents.

Only, his scribe did not wait by the dying tree, his obnoxiously oversized smile greeting him like a panting dog its owner. Through the fog, he could only tell that a burlap sack now covered the woman’s face, shrouding her from the outside world.

“Jakov, w-we need to talk, now!” Peter shouted out, but no one replied. All he could hear was the morning birds whistling as the first hints of sunlight hit the horizon, and the muffled cries from the woman under that burlap sack. He called again and again for Jakov, but not a hint of him. It was as if he had deserted the camp without a trace, though he knew the teen would rather be flayed alive than disavow his station. Then it dawned on him. The striga. Peter called out to the scribe again and again while he attempted to mask the panic in his voice, but he could feel it cracking more and more as no one returned his call . It only enraged the muffled cries behind the accursed canvas sack that remained anchored on that tree. Peter couldn’t help but clench his free fist in as he felt his face flush and his teeth grind onto each other as he yanked off the mask. Only for his fist to soften once he saw who was awaiting him on the other side. It was not the woman, but Jakov himself. He looked up to his lord with a cold, defeated dullness in his eyes.

“What the hell Jakov, how’d y-you end up on this crucifix,” Peter yanked the rope that covered his mouth. On top of the newfound rope burns around his lips, The poor scribe now had two black eyes, not just the one from Luka’s pommel strike.

“It’s a trap, r-”

Peter heard the tightening twine of a hunting bow looming from behind, and he turned to find the golden eyed woman glaring at him with a ruthlessness that convinced him she was fully ready to let go of the drawstring and deliver an arrow straight into his temple. Tinnie pointed in fascination as she drew and shifted between the two of them, ready to release an arrow at even the impression of a sudden movement.

“I want you both on the ground.”

Tinnie giggled. “And I wish to fly.” She moved her attention onto Tinnie, who kept his grin.

“Where’s the other men, that knight you were with?”

“H-he’s dead, the Striga tore him to bits.”

Peter could see a slight smile on her face. “And what, you came back to finish what he started?”

He couldn’t help but join Tinnie in laughing a little, “And you really t-think I’m even capable of such a thing.”

She kept her bow firm, but he could see her relaxing her draw ever so slightly, “I’ve met many such arrogant men in my days.”

“You c-can leave freely, do whatever you like. I have no quarrel with you. But w-why aren’t you with them?”

She continued to glare at him, but her draw continued to lull. “Much like you, I can’t go back, this is my home now.”

Peter then remembered what he had in his pocket, from what still remained of his world. “Well, t–then we’re both on our own, I can’t go back either. We practice witchcraft where I’m from too.” He slowly reached into his satchel and the woman tightened her bow. He pulled out his smartphone and showed it to the woman. “It’s all I have from home, you can have it if you like.”

“And what good would I have for a pocket mirror?”

Jakov clicked the homescreen and it flashed on, showing off his Van Gogh’s Cafe Terrance at Night screensaver. “This painting will be made centuries from now, I-I think in this world at least. I don’t know. But it takes what’s called a picture, it’ll freeze time forever, like an instant painting. W-want to see?”

The woman turned her head ever so slightly. “If this is a trick, I’ll make sure the first arrow goes in your pecker.”

Peter tried not to flush at the threat. He held up the phone and snapped a photo of her and held it up so she could see it, “See, pretty neat, right?”

The woman relaxed her drawstring and kept her bow and arrow in her left hand, freeing up her right. She inched towards Peter, swiped the phone from his grip and shuffled back to regain her distance. She stared at the image of herself.

“You can zoom in by moving your fingers like this,” he motioned for a “zoom in”, “We use these m-more than we talk to people where I’m from. I can show you. My name’s Peter by the way, what’s yours.”

She glared at Peter as he took one gradual step after another to approach her. “Lyana, not that it should matter to you.”

Peter moved towards Jakov and started grabbing onto the ropes, the woman continued to hawk him as he started to loosen the ropes. Tinnie got on to the tips of his toes to try and get a better look at Lyana’s new phone. “Where are you doing after we leave, Lyana?”

“Bold of you to assume you’re leaving alive. Wherever I want.”

Peter struggled with the knots, but soon enough, they loosened on the squire. He continued to keep his attention on Lyana, matching her gaze. “W-well, the only place I have left to go is Ragusiic, s-someone there is supposed to help me.”

“Help you with what.”

“Vanquish the striga.”

Lyana broke into laughter as the final ropes loosened on the squire and he fell to the ground with a thud. “You really are as dumb as you look.”

Jakov pulled himself from the mud and attempted to wipe it from his face, “Our Lord is Vojvoda of Zemliharos & Preveyor of Silver. Our Kralj himself will rally behind us once he learns what’s happened in our Duchy.”

“I liked it better when this one was gagged.”

Jakov continued to attempt to wipe away the mud now caked onto his gambeson and face, with limited success. Tinnie looked up at Lyana. She noticed that he creeped up close enough to now be within striking distance of her. “You know the greatest ally is a Lord. Perhaps he could make a Lady out of you yet.”

She dropped her bow and in one fluid motion reached back to pull out a dagger tucked away behind her tunic. She tackled the creature and held the knife to his throat. He laughed manically at the thought. “A survivalist, I see. I say we keep her around.”

“One more word out of you and I’ll paint this camp in your blood.”

“N-no one’s painting in anyone’s blood. He’s h-harmless. Let him go and we’ll be on our way.”

She kept her gaze, and Tinnie didn’t flinch. She sighed, lowered her blade and released the creature. He dashed on all fours back behind Peter. “You’re a real band of freaks, you know that?”

Jakov cleared enough mud that you could see his gaunt cheeks once more. “Blasphemy against the crown is no small accusation.”

Peter couldn’t help but smile, “It’s ok, she’s right. You can keep the mare too, she can’t carry the three of us. T-they clearly took something from you. If you help us reclaim the city, I-I’ll do everything in m-my power to make sure you’re rewarded. Silver, land, I keep my word.”

She looked at the three of them with a blank expression, but didn’t budge. Tinnie pointed past the marsh, back towards the woods. “Ragusiic is this way, Your Grace” He looked to Jakov who nodded in affirmation. Peter smiled and waved to Lyana, and turned his back from her, petting the mare’s mane and telling her they’re off without her.

“Wait,” Peter turned around, “It’s suicide, but say the mighty Vojvoda slays Babaroga, with my help of course. I want to be a Lady, with a vineyard under my family’s name. You must swear this to me.”

“I swear it.”

“Then your band of freaks just got bigger.”