The Journey Begins

“Elias, I have no time for you.”

Thomas, the Master of the town, stood up from his chair and scurried across the hall. He had been piled behind letters and notes of a rather tedious nature, although utterly crucial to the inhabitant’s survival. He made his way to a pitcher of wine, and poured himself a glass. “As you can see, the day has started strong against me.” He half turned, motioning towards the cluttered table.

The man had no hair left, and a gray beard grew thick yet combed. His youthful skin and eyes stood a confusing contrast to these features. His body, while showing signs of clear fat growing around the belly, suggested a stronger man beneath, who had at one point been something to look at. His eyes, red rimmed, looked at Elias from over the glass.

“This is an urgent matter.”

“Oh, they all are with you.” He poured a second glass. “Same with the tax collectors, and the caravans, and the farmers. All just as important as you, and they got to me first I am afraid.”

Elias began crossing the room at a leisurely pace, thumbs tucked arrogantly into his belt.

“It is about those farmers, Thomas.”

Thomas made his way back over to his desk and pondered over one of the letters. Something about requests for new military recruits being sent out.

“Oh is it then? What’s it about? One of them stole something or slept with another man’s wife? Haven’t had one of those disputes in a while.”

“One of them was murdered.”

Thomas attempted another sip of wine but stopped when the words made their way to his tired mind. He looked up, placing the glass next to him.

“What did you say?”

Elias walked over to the desk, and looked down at Thomas.

“One of them was murdered. According to the only witness, they were ripped apart. And the same witness mentioned another. Some priest, a ways up the main road from the farm. We do not know who he was.”

“Meaning you do know who the farmer was?” Thomas pushed the wine away, and leaned forward, steepling his hands. “Who?”

“Bertram. Alban Bertram.” Thomas closed his eyes. The exhaustion deepened on his face. “He was killed at his own home. Just an old man.” Elias’s throat caught on the words, and he cleared the way with a swallow. Thomas leaned back and rubbed his forehead before looking back up.

“I am truly sorry Elias.”

“No need for that. All I need is you to sign the order of execution.” He presented the document before the Master, who looked at it deeply before returning his gaze back to the head guard.

“So, you think you found the murderer?”

“Yes, sir, I do.” Elias held the parchment in suspense. Thomas leaned away, pondering into the still red liquid filling his cup.

“A priest? Is that what he called them?” The words, while asked to Elias, had been spoken inwardly, searching through Thomas’s memories.

“Sir?”

“Magi. Wondering these parts? Killed, too.” His eyes darted around the table in a desperate search for some answer.

“Sir, will you sign it?” Thomas’s eyes snapped up to Elias. Suddenly he stood up, and downed the wine before walking over to the bottle once more.

“Tell me Elias, why do you assume this man is the one we ought to have put the blame upon?” He poured another glass and stood looking out the window beyond the beverage’s table. Elias lowered the parchment and turned his gaze downwards.

“He was wearing one of the vanguard pins.”

“Ah, I see.”

“And his story.” He turned as he nearly barked the words. “Oh, you should hear it. Completely absurd.”

“Which part? The finding of the corpses or the figure at the bridge.”

“Well, all of it I suppose-” Elias jerked his head back. “Wha- you heard?” Thomas turned around, and sipped from his drink, a sly glint rested in his eyes. “How?” He looked at Elias with disappointment, and a note of hurt pride.

“I might be a bit fatter than the man I used to be, Elias. However, my ears and my eyes are as lean as ever. You think I got to where I am by not paying attention?”

He walked back over to the desk and sat down. Laying both hands over his belly, he slumped lower into the chair, looking up at the older man.

“I need you to understand something, there is no one else here to watch this region of the country. They left us all alone when the armies marched South. If I let a single chance like this go to waste, it could spell the doom of dozens more.” Elias leaned forward unknowingly bringing his voice to a hissing whisper.

“What do you mean?” Thomas fidgeted, going over possible words to choose from.

“Elias, when you see these townspeople going about, what do you think of them?”

“Friends.” He looked for more pleasing words to his title. “People I am tasked with taking care of.”

“Right. As am I. But not simply because they are friends.” The air grew thick around them. “Elias, do you know what happens if a man killer is loose upon the countryside? If the fishermen and the farmers and the caravans, and all of their families are left defenseless, with no warning of what is out there and with no way of sending any real force of arms out to help them?”

“They die.” The words fell flat. Thomas slowly nodded.

“Yes, my friend. They all die. And let’s say you are correct about the man you have. A true blessing to have the murderer wander right into our arms, isn’t it? A beautiful thing that should be a cause for celebration.” Thomas tilted his head and looked at Elias from under his brow. “But, if you are wrong, then we just killed the only chance we have at finding any real answers.” Elias shook his head as if coming out of a trance.

“Are you to suggest to me, Thomas, that you believe his story? That there is some sort of creature roaming the countryside? Something spawned from the deep pits or fallen out of the darkness of the night sky? Oh you have gone off, haven’t you.”

“Elias, I need you to listen to me.”

He spoke as a man seeing the future, death lingering upon each word. Elias stopped his mocking chuckles, and met Thomas’s gaze. His eyes were stern, and Elias thought he now detected a hint of fear.

“This is a chance I will not take. Not now. Not when our people are hanging by a thread. Not while our protection is gone and we stand like naked babes wandering a field.” Thomas took a deep breath, never once taking his eyes off the head guard. “Elias, I need you to do something for me. Please.”

Elias felt the urge to flee from the meeting. To go away and be done with all of it. To not have another man’s task put upon him. But, at the end of the day, no matter how old, no matter how worn down he felt, his friend needed him.

“Tell me what you need, Thomas.”

The sun had risen and set once again while Giles waited in his cell. Occasionally, he would rise from the straw he sat upon and tiptoed to peer through the narrow window, out to the town. Nothing much could be discerned, other than the world had gone fully gray with clouds, and the slapping of harsh winds had taken over the streets. Even when the night had taken over once more, the winds did not stop, even slicing their way through the little window to strike him with a biting chill. The torches had been lit, and, after the long journey that had left him with severe sleep deprivation, the stress of waiting for his sentencing finally strung out the remainder of his body and mind’s energy. His eyelids fought hard against their own weight, until they shut deeply.

The door slammed open.

Joseph awoke a moment after Giles and attempted to rise before Elias spotted his slumped posture. Too late. The older man gave him a look that could have frozen the sun. Joseph lowered his gaze, and stepped away from the man, shrinking to the back wall. Giles sat up, keeping his eyes upon Elias, who, in turn, returned his attention. Giles felt his already dry throat shrivel further, and he struggled against swallowing or showing any break in his nerve.

“Do you know why you are here, boy?” Giles ignored the snide reference to the comparison of age, and made no move to respond. “That pin on your tunic.”

Elias nodded towards Giles’ chest. For the first time he looked down at himself and noted the glint of gold. A simple golden spike, no bigger than ladybug, and with the smearing of mud upon it would have gone unnoticed by the majority, even himself. Upon seeing it, thoughts of the moment he stole the clothing came to mind. So sure of his new disguise.

Surely no one would think twice about his dress now. Damn fool, he cursed in his mind, should have been more aware.

“You see, it belonged to a farmer. A good man, well known around here. In fact, his harvests make a big difference to the Autumn season time for people in this region. Did you know that?”

Elias’s face and posture loosened, and he reached for the stool Joseph had been sleeping upon. Pulling it underneath himself, he sat, hands on his knees, leaning deeply towards the cell.

Giles failed to hold back a swallow this time, and a hint of a smile on Elias’s face revealed that he had taken note.

“You see, you told your story to a lot of people. So, we have a rather understandable account of what happened. No real need to question you much about that. Only problem is,” He raised one hand under his chin and furrowed his brow in mock concern. “it simply makes no sense to me how you came by that pin there. Care to tell me something I don’t know, boy?”

Giles felt his heart thumping against his chest, and tried in vain to control his breathing. All he could muster was a slow shake of the head.

“Well, if your story rings true, then Alban is dead. So is that priest you saw.” Elias put his hand back down, and looked at Giles with disappointment. “And you want us to believe someone other than yourself is to blame?”

“I didn’t kill those men.” Giles’ words came out broken and raspy.

Elias grasped both hands around the bars, nearly leaping from his seat.

“That pin on your chest says otherwise.”

“I stole it, alright. That is all. I needed some clothing and stole them.”

“And why, pray tell, would a huntsman so easily become a thief?”

Giles blinked. He had been so eager to dissuade the guard from suspecting him, that he had readily admitted to an even stranger crime.

Damn you, he cursed, only this time to both himself and Elias.

“Aye? Why, if your story is so true, would a man of your occupation have need to steal from a dead man? Are you normally one to make such decisions in life? If so, please let me know, because I am just as happy to hang a thief as I am a murderer.” Giles leapt to his feet.

“I am no murderer, old man.”

“But you are a thief. That much we know.” This time Giles reached out and grasped the bars. Their faces now inches apart. On the back wall, Joseph stiffened, and gripped the club at his side, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, waiting for the next action to take place.

“If my greatest crime in life is stealing the clothes of an old dead man, then I can die with a happy soul. Are you the type of person to go about executing men and women for such things?” In a flash, Elias’s hands let go of the bars and clamped over Giles’ own, pinning the prisoner to his held position. Giles attempted to pull away, but found it futile.

“If it were up to me, I would kill you here and now.”

“If?” Giles pulled once more, and this time, Elias released him, sending the man sprawling backwards upon the straw.

“Yes, boy. It seems fate is still at work in your life causing more luck than you deserve.” Elias walked back to the wall and grabbed up his cloak again, dusting it off. “We have decided to test the truth of your little tale. Tomorrow, you and I are going to travel up West. We are going to make our way to that bridge, and cross it. Then, we are going to visit Alban’s farm. From there, depending on what we see, one of two things will happen.” Elias slung the cloak about his shoulder before turning to face Giles one last time. “Either you are a murderer, in which case, I will escort you back here and you will have your head cut from your shoulders.”

He took a step closer.

“Or, we find you are not a killer. If this is true, then you and I will search out what did the killings and end its life.”

A gust of sharp wind struck Giles’ back, sending a shiver through his entire body. He swallowed once more.

“But understand this, even if you are no killer, I know you are something. And that something is dangerous to my people. So, hear me well when I tell you, I will not hesitate to end your life if I feel even the slightest doubt creep up my spine.”

With that, he turned and went back into the night. Giles stood back up, and turned to face the window once more, and looked towards the dark Western sky.

The dawn had yet to break over the horizon when Elias approached the gates. A mist hung over the countryside, and the torches mounted at the two large doors did little to ward of the darkness. While the previous night’s winds had finally withered away, the chill they had brought remained, stale in the air. His face felt stiff, frozen by the dry cold as he paced over the cobble street, boots clacking against the solid path.

Four men stood at the gate. Thomas, enwrapped in a fur cloak and holding a torch up, peered to the town center for Elias. Beside him Joseph stood, holding Giles, arms bound to his sides. Noah stood holding the reigns of a horse in one hand and a mule in the other. They clustered together, their slender shadows dancing along the gate behind, dwarfing them against the backdrop. As he stepped into the light, Elias noted Thomas lean into Giles’ ear and mutter something.

“Is it all ready then? I don’t want to waste any more time.” Elias pulled his glove snugger into his right hand and moved to take the horse’s lead.

“Not even a thank you for getting all this ready.” Thomas sighed. “He’s right though. Get him on that mule.” Joseph pulled out a knife and cut Giles’ rope before thrusting him to the squatted fat animal. Seeing the lazy glaze over the mule’s eyes, Giles remembered his new friend.

“Hello Mabel. Lovely to see you again.”

Joseph struck him on the shoulder.

“Go on and get on her.”

Giles looked about, once on top, and found that Mabel’s use clearly was not in the stature she gave her riders. And her reaction to a rider's commands upon her bridle were something written about in ancient curses. However, in some small way, Giles felt comforted. As though Mabel, with her uninterested look, spoke with a calmness that, when compared to the small gathering’s stiffness, gave Giles the impression that the situation might perhaps not be as serious as he had felt upon waking. This, however, was still only a small feeling.

Thomas made his way around to Elias, who stood stroking the horse’s neck as he whispered calming words to it. Thomas looked his older friend up and down. Years filtered through his mind, and the slow transition from young energy to old stone went by in a flash. The man before him, strong and brave, had long since left such tasks behind. But only Thomas had been observant and experienced enough to see it. He took a step closer and spoke with a lowered tone.

“Eh, say, maybe Joseph can go with him instead. I know he is still young-”

“No.” Elias did not turn from the animal. Thomas readied to say more, then thought better of it. He only nodded, and walked to the gate. “Noah.” The youth walked the opposite direction around and stood beside Elias.

“Yes, sir?”

Elias stroked the Horse’s neck a few more times. Noah looked small compared to the other men, as he shivered in the morning cold. The head guard, who had found himself tired of the youth more than he would have liked in such a short amount of time, reminded him of just that. He’s just a boy. Near being a man, to be sure. But until then, a boy.

“Do you remember what I said to you yesterday?”

“Yes, sir. I do.” Noah lowered his head a bit, his voice joining its direction as he shuffled his feet.

“Good man.”

Elias nodded and gave the horse a proud slap on the neck before turning to Noah, who still had his eyes down. An unusual thought of their size difference went through the older man’s mind, and he thought of how he had thrown the boy so violently the day before. He reassured himself that he, and many of his friends, had been handled in such ways in their youth. It had made them much stronger for it.

“Elias,” Noah’s voice still hung with shame. “I am sorry I let him in here. I thought I was doing the right thing.” Elias looked to the sky and heaved a hefty sigh through his nose.

“Listen boy, you did-” Noah looked up at him, and the unusual thought ran through him again. “You wanted to help someone. I understand that. Nothing wrong with wanting to help people. But also understand this,” he put both hands on Noah’s shoulders and removed any emotion but the utmost serious types from his face. “I am leaving. You and Joseph are the only ones who will decide who gets in and gets out of this gate. If I do not come back, you will always be in charge of this.” Elias pulled the boy closer. “Do not let anything in here that might hurt your people.”

“You mean-” Noah blinked at him. “Why wouldn’t you come back, sir?”

Elias’s eyes lowered. For the first time, Noah felt he now looked at an old man. Not simply someone who had gained age, but someone who had lived. Before him stood a man who had seen and done great things, though he did not know what.

“Noah,” Elias’s voice came out soft, like a distant memory. “I am sorry. I want you to know that.” Then he looked back up at him, a desperate sternness within his gaze. “The world is about to change. I won’t be here to protect you from it. I need you to understand that.”

“What is about to change about it?” His voice shook, perhaps from the morning chill. Elias took a deep breath.

“Something that has not happened since I was your age. Just keep the gate closed.”