XV - Abyss of Madness

A faint wind swept across the rocky plateau, as though the horrors of the night had been no more than a phantom.

Yet the putrid stench still lingered.

And Raymund knew that the creature, and the wager, to be all too real.

With troubled eyes, he looked down at Renaud, wrapped tightly against his chest.

So I must not let him go before the first rays of dawn…

“This cannot be all…” he whispered skeptically into the night sky.

No answer.

Only the distant howling of the wind between the black stones.

The little hut still stood atop the plateau, crooked and dark.

And though no flame burned within, he thought for the briefest instant that he saw light flickering behind the narrow windows.

A soft crack echoed somewhere among the rocks behind him.

Then another.

And suddenly, there was movement, like shadows between the stones.

“Who goes there?!”

Shuffling footsteps.

Have folk from the village followed us?

Renaud began to fuss restlessly.

“Hush now… hush…”

Raymund spun about in haste, searching the dark crevices of the rocks for some path of escape.

But everywhere he looked, he thought he saw more shadows stirring.

Long figures crawled out from between the stones, hunched and twisted, unnaturally thin.

They moved in jerking motions, as though their joints had been set wrongly.

They had no eyes, only hollow pits and gaping mouths stretched wide.

Burned flesh.

Only now did he notice what rose from them.

Smoke.

“Is this your doing?” he cried hoarsely into the night. “Will you torment me with the dead again?”

Defiantly, he clutched Renaud tighter against himself.

But no answer came.

Instead, the charred corpses kept dragging themselves toward him.

He turned toward the only escape left to him.

The hut.

Its door stood open, as though awaiting him.

“There is no other path...“, he breathed, then ran for it.

The moment he crossed the threshold, he slammed the door shut and barred it from within.

But there was no time to catch his breath.

For behind him, bright light flared.

Fire.

“Damnation, was this a snare?!”

The flames were already licking high, devouring beams and floorboards with such hunger that it seemed the fire had been there before the hut itself.

At once Raymund shoved the door open again before smoke and flame could claim them.

But when he stepped outside, the air there too was thick with choking, black fires.

Burning. Blazing. Filled with the cries of panic.

The rocks were gone.

In their stead stood burning houses.

He staggered backward as sparks swirled through the air.

Smoke burned in his eyes, and instinctively he covered Renaud’s face with the cloth in which he was wrapped.

People ran screaming through the night. Children wept. Horses shrieked.

And above it all rang the dull thunder of steel striking flesh.

Raymund froze.

“It cannot be…” he whispered hollowly.

For he knew this place.

Every alley and every roof. The old cistern. The oak near the village square.

Renaud began crying once more, yet Raymund scarcely heard him.

Suddenly someone ran past him.

A woman, her dress half torn away. She stumbled, dragging herself across the ground.

Then came the soldiers. Blood-spattered. Shouting. Killing.

Grinning and laughing, they seized the screaming woman by the hair and dragged her into an alley.

“This is not real…” Raymund muttered over and over as he stumbled through the village. “This is not real…”

Then he heard a voice.

“Raymund!”

His heart stopped.

Slowly, he turned.

There lay someone beneath the burning wreckage of a house.

Soot-stained. Blood running down his brow.

Just as it had been back then.

“Father…”

“Raymund…” he gasped. Run, Raymund! Save yourself! Run and look not back!“

“But… that is what I did…” Raymund stammered. “Just as you wanted…”

His father’s gaze fell upon the child in his arms.

“Leave the brat behind,” his father said softly. “Or else you will never escape.”

Raymund’s breath caught.

“What…”

The fire crackled loudly between the houses.

“You will never make it while you carry it.”

Raymund shook his head.

“No… I… I promised…”

“Since when have promises mattered to you? You can still live!” His father’s voice now rang with anger.

Raymund’s heart twisted painfully.

This is not… I am not…

“You only need to let go,” his father whispered.

Raymund’s arms grew heavy, and slowly he looked down at Renaud.

The tiny hands moved weakly beneath the blanket.

Helpless. Trusting.

And suddenly, he remembered.

Melusine’s final words.

Please, my beloved. Take care of him…

His eyes widened.

Then he looked back at his father.

“I shall not let him go. And I shall not run any longer.”

Very slowly, his father’s face began to smile.

“Then you are a fool, my son…”

The smile widened further.

“And yet… think of all that lovely… rotten… maggot-ridden flesh you could feast upon in those plague-stricken houses. Did it not taste good to you, hmm? Hee hee…”

With a strangled cry, Raymund staggered backward, clutching his son desperately to his chest.

“You…” he gasped in horror.

At that same instant, the world around him shattered.

The burning houses flickered. The faces of the fleeing villagers twisted and warped.

Shrill laughter rang out everywhere.

“HEEHEEHEEHEE!”

And all at once, they were back.

Upon the plateau.

In the depths of the night.

***

Raymund sank to his knees, gasping.

His heart still raced as though the burning village yet surrounded him.

But there was nothing there. Only the cold night air and the black stones.

And Renaud, whining softly against his chest.

With trembling hands, Raymund felt over the blanket as though he needed to make certain his son was truly still there.

He closed his eyes briefly.

“Mere phantoms…” he muttered hoarsely. “I am well accustomed to phantoms by now…”

Slowly, he forced himself back to his feet.

Already his arms ached beneath the child’s weight, while weariness lay upon his shoulders like lead.

How long until dawn, I wonder?

The wind had quieted, and the night had fallen still.

Raymund swallowed and began following the narrow path by which they had come.

Anywhere but this accursed plateau…

The rocks jutted from the earth like black teeth as he carefully made his way between them.

At times he thought he heard footsteps behind him, or voices. But whenever he stopped to listen, there was nothing.

His thoughts grew heavier, and eventually he scarcely noticed where he walked.

Should we not have reached the village again by now?

Exhaustion crept slowly through his body, and it became harder and harder to keep his eyes open.

Then, he noticed something.

Light.

He froze.

Right ahead, between the rocks, warm and golden.

His eyes widened.

“Dawn...”

He stumbled forward several steps.

Before him, the path opened onto a flat rise already touched by the first pale glow of morning.

Birds were singing, and a warm breeze drifted over the rocks.

And suddenly, Raymund began to laugh.

Softly at first, then louder and louder, almost hysterically.

“I… I have won! Won against that foul creature!”

His legs nearly gave way with relief.

“Do you hear that, you misshapen devil?!” he cried toward the little body in his arms. “I have won!”

No answer came.

Only the distant sighing of the wind.

Exhausted, Raymund slumped against a rock and closed his eyes.

It is over. At last, it is over…

Then suddenly, a voice spoke.

“Raymund?”

He blinked, and his heart nearly stopped when he saw her.

“Penelope?”

She stood a few paces away upon the path, the morning sun warm upon her face, smiling.

“We have been searching for you…”

Behind her stood several villagers, smiling as well, kindly, with relief.

Raymund stared at them in astonishment.

“But… how did you...?” he managed.

Penelope stepped closer.

“You fled in the night... I was worried...”

Her gaze lowered gently.

“But all is well now.”

Suddenly Raymund felt just how weary he truly was.

“Yes…” he murmured hollowly. “All is well…”

Penelope stopped directly before him.

Then slowly, she frowned.

“Raymund…?”

A cold stab shot through his body.

“What?”

But Penelope’s eyes filled with growing horror.

The others were staring now as well.

Not at him.

At something in his arms.

“Dear God…” someone whispered.

Raymund’s breath stopped.

Slowly, he looked down.

The blanket was dark.

Wet.

Something dripped from it.

Black-red.

His fingers began to tremble.

No…

He pulled back the cloth.

And froze.

No sleeping child. No azure eyes.

Only rotting flesh, blackened and decayed, while maggots writhed between exposed bones.

Raymund let out a strangled sound and nearly dropped the bundle.

“No… no no no…”

The villagers recoiled in horror.

“Oh merciful God…”

“Th-this cannot be…” Raymund gasped.

“Quickly, give him to me!” Penelope cried, stretching out her arms toward him.

His hands trembled uncontrollably, and he scarcely heard her words.

“He… he was alive… he…”

Penelope had already seized the bundle.

But then Raymund’s hands clenched tight.

“What are you waiting for? Give him here! We must bring him to a priest at once for burial. Would you have him burn in Hellfire?”

“N-no…”

With a sob, he pulled the bundle back to himself, pressing the bloody, reeking cloth against his chest.

“He will not surrender the child?!”

“Blasphemy!”

Instead of kind faces, there now surrounded him only visages twisted with fury.

Cursing. Spitting. Condemning.

But Raymund shook his head while tears streamed down his cheeks.

“You shall not have him! Do you hear me? He remains with me!”

His cry echoed through the valley, and all at once the crowd fell silent.

They merely stood around him like statues, expressionless and still.

Then came a soft, wet giggle.

“Hee… heehee…”

Raymund froze.

Slowly, he looked down once more.

And the small black lips of the rotting child began to move.

“Heeheehee…”

Raymund screamed.

And the world tore apart around him once more.

The golden morning light vanished, and the rocks returned.

Cold night air struck him again.

“W-what…”

He staggered backward and fell hard to the ground, clutching the bundle to himself before, with trembling hands, he tore back the blanket.

And this time…

…two great azure eyes looked back at him.

Alive.

Renaud whimpered softly.

But Raymund only stared at him.

Then he pulled him so tightly against himself that the little one cried out in fright.

“You… you are real… are you not?” Raymund whispered in a broken voice. “Please… tell me you are…”

Suddenly Renaud lifted one tiny arm, and his small hand brushed across his father’s tear-stained cheek.

A gentle glow appeared, and a strange, refreshing coolness passed through him.

The same soothing coolness he had known from Melusine.

He smiled.

“Thank God… you are…”