《Castle Lock》 PROLOUGE Hearts dangled from branches that stretched out in the cold like gnawed, twisted, and broken fingers. These abominations of nature were held by carrion crows and ravens as their seats of judgment. There they awaited a lone figure struggling through the hellish landscape of white. The stranger¡¯s frozen flesh was smeared with blood, and gold dangled in his braided hair of flaming red. His head hung low, a chain around his neck; eyes dead to the suffering to come. He was forced to ascend the solitary hill to await judgment. Forced to fall to his knees beneath the wicked branches, to the birds¡¯ distorted song. Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. Death! One of the crows cackled from its seat. Death! The others chorused. Death! Death! Death! They descended in a storm of black feathers, pecking and tearing at his flesh, his eyes, his lips, blood splattering beneath their wicked talons. The stranger screamed until blood gushed from his mouth and his scream became gurgles of anguish. The Black feathered angels laughed and relished; his torment naught but a feast for them. In the end they tore out his heart, his soul, a gift of life that his dead mother had given him and hung it from the dead tree with the rest of them. ONE: A FAILURE OF JUDGMENT
The storm began again, rushed over the dark walls cracked with frost, howling. It threw itself against the walls of Castle Lock, but they held against the relentless tide. For now. For the storm was patient. It had raged for days, weeks, a month, then its victims had stopped counting. Days faded into one other, becoming a haze of memories that couldn¡¯t be placed. Isolation was ripe for boredom and so drink had become the cure. But fear grew when cups were empty. Fear of the other. Fear of the cold. The storm would win in the end. All it had to do, was wait. The wind clawed Shaw¡¯s skin red, tearing at his exposed flesh, sending the lantern he gripped with blistered fingers screeching on its rusted hinges. The arduous struggle towards the cellar was pain enough without being harassed by the storm. He tried to draw up the blood splattered scarf in a desperate attempt to shield his face and the scar which spanned it. It gave little comfort. The storm was ruthless. To be trapped out here for too long and your muscles would go numb, your skin turn pale, change colour, become dry. Stay longer and the mind becomes weary, disillusioned. Then the cold stops becoming your enemy, you feel warm, drowsy. You fall asleep. A deep, never-ending sleep. The snow caught one of his legs and Shaw stumbled into the frozen hellscape. Shit! He thrashed and twisted his leg to get it free, but the snow had a bloody good grip. The cold teeth of winter gnawed, bit him, driving its chilled fangs through his woollen cloak and garments. He lay down the lantern, clenched his jaw, and started to dig where the snow had swallowed his leg. The cold burned away the warmth in his hand, the little his fingers remembered. But in the end, he got himself free. Fighting back to his feet he retrieved the lantern and hurried forward. When he finally he shone the lantern¡¯s light upon the cellar door a smile broke upon his frozen lips. Frost had infested the old oaken door and ice crystals had bloomed on the lock. Shaw heaved himself against the door with whatever force he could muster. Repeatedly, he heaved himself against it, the wood shivering and rattling beneath the impact, until it snapped open. Behind the door, stairs descended and melted into a crude blackness. Shaw stepped inside, closed the door behind him and the wind¡¯s wailing faded as the lock clicked into place. He was left with a cold silence; his ragged breath filling his conscious, his beating heart a resounding bell in the narrow space. He held forth the lantern and saw the familiar steep stairs, cracked in places, and no banister to speak of. When he began his cautious descent, he became fully aware of his thoughts ¡ª the subtle paranoia imbued in his mind. He cast a glance behind him, but there was only darkness. No one had followed him. The cellar held no warmth, but it concealed him from the wind and the snow. It was the little things you had to be grateful for. Warmth was scares in Castle Lock. The kitchen held some, the common hall little, and your own room had whatever warmth you could keep. Stepping down into the vaulted cellar, Shaw wandered through the myriad of barrels, sacks, and boxes that conspired in the dark. The lantern in his grip made the darkness yield and release its secrets. No restless soul resided here twenty-six feet below the earth. Except for rats. Behind the walls they were heard, scratching, thrashing. Endlessly, tirelessly. Before they had roamed the cellar, but his brothers of the garrison had contained them. They had started to consume each other, murder, and maim for no other reason than for their own survival. To kill, that basic instinct when faced with annihilation. Shaw stopped when the light revealed a barrel hidden among the myriads of others and crouched down to find the X engraved in the wood. The one he had been looking for. He knocked on the lid and heard its hollow sound. Satisfied, he drew a dagger from his belt and pried it open. In the light he saw bundle wrapped in old, tattered cloth. Shaw picked it up, then he heard footsteps upon the rough stones. Shaw blew out the light and threw himself against the wall, trying his best to melt into the shadows. The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. ¡®I know you are down here, brother.¡¯ A familiar voice spoke, followed by a scrape of steel. The light from the man¡¯s lantern drew closer, searching like the grey hounds of Aturn. ¡®Shaw?¡¯ When the blinding light withdrew, Shaw lowered his hand that shielded his eyes. The young man that held the light seemed to have stepped out from a fairytale. A prince with a regal face and black hair that curled down to his shoulders. But his expression was callous, cold. Castle Lock wasn¡¯t a place for fairytales. ¡®Why are you here?¡¯ Shaw shrugged and gave a mummer¡¯s smile. ¡®I came down on the orders of the tongueless cook himself. For what else would a brother be down here?¡¯ Shaw felt the blade cut into his skin. His eyes tracked down length the blade and up towards John¡¯s gaze. ¡®Is this way to treat a brother?¡¯ ¡®Don¡¯t play the fool, Shaw. When you walked out into the storm, the cook had sent for the boy. Not you.¡¯ The blade cut into his skin. Now did he. Shaw felt blood trickling down his throat, so warm against his cold skin. ¡®So, I¡¯m asking you again. Why are you here?¡¯ Shaw released the contents of his bundle, letting it spill out over his lap. All the food Shaw smuggled away for himself. John¡¯s eyes grew in the sight it. ¡®H-how did you¡­?¡¯ John stammered. In that moment, he looked like the boy he was. ¡®If we have decided not to tell lies. I stole it.¡¯ John¡¯s eyes narrowed, he thumped his boot into Shaw¡¯s chest, catching him off guard, forced him against the wall. ¡®WHAT!¡¯ The cold steel bit deeper into Shaw¡¯s flesh. ¡®Our brother¡¯s walk day and night hungry, sharing the little we have!¡¯ ¡®I didn¡¯t steal it from them!¡¯ Shaw forced out from gritted teeth. ¡®Then from whom!¡¯ ¡®The bloody Lord Commander!¡¯ Shaw spit out the words. Shaw could feel the steel retreating. He gasped, spitting, and coughing. ¡®The Lord Commander?¡¯ Shaw wiped away the spit from his mouth. ¡®He has¡­ a secret stash. I found it. A horde of the best provisions all for himself.¡¯ ¡®Is that the truth?¡¯ ¡®What else would I be speaking?¡¯ John scoffed. ¡®You already lied once.¡¯ Shaw licked his gums ¡®I would be foolish to do it twice.¡¯ ¡®Then tell me again, from whom did you steal it? No lies.¡¯ The egg of the blade tasted his blood again. ¡®I stole it from him,¡¯ Shaw said, not shifting his gaze away. ¡®I told you to speak the truth.¡¯ ¡®It is the truth!¡¯ Shaw spat. ¡®The truth, Shaw? It is a fruit you have never tasted. The Lord Commander wouldn¡¯t steel from his men. Wouldn¡¯t let them starve while he revelled.¡¯ Shaw chuckled, ignoring the pain it brought him. ¡®Oh, but he would. He does what is best for himself. He hasn¡¯t changed.¡¯ ¡®Have you, Shaw?¡¯ John said. ¡®You are lying to save your own skin. I know. Because you haven¡¯t changed either.¡¯ ¡®You know nothing, boy¡ª!¡¯ Shaw growled before his head was forced back, the steel digging deeper into his flesh. ¡®You lie, Shaw! Lie to others! Lie to me! Before I covered your faults in my mind. I was a poor judge of character.¡¯ He twisted the blade and Shaw hissed and gritted his teeth. ¡®But I¡¯m no longer the boy who believed in fairy tales. I shall mend for my own mistakes. I condemn you to die, Shaw, on the charge of stealing from you brothers. My blade shall deliver the gods justice, it will be swift and merciful. Pray your last words, traitor.¡¯ Shaw saw murder and hatred in those young eyes. He chuckled. ¡®Is this how far you have fallen, John? Sentencing a man to die without the chance to a trial? When did you become an executioner? Where is that precious honour of yours?¡¯ John clenched his jaw, his sword hand trembling. ¡®You? You dare speak of honour?¡¯ Shaw could feel the cold¡¯s freezing fingers rise from the stones, caressing his skin. ¡®It¡¯s true I forsake mine. But of the two of us, you were always the better man.¡¯ With a scream John lifted the sword with both hands; its carved raven pommel holding Shaw in cold judgement. Shaw closed his eyes and waited for the blade to fall. Are the dead whispering through the cracks in the mortar? But it never did. When he opened his eyes, John stood with his head sunk, the blade resting against his side. ¡®You deserve a trial.¡¯ Shaw sighed¡­ ¡­Then gave a quiet chuckle. ¡®I do.¡¯ He drew his dagger and within a span of a breath, drove it into John¡¯s throat. Shaw hugged him close, feeling John scratch and tear at his chest, struggling to break free. Shaw didn¡¯t let him go, held him like a crying child against his chest. ¡®¡± It doesn¡¯t matter if he is a companion, friend, or brother. When he threatens your life, you don¡¯t hesitate,¡± Shaw whispered to himself, the words Judge had once told him. Shaw drew out the dagger in an arc of blood. The warmth in John¡¯s face bled away under his skin and his eyes contorted with fear, lips quivering with a final word. Which never came. Shaw released him and John collapsed to the ground, and he watched the young man soak in his own blood. ¡®Why did you have to be a nuisance, John?¡¯ He knelt and cleaned the bloodied blade on the dead man¡¯s clothes. Then he heard it, the tap-tap of boots on stone. Shaw, stood and spied into the lurking blackness. A light bobbed in that void, slowly entwining with his. ¡®H-hello?¡¯ A boy¡¯s voice. Shaw saw the boy step into the light; it was the cook¡¯s apprentice. He was a scrawny little thing that seemed to have been left to starve, with locks of red hanging over his eyes. When he saw John¡¯s lifeless corpse he stopped, staring, frozen with horror, his face turning pale. His mouth babbled soundless words, until his shaking legs gave way and he collapsed to the cold stone floor, trembling. ¡®He had to die, boy,¡¯ Shaw said walking up to him. ¡®I caught him red-handed stealing from us. Stealing the little provisions, we have.¡¯ He knelt next to the boy and forced his eyes to see his. ¡®Would you let that go unpunished? Would you let a brother live, even if he tried to kill you to hide the truth.¡¯ ¡®No, b-but¡ª?¡¯ The poor apprentice¡¯s eyes were filling with tears that he tried to hide. ¡®John always said¡­ he was good to me¡­ he said¡­¡¯ The boy trailed off, staring at John¡¯s bleak green eyes. Shaw lay a hand on his shoulder. ¡®Desperate men say a lot of things.¡¯ He rose to his feet and picked up John¡¯s blade, sheathed it, the raven carved pommel still holding him in a cold gaze. ¡®What they do is something else.¡¯ He took hold of John¡¯s legs. ¡®John was a good man. Let¡¯s see to that his death does not go to waste. Come boy, help me with the body. The news of fresh meat will surely gladden your master.¡¯ TWO: OUR LITTLE SECRET
You are late,¡¯ Shaw¡¯s father growled, slouched over their sole table, making an empty jug roll back and forth. ¡®You know that you are not supposed to be late.¡¯ Shaw halted in the doorway and watched his father stumble towards him. He did not run. ¡®Why are you looking at me like that?¡¯ His father said and knelt before him. ¡®I¡¯m not going to hurt you. I¡¯ve done enough hurting. The gods know it.¡¯ He clutched a swirling symbol of threaded gold with trembling fingers. ¡®They call you a liar, father. Did you know that? They say you lie. Say you are a coward.¡¯ ¡®Who? Who says that, Shaw?¡¯ ¡®The other boys.¡¯ ¡®They can call me what¡ª¡¯ ¡®I told them that you are not a coward! I told them that you fought in battles, hundreds, hundreds, father! Hundreds¡­¡¯ Shaw could see that his father noticed the bruises on his arms and legs. ¡®I¡¯m sorry, Shaw,¡¯ his father whispered, and Shaw could feel the liquor in his breath. ¡®I¡¯m sorry.¡¯ ¡®Don¡¯t be, father,¡¯ Shaw said, his lips curling up to a smile. ¡®I taught them not to lie, father. I fought them, like a soldier, father, like a soldier!¡¯ He beamed with pride when he retold his actions in defending his father¡¯s honour. But his father didn¡¯t seem to share his excitement, he could see something change in his expression, he almost looked sad, but he couldn¡¯t understand why? Father was never sad, except when he slept; he cried in his sleep. Shaw had always wondered why his father had sad dreams. ¡®You hurt them? Those boys?¡¯ ¡®Father?¡¯ Shaw said, confused. He saw something change in his father¡¯s expression. The devils burned hot and furious. ¡®You used violence, for a trivial thing as my honour.¡¯ His father growled. ¡®Father, I¡ª¡¯ ¡®Stay.¡¯ His father stumbled into the blackness. ¡®Charles!¡¯ Shaw could hear his mother¡¯s scream in the dark. Worried. Afraid. ¡®Silence!¡¯ The were a crack, wood hitting flesh, then his father stumbled back from the dark with a long crude stick in his hand. Shaw¡¯s body wanted to run. But he didn¡¯t. Soldiers didn¡¯t run. ¡®You remember my sermons?¡¯ ¡®Stop it, Charles!¡¯ His mother cried, screamed. ¡®Shut it!¡¯ ¡®S-some,¡¯ Shaw stuttered. ¡®What is the worst of all sins?¡¯ ¡®I¡­I¡­¡¯ ¡®Answer!¡¯ ¡®Charles!¡¯ ¡®Lying? I don¡¯t know!¡¯ Shaw threw out, he could think, he felt tears running from his eyes. His father hit him across the face and Shaw collapsed to the floor, his ears ringing, his mother screaming, and taste of blood grew in his mouth. ¡®There is no greater sin than violence!¡¯ His father roared his sermon, hitting him again. ¡®Vile are they who take pride in the ruin of what the gods¡¯ created.¡¯ His voice broke on the word and the stick cracked against Shaw¡¯s little body. Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. ¡®Stop it, Charles! Please! Please stop!¡¯ ¡¯Borrowed is their time! Lost on a bet for a little more!¡¯ The stick snapped and cracked against his skin, his body contorting against his own volition. ¡®They shall burn when maggots feast on their flesh!¡¯ Shaw screamed and cried. Begging him to stop. He wanted his father to love him. Love him. But his father took that love, threw it away. Hate was all that was left. Hate was all he could do. Hate¡­ * Shaw threw out the last of John¡¯s intestines on the flagstones. There is no greater sin than violence. But hypocrisy is loathed above all. He hauled down John until the fairytale prince¡¯s pale body lay on the cold flagstones of the chapel. There is a difference between the man who kills willingly and the man who condemns him and yet brandishes the knife. He heard the boy shuffling up to him, mumbling something. ¡®Speak up, Boy. Or don¡¯t speak at all.¡¯ ¡®Won¡¯t you anger them?¡¯ ¡®Who?¡¯ ¡®The Gods.¡¯ He gazed towards their stone statues splayed in their thorny cages. ¡®Why would I fear them?¡¯ ¡®The priests say¡ª¡¯ ¡®The priests? The priests speak nought by lies. They feed on your fears. I knew a man who ate human flesh. He wasn¡¯t desperate like us. He thought the flesh of another man would give him his strength. And if the Gods cared, lighting would have done him dead. Instead, he ate human flesh for fifteen years, until one too many defeats made his company turn on him. He was killed by one of his own not the gods.¡¯ Shaw spat. ¡®So, no need to fear them.¡¯ The boy nodded. ¡®Good, and Boy?¡¯ ¡®Yes?¡¯ ¡®Don¡¯t mention any of this,¡¯ Shaw said. The boy nodded, eyes refusing to look at the cadaver. ¡®Because men have a habit of mistaking the moral thing to do for the right thing. Humans are not beholden above other animals. Their flesh is not sacred. To kill a deer and refuse its flesh would be a waste. But to men the sight of this¡ª¡¯ Shaw gestured to John¡¯s flayed body ¡®¡ªwould drive them to disgust and violence. They don¡¯t understand the gift we have given them, so it¡¯s better to keep your mouth shut. Do you understand?¡¯ The boy nodded again. ¡®Good, because these men won¡¯t wait fifteen years to kill you, nor your master. They will gut you on the cold stones of the common hall without a trial.¡¯ * The keep rose stark and black, an ancient structure that had survived worse storms than this one. That last post of civilisation, a shelter for the madmen who guarded it against the unknowns of the wasteland that was the northern frontier. It was their home, their prison, and it¡¯s light shun to guide them there. ¡®Not far now!¡¯ Shaw shouted, felt his throat turn to ice and saw that the boy was struggling against the storm more than him. ¡®Fight it, boy!¡¯ Shaw said, but he was unsure whether the boy heard a word. For he could hardly hear himself. Lashing snow carved away the warm from his exposed flesh, it shouted in his ears, and the sled with John¡¯s body made the distance to the kitchen twice as long. If I survive this I will desert, find the warmth in the south. If they hang me, well, I will never feel cold again. * When they reached the kitchen door, he threw himself at it, until it opened, and he fell inside. The warmth of the kitchen washed over him, there was no better feeling. The Cook sat hunched near the hearth peeling potatoes with shadows all around him. Two serpent tattoos, black in their appearance, slithered up both his arms. Shaw thought he saw them move in the firelight. The Cook meticulously peeled the potatoes using deft hands that Shaw knew were not ignorant of the arts of cutting human flesh. ¡®Master!¡¯ The boy called out and Cook snapped his head towards the boy and his eyes melted in the sight of him. Cook rose from the stool he sat on, scrubbing his hands against his apron, and gave the boy a smile. It was a hideous smile, but Shaw couldn¡¯t deny that it was one. Shaw watched Cook fish out a tiny wood carved solider from his apron pocket, but in the process his eyes met Shaw¡¯s and they hardened into cold iron. Cook grunted to his apprentice and shoved a finger towards Shaw. ¡®If you can¡¯t stand my presence, know that I won¡¯t stay long,¡¯ Shaw said with a grin and ambled into the kitchen. ¡®I¡¯m looking for your help. I know a little of your past, what you did before you came here.¡¯ He eyed the cleaver lodged into a table near the hearth. ¡®I have a ripe cadaver outside.¡¯ Cook¡¯s eyes narrowed becoming sharp points that carved into him, dissecting him. Shaw saw how his fingers twitched, his quick glances towards the cleaver. ¡®I¡¯ve already dressed him myself; you just have to cut and cook him. Nothing that you haven¡¯t done before.¡¯ Shaw lay his right arm around the boy¡¯s shoulders. ¡®Your apprentice has already been a great help.¡¯ The Boy nodded. ¡®Nothing worse than you have done before,¡¯ Shaw said. Cook scoffed. He looked towards the boy then shifted towards Shaw. Shaw could see that he stood at a crossroad, weighing everything quietly for himself. ¡®Nothing worse.¡¯ In the end Cook grunted, spit on the palm of his right hand, and held it out. Shaw spit in the palm of his own right hand but Cook pulled it away his own before he could shake it. Shaw grinned anyway. ¡®Don¡¯t worry, friend. I will take care of the bones. This will all be our little secret.¡¯ THREE: THE KINDLED FIRE
A blood stain smaller than a pinhead smeared the palm of Shaw¡¯s hand. A drop of John¡¯s blood. He hadn¡¯t noticed it before, but now he couldn¡¯t tear away his eyes from it. He wiped it away, but he didn¡¯t feel at ease. He had missed one, there could be more. Small clues of the crime he had committed. He scrutinised both his hands, his knuckles, his bruises, and scars. But he found nothing. Delirious. Shaw scoffed. But that seed of paranoia had already been planted. He couldn¡¯t help himself. He scrutinised everything. His eyes itched from smoke that crowded the common hall. A brother coughed and Shaw snapped his gaze towards him, a frantic stare, then he had to remind himself that there were nothing to fear. None of them knew what he had done, none of them would know because they were trapped, trapped inside this keep, trapped inside their minds. They feared the cold. Hoped that it would end. Dreading that the hope they had was a lie. Even when a brother vanished, they continued to drink, gamble, and pray. All to feed that lie. They huddled around the lie like a fire, huddled around it for its warmth and its escape. They were devout followers that believed that it would save them from this terrible and miserable existence. They prayed to crackling flames, sacrificed what could be sacrificed to whatever existed after all the gods had abandoned them. But like the fire, the lie wasn¡¯t their saviour. It was an hourglass, and the sand was running thin. For when the flames died out, the cold would continue its terrible march without opposition, and everyone would know how hollow that lies were. But they couldn¡¯t see it. They didn¡¯t want to. They were trapped and desperate, and desperate men desired its warmth. And so, they didn¡¯t care if a brother vanished, they just continued to drink, gamble, and pray. All to feed that lie. Shaw understood that. But the second seed of paranoia had already been planted. He let his eyes prowl between his fellow brethren. Eyeing them as they sat huddled around their tables; smoke pouring out from their pipes; Dice clattering against their tables which spawned cheers and arguments; hushed conversations laced with drink. Did they know what he had done? Where they all waiting for the opportunity to kill him? He didn¡¯t know, but his fingers gripped the hilt of his long knife. ¡®Thirsty?¡¯ Shaw stabbed the table, wedged it between the middle and index finger of familiar giant. Shaw sighed and relaxed. ¡®same old piss-water?¡¯ ¡®Nothing better,¡¯ Aike said, looking down at the knife that missed his fingers by an inch and put down two tankards. ¡®Impressive trick.¡¯ Shaw didn¡¯t say anything, sheathing the knife. The giant¡¯s features were as blunt as the weapon of his choice, but behind his eyes lay a sharpness reserved for its edges. ¡®We will probably have starved or frozen to death before this shit ever runs out on us,¡¯ Shaw said as he swirled the poor excuse for ale. ¡®A little counting error and here we are, more barrels of ale than anything else.¡¯ Aike chuckled. ¡®Oh, what I wouldn¡¯t do for Asterion wine. For the touch of a woman, the warmth of the sun.¡¯ He smiled, his eyes recalling a fond distant memory. ¡®What I wouldn¡¯t do for so many things¡­¡¯ He sighed. ¡®I know that you don¡¯t like talking about these sorts of things, but¡ª¡¯ ¡®But do I believe that the storm will pass?¡¯ Aike laughed. ¡®Asked it before, have I?¡¯ ¡®You have, and to your question, I don¡¯t know.¡¯ ¡®Ah. It seems that our conversations have worn out. Guess that was inevitable. Everything is doomed to echo after all. Like philosopher I read once professed, time is a flat circle. Everything is bound to repeat.¡¯ ¡®You read?¡¯ Shaw almost chuckled. Aike, a beast, a warrior, hunched over old tomes, the thought amused him. ¡®Didn¡¯t know you could.¡¯ ¡®I was tutored. Hoped to be a scholar once. But the road was slow, uncertain. I decided to earn my coin through blood instead. It was the easy choice¡­¡¯ Aike¡¯s jaw clenched. ¡®At the time.¡¯ Shaw sat silent for a moment. To spend time isolated with a man for so long and still peel away new layers and secrets. ¡®Here I thought no secret survived between these walls.¡¯ Aike smiled ¡®Most don¡¯t, but a few do, but not for long. And yet we seem determined to harbour them.¡¯ The giant swirled his ale, weighing a question. ¡®Shaw?¡¯ ¡®What?¡¯ ¡®What were you doing out there in the cold?¡¯ Shaw hadn¡¯t released his grip on the knife, now hidden beneath the table. ¡®Menial tasks, Aike, nothing more, just menial task. Got some supplies for Cook, that¡¯s all.¡¯ Aike didn¡¯t bite. ¡®I don¡¯t know what you were doing out there, Shaw. But whatever it was I bid you to be careful. You said it yourself; no secret survives between these walls.¡¯ He drank. Stolen story; please report. Shaw took a swig of his own. It was insipid, disappointing if he hadn¡¯t expected it. But it was liquor, and it calmed the nerves. They drank in silence, emptied their cups, filled them again. Their silence became an island, surrounded by the rattling of dice, shuffling of cards, quiet conversations, and tense laughter. It was peace. A fragile peace. The cold waited outside. It had them besieged. Fear grew when the cups were empty. ¡®Do you ever feel guilty, Shaw?¡¯ Aike were staring towards the fire. ¡®For the violence you have done? The people you have killed?¡¯ Shaw saw the fear in John¡¯s eyes, felt the pounding of his hands on his chest. ¡®No,¡¯ he said, and drank. ¡®Why?¡¯ ¡®I¡¯ve let myself remember things. Things I wanted to forget. Things I once concealed in drink, in the medicine the madman gave me. I let myself dream.¡¯ He turned his gaze towards Shaw, there was a sorrow there. ¡®A hired killer can¡¯t have a conscience. He can¡¯t feel guilt for each man he shoves back into the mud. You march on. But here, stuck here in the storm, between these walls, I can¡¯t run. I can¡¯t march on. I have learned that my demons haven¡¯t forgotten me, they shouldn¡¯t forget me¡­ they will not forget me¡­¡¯ Aike slummed. Shaw thought he had never seen the giant so small. ¡®I¡¯ve done things¡­ things that shouldn¡¯t be forgiven. I have murdered for a piece of gold. I have hanged a man for my own pleasure. I have¡­¡¯ His hands were trembling. ¡®We do what we must to survive,¡¯ Shaw said. ¡®That is what I used to tell myself. I Justified and justified. I murdered a mother because she wouldn¡¯t stop screaming, murdered her son to spare him from being alone. I justified and justified. But what reason was there? Was my life worth more than theirs? Was it, Shaw?¡¯ ¡®They¡¯re dead, Aike. What does it matter?¡¯ ¡®Dead? Dead?¡¯ Aike gave a broken laugh. ¡®They are a part of me, like everyone else. I kept them quiet. Muffled their screams. But they never stop...¡¯ His gaze sunk to his hands. ¡®I wish knew back then. Found a good rope and a nice tree before I could have hurt anybody else. Maybe it¡¯s not too late, the rope and tree, I mean.¡¯ His gaze vanished into the unknown. ¡®Maybe it¡¯s not too late¡­¡¯ Shaw let the silence creep back in between them. He didn¡¯t know what to say, thought it best not to say anything. He drank but caught nothing in his mouth; the cup was empty. He felt John slamming against his chest. Heard his heart thump loud, afraid that Aike could hear it. ¡®Do you ever hear them, Shaw? Hear their voices?¡¯ Shaw, Judge whispered from a place in his mind he had left buried, closed. ¡®No,¡¯ Shaw said and shut that place, buried it deeper. ¡®They don¡¯t let you forget,¡¯ Aike said to himself. There was a fierce banging on the door, and Shaw felt the air in the hall tense. The banging continued, but no one rose, none wanted to wander to fringes of the hall where the cold was held at bay. ¡®Someone has to do it,¡¯ Aike muttered, action freed him from the bog of remembrance. Shaw didn¡¯t follow, his eyes veered towards the door. It consumed his attention. Fear sprouted in his mind. The fear wasn¡¯t a question. It was a name. Darshan. The Grey Wolf. Aike pulled the door open and icy wails stormed into the hall. The fire in the hearth roared, spewing embers in rage. Then the cold crept inside. Shaw¡¯s breath turned to icy smoke, but he was fixed on the man that loomed inside. Darshan was buried in furs crusted with white, not even his grey beard and hair was spared from the frost. The Grey wolf strode up to the hearth without saying a word; Aike closed the door. The cold retreated. Shaw¡¯s grip on his long knife tightened; he didn¡¯t know what he would do with it. Killing Darshan here, in plain sight of the whole garrison would be suicide. But it felt good holding the knife, he felt that he had control. A little lie of his own. The stage had already been set, and Shaw could only react. Darshan continued his silence and the hall resumed back to its prior state. But Shaw couldn¡¯t tear his gaze away; he watched his old master of arms pry off his moleskin gloves. His eyes surveyed the hall, and they gleamed golden in the haze. Their gazes met, briefly. Shaw tightened his grip further on the knife. ¡®Shaw.¡¯ Shaw snapped back, saw that Aike sat seated with him again. ¡®I¡¯m fine, Aike.¡¯ ¡®Do you know how cold it is out there?¡¯ The Grey wolf¡¯s voice cut through the noise. Shaw turned his gaze towards him, everyone did. He had thrown his furs at his feet, unbuckled his scabbard and held it in his hand. Ring mail gleamed in the firelight. ¡®Of course, you do.¡¯ He smiled and started to prowl between the benches. ¡®You fear it. Dread it. Huddled around the fire to forget it, distract yourself with cards and dice, drink, and empty prayers ¡ª but you can¡¯t escape it. The fear is always there, and fear makes man irrational, impulsive. We do things that we shouldn¡¯t have done.¡¯ ¡®What are you getting at, Darshan?¡¯ A brother, Logan, asked. ¡®If you have something to say, say it. Don¡¯t waste our time.¡¯ ¡®John is dead,¡¯ his words were blunt. Murmurs rose from every bench. ¡®Dead,¡¯ Aike whispered. Shaw¡¯s hand was trembling. Don¡¯t act rash. ¡®John were to inspect our stores hours ago, he hasn¡¯t returned.¡¯ ¡®You suspect murder?¡¯ Logan said. ¡®Aye.¡¯ ¡®You suspect one of us.¡¯ ¡®I¡¯m afraid so, brother of mine.¡¯ He raised his voice. ¡®But to the man that lay his sin bare, I shall be just and merciful. I promise a quick death, a clean death.¡¯ ¡®How can you be sure that it was murder!¡¯ a brother shouted, Shaw couldn¡¯t see who it was. ¡®What else? Do you believe that he vanished into thin air?¡¯ Darshan scoffed. ¡®No, I promise you, brothers, a murderer prowls in our midst!¡¯ ¡®He could have taken the white path,¡¯ Shaw said. He needed to control this, he had to try. ¡®The white path?¡¯ Darshan said and started to walk towards him. ¡®The white, fucking, path!¡¯ ¡®Brothers have done it before¡ª¡¯ Darshan grabbed Shaw by the collar. ¡®Calm, Darshan.¡¯ Aike tried to interject, but to no avail. ¡®You think he killed himself, Shaw? Do you?¡¯ Shaw fought back the urge to stick the long knife in his gut. How good it would feel. ¡®We can look for him when the weather has settled. When there is a break from the storm.¡¯ ¡®And then we will find him with his throat silt, won¡¯t we? Who to say it wasn¡¯t you who killed him, Shaw? I wanted to speak to you earlier, but you were nowhere to be found. Where were you?¡¯ ¡®I was helping Cook¡¯s boy. He can testify.¡¯ Darshan grinned. ¡®Digging your own grave, Shaw. Bring the boy!¡¯ They brought the boy into the common hall, the Cook close behind holding the clever, ready to make bloodshed if anyone hurt his apprentice. ¡®Boy,¡¯ Darshan said. ¡®Was Shaw with you down in the cellar? Was he helping you?¡¯ The Boy looked at Darshan then his eyes veered towards Shaw, he bit his lip, then spoke. ¡®He was with me, helping.¡¯ A crack in Darshan¡¯s grin. ¡®Did you see John?¡¯ ¡®I didn¡¯t see him down there. Isn¡¯t he here?¡¯ ¡®You didn¡¯t see him¡­¡¯ Darshan stared at the boy. ¡®Are you sure that you didn¡¯t see him? Tell me, boy!¡¯ ¡®I didn¡¯t.¡¯ ¡®I was right, Darshan,¡¯ Shaw said. ¡®John took the white path.¡¯ Darshan snapped. ¡®You coaxed the boy, you bastard!¡¯ He drew his sword. ¡®Darshan!¡¯ Aike moved himself between Shaw and the Grey Wolf. ¡®Move Aike, I don¡¯t want to kill you!¡¯ ¡®I won¡¯t. You know our laws; no blood can be spilled in the hall.¡¯ ¡®Laws are for men, but he is no man, he is savage! Out of my way!¡¯ ¡®Don¡¯t be foolish, Darshan.¡¯ ¡®Last warning.¡¯ The Grey Wolf showed steel. ¡®You don¡¯t give me a choice. Brothers!¡¯ Brothers rushed forwards to restrain him. It took more than five of them to contain the grey wolf¡¯s fury. ¡®I know what you did, Shaw!¡¯ Darshan screamed as his brothers forced him out of the hall. ¡®I know you killed him! And I promise that I will see you hanged or worse! I promise you!¡¯ Shaw watched them drag Darshan away, but he felt no sense of relief. This can turn very ugly if he is not dealt with. He sheathed the long knife and looked towards the boy; he was speaking to his master. Shaw would need to talk to him, he still had a use for him. Goodnight, Darshan. FOUR: A BROKEN PROMISE
When the light peered into his chamber, Darshan wasn¡¯t asleep. Sleep didn¡¯t come easy to weary old men like him. Instead, he turned and twisted in his bed, listing to the groans of the castle, the wind outside, rummaging on broken promises. You failed the boy. ¡®I¡¯m sorry to disturb you, Ser,¡¯ a voice said as the door slowly crawled open. ¡®There is no need to apologise.¡¯ He saw the Cook¡¯s apprentice entering the room. I wasn¡¯t sleeping anyway. Darshan rose and seated himself at the edge of the bed, massaging his sore muscles. ¡®I¡¯m guessing it¡¯s urgent whatever you require of me.¡¯ He looked towards the boarded shutters, tried figure out what time it was, morning or night? It was futile, the world outside was dark, it was always dark. ¡®Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir, but we¡­ we found him. We found John.¡¯ Darshan knew it was a trap. Shaw had murdered John ¡ª there wasn¡¯t a doubt in his mind ¡ª and now he was next. He had coaxed the boy to do as he wished, even to lure out Darshan with a false promise. But he decided to take the bait, he had nothing to lose now, he had already lost everything. Everything but the chance for justice. ¡®Lead the way, Boy,¡¯ Darshan said, and followed the boy out into the night. He wanted nothing else but drive his sword through that black heart. * The storm had calmed, but the cold was still fierce. In the darkness the pines rose like dark columns, it brought back memories of lord Callus great hall. But unlike it, there was no herald to proclaim his arrival, nor hushed rumours, or grand proclamations; there was only a seething silence. And all he could do in his trudge through the cold, quiet, darkness was to remember. ¡®Darshan,¡¯ Lord Callus had said, that faithful day so many years ago. ¡®My son is not a man yet.¡¯ ¡®Sire, your son¡¯s sixteen name day has passed, by the reckoning of our laws, he is a man grown,¡¯ Darshan had told him. ¡®And yet he is soft as silk. He plays the harp and the lute with the skills of a fawn, but he is a dullard at swordplay. I know you have done your best to tutor the boy, I do not put the burden of this misery on you. Alas it¡¯s the castle that has made the boy soft. His mother has blessed him with an appearance of a fairytale prince but cursed him with her tender manners. And I have failed him with a kind heart¡­¡¯ Lord Callus rested his head against the palm of his right hand. ¡®The world has become cruel. The gods have abandoned us without reason. Brothers and sisters cut each other¡¯s throats for an empty throne. It was not the world I imagined for him. I have failed to chisel him into a rock that could weather this tide.¡¯ Darshan saw the sorrow in the old lord¡¯s weathered visage. The misery of his failure asserted itself in the dark rings under his eyes. ¡®You have done your best, Sire. John is a good lad.¡¯ It was an empty kindness, Darshan knew. It couldn¡¯t lift the old lord¡¯s burden. But those words were his duty. ¡®I thank you, Darshan. There is no man that I trust more than you, a proud man among all these wicked carnivores.¡¯ He smiled. ¡®That is why I have this request. Take my son to the far fridges of the north, to Castle Lock. That place shall harden him and keep him¡ª¡¯ Lord Callus threw himself forward in a fit of violent coughing. ¡®Sire?¡¯ Darshan sprung forward and caught the old lord. ¡®Maybe it shall be my last request, a dying wish,¡¯ Lord Callus said as the coughing stopped, his smile returned. ¡®Do you accept?¡¯ Darshan took his hand. ¡®I shall lay this burden on my soul. Let it burn if I shall fail.¡¯ He kissed Lord Callus hand. ¡®And I promise that you shall see your son again.¡¯ Lord Callus gave a sad smile. ¡®I fear that is a promise you can¡¯t keep.¡¯ The old Lord had passed a year after John and Darshan had left for Castle Lock. Darshan had burned that letter; he hadn¡¯t wanted to burden John with the news of his father¡¯s passing. The North was hard enough on the boy. Now they were both dead. The little hope he had vanished through the cracks in his heart when the kitchen boy led him out through the east gate and towards the woods. He feared that John had walked the white path as the brothers called it. When hope had been wrung out from a man, he walked the path to find peace in the cold. If he only knew that the boy had been troubled. Had he found out about his father¡¯s death? Was the John¡¯s life the price of Darshan¡¯s lie? If the boy is alive, I shall never lie again. This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings. ¡®We are here,¡¯ the Cook¡¯s apprentice said. Darshan was yanked from his stream of thought and looked around. The scenery hadn¡¯t changed, and he saw no trace of John. ¡®Where is he?¡¯ Darshan said. But his answer didn¡¯t come from the boy. ¡®He is here, old friend.¡¯ Darshan saw Shaw walk out from the darkness like a Draeger. His red hair leapt like flames in the wind, and his scar was more hideous than Darshan remembered. But his gaze didn¡¯t linger on his features, for the sack Shaw held made his hand tremble. Shaw threw the sack, and John¡¯s head spilled out in the air. Darshan saw his eyes pleading with fear, his last thoughts crystallized. He remembered those eyes; how bright they were when they train in the courtyard. The determination. I failed both a father and a son. He had been entrusted with a life that had now been taken by a man Darshan had trained himself. A cruel jape, a bitter irony. He wrapped his fingers around the hilt of his sword, sighed, saw his breath turn to white smoke. ¡®I knew it was you, Shaw,¡¯ he said. Shaw grinned. ¡®You did. Unfortunately, the truth will die with you, old friend.¡¯ He whistled. Darshan felt a sharp pain shoot up from his leg. He looked down and saw a knife sticking through his thigh, dripping wet with blood. ¡®I¡¯m sorry,¡¯ the boy said, and his eyes told him that it was true. ¡®I want you to know it wasn¡¯t malice that killed him,¡¯ Shaw said. ¡®Then what?¡¯ ¡®His foolish sense of justice, honour. Your honour, Darshan. If he would have only listened nothing of this would have happened!¡¯ Darshan felt a burning, searing sensation spread out from the wound. The pain throbbed through the numb void, fuelling the hatred that it spawned. He fixed his eyes at Shaw. ¡®He did the right thing then,¡¯ Darshan spat. ¡®The honourable thing. Don¡¯t excuse your own sins, Shaw.¡¯ ¡®I do what I must to survive.¡¯ Shaw drew John¡¯s sword. ¡®Those who draw the blade, must be prepared to die by it.¡¯ Darshan said. ¡®I know. You were fond of that lesson.¡¯ ¡®Good.¡¯ Darshan drew steel, and it sang in the crisp air. ¡®Then I have nothing left to teach you.¡¯ He charged. * Darshan stumbled and collapsed before he could reach Shaw. It was an amusing sight to see his old friend wriggling in pain, his anger almost catching flame between his gritted teeth. Shaw put his boot on the sword before Darshan could swing it again. ¡®BASTARD!¡¯ Darshan screamed. Shaw answered with a kick to the old man¡¯s jaw. Darshan¡¯s head jolted backwards. Shaw watched his old friend sprawl out in the snow, spitting blood. He saw his lips moving. ¡®Can¡¯t hear you,¡¯ Shaw said, crouching down. Darshan spat blood in his eye. It itched and burned; it made Shaw fumble. Darshan¡¯s weight fell over him, beating him to the ground. He heard the scrape of steel, put his hands up and clasped the dagger that was aimed for his heart. Warm blood dripped from Darshan¡¯s gritted teeth. The veins on his hands bulged as Shaw tried to steer the dagger to the side, but the old man still had fight in him. Darshan had been the one to kick sense into him, in the young fool he had been. He had taught him swordplay, proper swordplay, not the hacking and slashing he had learned on his own. He had taught him to respect a weapon, to respect an opponent. Only a fool fight with overconfidence, for it is a slow and insidious killer. Shaw felt his hands tremble, feeling the weariness run down his arms. Maybe he hadn¡¯t fully heeded the lesson, and for that, it seemed, he would pay a painful price¡ª Darshan¡¯s head flew sideways, something had hit it. With the old man dazzled, Shaw threw himself forward all his weight. Darshan tumbled over, and Shaw snatched the dagger as he fell. With quick ease of movement, he placed himself on top of Darshan and drove the dagger near his heart. The old man bit down on his own scream, his legs thrashing, his hands desperately searching for the dagger. Shaw twisted it slowly, watching Darshan¡¯s face wrinkle and contort, eyes trying to shut out the pain. Shaw drew out the dagger and a gushing of dark red was quick to follow. Darshan gasped, spitting blood. ¡®I promised¡­,¡¯ He rasped. ¡®I promised¡­¡¯ ¡®It was a promise to a dead man. You are now relieved of it. Your duty ends.¡¯ Darshan gave a pained grin. ¡®You will burn,¡¯ he whispered. ¡®You will burn, Shaw. The great pits await you. You burn.¡¯ You will burn, Shaw. The gods see your sins. You will burn! His father¡¯s voice whispered. Shaw threw down his fist against Darshan¡¯s face. He could hear a crack, feel blood splatter. He heard himself scream. Crunch. Pain blaze through his hand. Crack. His knuckles were crying red. It burnt, burnt, burnt. Darshan laughed, breathless and coughing. ¡®Why are you laughing?¡¯ Pain drove through his arms. ¡®Why are you laughing!¡¯ Blood splattered. In the end Shaw couldn¡¯t recognize Darshan¡¯s face anymore, except for his golden eyes staring through all that was swollen and broken. He got back on to his feet with ragged breath. Turning, he saw the cook¡¯s apprentice standing in the snow, still and silent, pale as a ghost, and holding a stone in his hand. ¡®Burn,¡¯ Shaw mumbled. ¡®Burn.¡¯ Above, nestled in the wicked branches, Shaw could hear crows and ravens laugh. FIVE: UNESCAPABLE INFERNO
It was a lonesome sound, the groaning of the rope, and yet it drowned the whole chapel. It was the central piece which the whole place turned around. Shaw couldn¡¯t remember why he was here. Searching through his muddled mind he couldn¡¯t find a thread of reason. But he was here. Locked in a stone chamber that swayed to the motion of the rope that descended from a drinking void. Shaw moved forward, for that is what he had always done. For when the storm enclosed, you had to venture through it. Struggle with teeth and blood. The gods watched as he strode through the decrepit chamber. Their visages stern and cold like the stone their flesh was chiselled from. Shaw could feel their eyes, piercing and hating. Should I be honoured for the loath you give me? He heard them whisper¡­ no not them. The hissing voices came from the void above, thousands of them, tens of thousands, screeching, screaming. The whispers erupted into chants that devoured the lonesome sound of the rope into a single cry like an inferno. Unbearable, a needle drawn into his ear. He could feel blood trickle out of them, feel the weight of the voices pushing him down. If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. Move forward! He crawled across the leeching stones, digging fingernails into broken mortar, struggling with teeth and blood. Then he saw it¡­ ¡­John¡¯s naked body hanging from the rope, naked as the day he was born. His flesh opened, ribcage to groin. But his head wasn¡¯t his, it was a raven¡¯s head with dark eyes that ran with blood. The whole chamber jolted, turning upside down. The voices screamed with a fervour belonging to beasts. He fell, crashing into the depths of the void. When his eyes opened, the world he saw was a vault of knitted branches, black and stark against the starry night. Shaw knew this place, a brief familiarity. Then it was gone. He turned his head to the side and saw Darshan¡¯s face, eyes closed. It was rotted black, flesh torn and ruined, a horrid sight, a familiar sight, and it belonged to something dead. And yet, Darshan opened his eyes. Flesh-draped and rotting hands erupted from the snow. They clawed and clasped, dragging him down. Shaw fought, thrashing, and clawing, but his struggle was in vain. He sank deeper and deeper until he was all expended and all he could do was scream, his voice joined by a thousand others, plunging into the place that his father had promised. SIX: THE MADMAN鈥橲 TOWER
Shaw gazed at his own reflection, his visage distorted by the ripples in the basin¡¯s dark waters. He couldn¡¯t escape the wretched image that stared back at him: dark rings under hollow eyes, placed upon a sickly pale face. Only his fiery red hair held any sign of life. Shaw bashed his face into the waters. It was freezing cold. He held himself down as his body revolted, only to emerge gasping, spitting, and coughing. Then he did it all again. It was a painful ritual. A strange method to rid himself of sleepiness. Shaw punished himself like a devout lusting after another man¡¯s wife. His tiredness was a sin to him, a weakness that had to be purged. He couldn¡¯t sleep, for sleep meant nightmares. They were a poison. For days not a word had been uttered to his decay. None had raised a question for why he screamed at night. They all knew that a man¡¯s mind can break between the castle¡¯s walls. Shaw wouldn¡¯t be the first. There had been others. Some walking out into the storm never to return. They called it walking the white path. A path with no return. Shaw stumbled back to his bedside and slid down against it. The thought of sleep allured him, the need pulling his strings. He threw back his head and laughed, feeling tears swell in his eyes. ¡®Isn¡¯t this a sorry sight,¡¯ Judge said, and Shaw knew it for a fickle of his imagination. The man was long dead. He was alone in his chamber with a fading candle for company and shadows that splayed the walls, dancing to the dying light. ¡®You were a name renowned. A fucking legend among my men. You were a demon shackled to mortal flesh, and I wished I could have set you free. Now you are a weeping mess.¡¯ Shaw heard him chuckle. ¡®Things change,¡¯ he said to himself. ¡®You should not have put your faith in that fellow whose name you try to erase. He took you down with his sinking ship. If he only had known his way around a court as he had known a sword or an axe. But alas you are here. He a commander, and you rotting from the inside. Where¡¯s the fire, Shaw? The hatred that fuelled the flames. I didn¡¯t teach you Judge¡¯s ways for nought. Don¡¯t run from your nightmares, cut out their black hearts!¡¯ To kill a dream, Shaw thought. To neutralize a poison. He rose to his feet and spied out the slit in the wall that was his window. A tower rose in the dark, decrepit, and old; atop a flame flickered. And he remembered something Aike had used. A cure. ¡®A click of madness,¡¯ Judge said. ¡®To set things right.¡¯ * In the swallowing blackness of the tower, Shaw thought about a passage that his father preached to those few who attended. The price of salvation is a constant struggle. An ascent that cautions a great fall; a misstep will plunge you back into darkness. His legs were heavy, dragged down by an invisible weight as he forced them up the steps. He gazed up the set of stairs that spiralled into a mouth of darkness. It appeared endless, if not for a frail radiance of flickering light graced the stones high above. Not far now. He stumbled; his salvation ripped away from his sight, tumbling down a few flights of stairs before catching himself against the rough stone walls. Pain hammered through his body, pulsing in a frightened frenzy. Shaw cursed the stairs, cursed the tower. He lay his head back against the wall, feeling sweat crawl down his forehead. His ragged breath rang loud here, all alone in the tower. ¡®Why the struggle, Shaw? Salvation can be found in death. A quick fall, a quick end. The pain will be brief,¡¯ John said. Shaw thought that he could see him, his dark shape sitting on the edge of the stairs. ¡®Join me.¡¯ ¡®You are not here,¡¯ Shaw mumbled. ¡®What is it that you fear, Shaw?¡¯ Shaw dragged himself against the wall. His mind was a stranger; a conjurer that tricked him with illusions. John was dead. Judge was dead. But that didn¡¯t seem to stop them from speaking. Shaw glanced towards the light and continued to struggle in his ascent. Giving a darting eye behind him, he saw that John was gone. ¡®You¡¯re going mad, Shaw, rotting from the inside,¡¯ Judge said. ¡®Everything will be gone when I speak with the madman. Even you.¡¯ I¡¯m speaking to myself; I¡¯m beyond mad. ¡®I see. I remember a shaman who promised me that his trinkets would shield me against weapons made by mortal hands.¡¯ Judge gave a dry chuckle. ¡®An arrow pierced my shoulder not long after. I saved it after they had pried it out and gouged out the fucker¡¯s eyes with it.¡¯ ¡®That Shaman was a liar.¡¯ ¡®I wonder if this one is any better?¡¯ Shaw said nothing. The madman had come long before Shaw, at a time when men still called him Ravic. He had been a respected scholar and alchemist, a man who belonged with dukes and kings, not with violent men residing at the far fringes of the North. He never said why he came, and tales grew in the absent of facts. Brothers said he had dabbled in black magic and so drew the wrath of the academy, banishing him. Another story spoke of murder, another of lust, one of power, one of greed. The tales about him could fill a long night with a few cups of ale. Ravic was a reclusive man, keeping to himself, locked away in his tower. Few saw him and slowly stories spread of his madness. He traded occult books from wandering merchants for ointments and other strange things. He had been heard chanting in the night, screaming and raving. This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there. And what happened to his ravens? They have been silent. Atop of the tower Shaw was greeted by a door closed and silent, enforced by iron and runes carved into the wood. Shaw pounded on the door and waited. Hung near the door, a single candle burned a slow death. Locks snapped behind the heavy frame, chains clattered, and with a sigh, it opened. Inside, Shaw saw the madman shuffling across the chamber, his back turned as if he had forgotten that Shaw was there. Inside fumes spewed out from strange contraptions, flask, and tubes. Hundreds of candles lined the circular room, melting wax pouring down between the crevasses and cracks in the floor. They produced a thin veil of smoke that shrouded the chamber. Shaw could feel his eyes water and sting, his throat burned as if fire clung to its edges. The whole placed reeked of pewter, subdued by the scent of citrus. How can a man live like this? It requires more than madness. Worse were the books and parchment sprawled over the floor, shadowing pentagrams etched into the worn wood. ¡®A dealer in the black arts,¡¯ Judge said. ¡®Fascinating man.¡¯ Above, Shaw saw seven ravens strung up from the beams that crisscrossed the ceiling. They were dead, dry blood stained across their throats. ¡®Fuck,¡¯ he mumbled. ¡®You can¡¯t trust those creatures. They see too much. Hear too much,¡¯ the Madman said, his face was sickly, skin drawn tight over the bones, weathered, and scarred by rashes. ¡®I like them dead. They don¡¯t speak then. They can¡¯t tell anyone anything.¡¯ He grinned, but when he laid his eyes on Shaw, they grew wide. ¡®You are not him!¡¯ ¡®Who were you expecting?¡¯ Shaw said. ¡®What do you want? Who are you!¡¯ The Madman hissed, refusing Shaw¡¯s question. ¡®I¡¯m here for a simple request,¡¯ Shaw said, stepping past the aged scholar. ¡®Think me as a patron of your¡­arts.¡¯ Shaw seated himself in one of the two cushioned chairs inhabiting the tower. The Madman stared at Shaw, licking his gums. ¡®What sort of a request?¡¯ ¡®Do you know Aike?¡¯ ¡®The brute?¡¯ The Madman said, his right eye twitched. ¡®Aye, he was here. Clamouring about nightmares. I gave him what I had. For years he pestered me about one concoction after the other. Then he stopped.¡¯ ¡®So, I have heard.¡¯ ¡®I found it fascinating, the way he said it ¡ª that he had to remember.¡¯ ¡®Do you still know the recipe that you made for him?¡¯ The Madman¡¯s fevered eyes stared at Shaw. ¡®You don¡¯t want to remember?¡¯ ¡®I want to sleep.¡¯ ¡®Violence,¡¯ the Madman said in husky tone and cracked a broken smile. ¡®It has an allure in its simplicity. The ease of which one can obtain what one desires.¡¯ He shuffled over to a black leather tome and cracked it open. ¡®Pages of antiquity riddled with its mark, of conquerors and kings. What makes empires rise and fall, but the bloodied sword? Yet it has its price. The deed depraves the soul.¡¯ He slammed the book shut; dust blew into the air. ¡®Nightmares are a mere symptom of a fragile spirit. What is it that you can¡¯t forget?¡¯ ¡®None of you concern,¡¯ Shaw said. ¡®If that is your wish,¡¯ the madman said. ¡®But our souls were not created to survive the strain of this¡­ depravity. When the arrogant man opened the doors which never can be shut again, he cursed the world to mortality and decadence. Our paradise was lost. Our flesh and souls doomed to ¡ª¡¯ ¡®I hear you, Ravic,¡¯ Shaw growled. ¡®But I didn¡¯t come for your philosophising.¡¯ ¡®I¡¯m helping you. You should heed my words.¡¯ ¡®Help? Help! You are wasting time!¡¯ ¡®Waste? Have you seen yourself? The life you have made for yourself. See the path your taken and then speak about¡ª¡¯ Shaw rose from the chair and grabbed the madman by the collar of his robe. ¡®I asked for a cure. A simple request, but all I get is fancy words and metaphors concealing hollow nonsense,¡¯ he said with a mocking snarl. He lifted the dagger towards the madman¡¯s right eye. ¡®Do you fear death, Ravic?¡¯ The madman became like a frightened animal, clawing and struggling to break free from Shaw¡¯s iron grip. ¡®Your death wouldn¡¯t deprave my soul.¡¯ It would bring you relief, Judge whispered. Drive the dagger through his eye. But Shaw didn¡¯t listen to the voice in his head. He threw the madman on the ground and the scholar crawled into a foetal position, spitting and laughing. Maybe it had been a waste coming here, the man was beyond mad with his rambles and outburst. He could have left, found his solace in drink until his mind blackened. But Shaw was a desperate man. ¡®What do you want?¡¯ Shaw said. ¡®What is your price?¡¯ ¡®Price?¡¯ The Madman snivelled. ¡®There is no price. I have seen what ills you, and I have the cure for that.¡¯ He crawled back to his feet and hobbled to a cabin filled with tiny black bottles, labelled with strange sounding names. Shaw saw the Madman scavenge through the bottles, murmuring to himself as he picked up one, then another, reading their names and giving an irritated snort before putting it back, until he found the one he wanted. He poured a cup of wine before adding the contents of the bottle. ¡®Drink this and you shall dream never more.¡¯ Shaw snatched the cup from the Madman¡¯s fragile hand and gulped half of it down, some spilling and running down his chin. At first, he felt nothing. He could have been given warm milk and he would have felt a greater difference. ¡®You jest?¡¯ Shaw said with a low growl. The Madman fidgeted with his fingers. ¡®No. What did you expect?¡¯ The words rattled from his teeth. ¡®More,¡¯ Shaw said then he felt a tingle on the tip of his tongue. He felt warm. He wanted to throw up. ¡®What did you do?¡¯ ¡®I¡¯m ending this madness. Yes, I break the cycle, break it! Break it before the cycle breaks the world. Before it breaks the world!¡¯ The Madman laughed and danced. Shaw could feel his legs start to numb, to give way. Poisoned, he thought. Bloody poisoned. He threw the last contents of the cup in the Madman¡¯s face, some pouring down his open, laughing mouth. Shaw grinned, then felt the invisible hands closing around his throat. Felt them squeeze as he watched the Madman panic. The poison cut Shaw¡¯s breath. The Madman in his panic threw himself at the cabinet, scavenging for what Shaw hoped was an antidote. He found it. The price of salvation is a constant struggle. Shaw threw himself at the Madman, locked his hands around his throat and put all his weight on him with the little strength he had. The Madman thrashed under him, scratching his chest, his body spasming beneath the pressure of his grip. Rasped, breathless laughter, bubbled out from the Madman¡¯s rotten lips when the colour of his face turned a horrid purple. Then his body became slack. Shaw snapped the antidote from the Madman¡¯s cold dead hands, drank, rolled over, and threw up. He heaved up everything he had until he thought he would spew out his own intestines. In his struggle he heard the croak of a raven. Saw it seated in the open window, its soulless eyes waiting to seize the moment he died. But he didn¡¯t. Seven: VIOLENCE IS THE ARGUMENT OF THE WEAK
Forgive me father,¡¯ Shaw mumbled. His head lolled like a noose that wound around his neck, eyelids half sunken. ¡®But he deserved it.¡¯ He swayed in his walk. Everyone in the small company that set out from Castle Lock gave him brief glances, waiting for him to fall. ¡®Did you ever care for me, father?¡¯ White smoke escaped his lips. ¡®Was there any love?¡¯ His father didn¡¯t breach his vow of silence as he walked beside him. Shaw saw that his lips were sown shut. Just as the day they hanged you,¡± This preacher will speak no more.¡± I wish had the chance do it myself. But you couldn¡¯t even give me that. Shaw hung his head backwards to see the canopy above him. A vault of barren branches, gnarled and deformed, gripped by the cold. Beyond them he could see the heavens, dark and brooding. A mad king¡¯s calm before his inevitable wrath. It would be worse than before; he could feel it. The question was when? Can you feel his eyes, Shaw? Judge whispered. The pup¡¯s? Shaw shot a glance behind him, not questioning the voice anymore. He saw the young pup, the dark coat hung around him like a dark bird¡¯s feathers. He has been eyeing us for a long time, Judge continued. ¡®You sure?¡¯ He mumbled to his ghost. Have I ever been wrong, Shaw? You led us through that path, told us it was safe. How many came home, Judge? Shaw thought. He didn¡¯t know if the ghost could hear his thoughts. If he could, Judge didn¡¯t say a word. We have seen him dining with the commander. He is a loyal dog. ¡®And?¡¯ He knows it was you, Shaw. That is why we are out here. He knows who murdered the Madman! He knows it was you who murdered John and Darshan! Shaw threw back a glance again, the boy still kept his gaze away from him. He could hide a dagger beneath the cloak, Shaw thought. He is waiting for an opportunity. His fingers found his knife. The wise thing would be to deny the boy the opportunity. He slowed down. ¡®We are freezing to death out here!¡¯ Shaw saw Jackals stride up towards the front. ¡®And yet we hardly understand why!¡¯ ¡®We were ordered to find the Madman,¡¯ Aike said, not giving the young man the slightest glance. ¡®To find a corpse, Aike? Is that why we are out here?¡¯ Jackals sneered, forced the warrior to meet his gaze. ¡®We both know that is absurd.¡¯ Shaw chuckled to himself as he saw the pup walk up to the front. Maybe there were no need for a cold blade this time. ¡®The Lord Commander firmly believes that we will find him alive,¡¯ the pup said. ¡®Didn¡¯t hear your master whistle, Dog.¡¯ Jackals said. ¡®And yet you come here, barking.¡¯ The pup bit down on the insult. ¡®You shouldn¡¯t question his orders.¡¯ ¡®Why, Dog?¡¯ ¡®He is your Lord Commander.¡¯ ¡®Aye. But I don¡¯t follow him blindly like an obedient fucking child. Do you know what happens to a man out here? Do you? In the cold?¡¯ The pup said nothing. ¡®It aint pretty. Parts of you go numb, change colour, blacken, and dry out.¡¯ Jackals leaned in close, his face a knife¡¯s edge from the Pup¡¯s. The Pup, however, did not avert his eyes. ¡®I¡¯ve seen real warriors start to forget things; become confused. Death takes them when they can¡¯t fight no more. They give up. I promise you, Dog, if that Madman is out here, he didn¡¯t survive the night. And if he came out here, he came out here to die.¡¯ You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. ¡®Afraid the cold, Jackals?¡¯ The pup japed. ¡®What if the Lord Commander asks you to fight a man? Will you run away then?¡¯ ¡®Afraid?¡¯ Jackals snarled. ¡®I have killed five men. How many have you killed, Dog? None I have heard.¡¯ ¡®Do you want to be my first?¡¯ The boy snapped. ¡®Or maybe you are too afraid? Shall I tell the Lord Commander what sort of man you are? A liar and a coward.¡¯ Jackals unsheathed his axe. ¡®You dare, Dog?¡¯ ¡®Jackals enough!¡¯ Aike shouted over the howling wind. ¡®Enough?¡¯ Jackals laughed. ¡®My father taught me to kill a dog that you can¡¯t reason with. But don¡¯t worry, Aike, I will give this pup a fighting chance.¡¯ The pup gave himself distance but struggled with dislodging his sword from its scabbard. The other brothers in the company laughed, even Shaw couldn¡¯t help but give a tired chuckle. Look at the men that follow you, Arthur. You have strayed far. ¡®Enough!¡¯ Aike forced himself between the two fighting pups. ¡®I will not have blood be shed between two brothers under my command!¡¯ ¡®Let them fight, Aike. Then there will be one fewer mouth to feed,¡¯ one of the brothers said and few voices joined him. ¡®Let them fight!¡¯ ¡®No steel! No blood! We carry on!¡¯ ¡®To our deaths, Aike?¡¯ Jackals cried out. ¡®To our fucking deaths? That is what he wants, isn¡¯t it? That is what he bloody wants. Just like John. Just like Darshan. He wants to get rid of us! And that fucker ¡ª¡¯ he pointed his axe toward the Pup who finally had manged to draw his sword and held it with the grace of an untutored ¡®¡ªhe is going to make sure that it will happen.¡¯ ¡®Jackals listen! He is your brother! Don¡¯t be a¡ª¡¯ But the axe had already been thrown and swirled through the air and, with a violent thud, lodged itself into the pup¡¯s left shoulder. The young Pup stumbled a few steps backwards from the force of the impact, eyes frantically watching red bloom around the edges of the axe. Violence is the argument of the weak, Shaw¡¯s father preached, mouth still sown shut. Their love of it draws the ire of the gods. ¡®You don¡¯t understand father,¡¯ Shaw mumbled. ¡®The gods love it.¡¯ Jackals charged forward with dagger drawn. The brothers cheered him on. It would be butchery; the loyal pup wouldn¡¯t stand a chance. One less mouth to feed. ¡®Enough!¡¯ Aike roared, but his voice was drowned by a man¡¯s scream. Shaw cast a glance behind him and saw a brother thrashing beneath the weight of a grey wolf. The wolf was tearing at his throat, ripped it free in a spray of blood. It turned its yellow eyes towards them, flesh between its teeth, grey fur stained with blood. The company could hear howls all around them. ¡®Wolfs!¡¯ Chaos broke loose amongst them. Screams and shouts morphed into a shrilled cacophony of violence as the wolfs charged into the company: jaws snapping and biting into flesh and fur. Shaw caught a wolf charging towards him and frantically drew his sword. His hands trembled. Come then. But when the wolf saw the steel, it hesitated. Shaw thought he saw fear and acted on instinct. He placed one foot before him and charged, hoping to skewer the beast before it could draw blood on him. The wolf, however, didn¡¯t hesitate this time. It leapt aside, Shaw stumbled. He had overstated his own strength, his own limits. He fell violently into the snow. Shaw felt the pains and aches, his body remembering what it chose to forget in the spur of the moment. He couldn¡¯t muster the strength to stand, the pain burning through his body. The cold crept in like a bird of prey, leeching away his warmth. Shaw wished he could turn, to see the vault of heaven. He wanted view the moon, the billion burning stars. But he knew that he would only find dark clouds. I¡¯m not dead and I will not die. Shaw heard a low growl and voice that spoke his name. ¡®Shaw.¡¯ He lifted his gaze and saw the wolf, starved, bones protruding beneath the fur. But Shaw¡¯s eyes only lingered on the grey beast for a moment before seeing the man beside it. Scavengers had eaten his face; an eye ripped from its socket; flesh picked from his lips and chins. But the grey hair, the wolfish features told Shaw who it was. ¡®Darshan,¡¯ Shaw whispered. ¡®Those who draw the sword, shall die by the sword. You knew it as well as any man,¡¯ Darshan said in a croaking voice, words hissed and breathy. I killed you once, I will kill you again. ¡®For why should you be here? In the place of better men?¡¯ Shaw tried to get up, veins bulging, a scream escaping between gritted teeth. ¡®I will kill you!¡¯ ¡®They await you.¡¯ The wolf charged, jaws snapping down on his left forearm, teeth puncturing skin. Shaw screamed. He grasped for the sword, but it had skidded across the snow, far from his reach. The wolf tugged and tore, blood bubbling up between its teeth. His fingers clasped for his dagger, finding its hilt, he drew it and drove it into the wolf¡¯s side. The wolf cried out and released its hold. Shaw had given himself a moment¡¯s respite, but the dagger hadn¡¯t killed the wolf, and he was too weak to run. Worse of all, he was losing blood. The wolf charged again, furious from its wounds. They struggled through the snow before Shaw managed to snatch the beast¡¯s jaws, locking them from tearing his face apart. You have been promised, he could hear Darshan say. They await you. He felt his arms shaking, heard his rasping and gasping breath. They await you. Shaw felt his arms give in, saw an arrow pierce the wolf¡¯s neck before everything turned black. EIGHT: A HANGING
Jackals stood defiant with the rope around his neck and hands tied behind his back. Shaw thought of a painting Judge had stolen from a noble down in Careth. The painting had depicted a young man in glistening armour, defiant, steadfast with the Carethan banner, the black dragon riding on the wind, and his eyes locked towards the enemy. Jackals shared his defiance with the young man on the painting, and like the painting it was a mere fantasy. He was a young man that tiptoed on an old stool, a decrepit piece of wood that was all that stood between his life, and death, and Shaw could see the illusion break each time it creaked. ¡®You judge him unfairly,¡¯ John said, standing amidst the crowd that had gathered in the hall. ¡®A man can only be brave when he is scared.¡¯ To Shaw, John looked more like a fairytale prince now, then he had ever done in life, with his long black hair streaming behind him, and an ethereal glow that crowned him. Only the blood running from his eyes broke the illusion. ¡®He will die because of you, after all.¡¯ ¡®Jackals shouldn¡¯t be standing there,¡¯ an older brother whispered near Shaw. He had been part of the company that had set out to find the Madman. Half his face had become mangled in the attack. ¡®He disobeyed orders,¡¯ Aike said. ¡®He should have listened to me.¡¯ ¡®The pup didn¡¯t die by Jackals¡¯s hand. It was the wolf¡¯s that killed him, we all saw.¡¯ ¡®That is not how the Lord Commander sees it.¡¯ ¡®Even so, the lad doesn¡¯t deserve this. Lashings, aye, but death? Doesn¡¯t seem right.¡¯ ¡®The Commander blames him for all the other murders too,¡¯ another brother said, he had missing teeth and he lisped the words. ¡®John and Darshan? The lad is hot-headed and rash, but he isn¡¯t a cold-blooded murderer. He had no reason to kill them. It must have been someone else.¡¯ Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. ¡®You will burn,¡¯ Darshan whispered. ¡®You will burn, Shaw. You will burn.¡¯ Aike grunted. ¡®The Lord Commander said¡ª¡¯ ¡®The Lord Commander is looking for a scapegoat, a sacrifice. Now he has a suitable victim,¡¯ Shaw said, cutting off his lisping brother. ¡®Traitorous words,¡¯ the lisping brother said. ¡®You all should watch your tongues.¡¯ ¡®We watch them,¡¯ the older brother said. ¡®But we won¡¯t be blind.¡¯ ¡®Brothers!¡¯ The Lord Commanders voice rung through the hall and beckoned all to silence. He pushed through the gathered crowd, his steps echoed against the stone walls. They demanded attention, demanded respect, for they rang with the rhythm of a dreading heart, with the slow-building suspense of a whirling drum. But Shaw couldn¡¯t find respect for the gloated pig, with his eyes yellow and dry. He looked a wasted pauper; a fleeting shadow of the man Shaw had known. The Lord Commander stopped before Jackals who stood with the rope tight around his neck. He gasped and coughed before he began his speech. ¡®You know the words. You know them before I can say them. For you all bear these words on your mind: ¡°times are hard¡±,¡¯ The Lord Commander said and sighed. ¡®Worse than hard, and there is no end in sight. But that doesn''t give a man any right to take the life of another!¡¯ He stabbed a finger towards Jackals and sneered. ¡®Corlys, Darshan, John, Brothers all! Loved. Respected. Gone. Taken by a man who thought himself above it all!¡¯ ¡®Hang him!¡¯ Shaw could hear shouted across the hall, but many reserved their voices. ¡®Any last words?¡¯ The Lord Commander asked Jackals, Shaw could see the dried blood around his mouth and chin. ¡®No?¡¯ Jackals spit, hitting the Lord Commander in the face. Defiant to the last. The Lord Commander kicked the stool from under him, and Jackals fell, the rope stretched out, but he didn¡¯t die. It was too short of a drop to give him a quick death. It squeezed his throat. Held him dangling. Jackals thrashed and kicked, his face bloating purple. They all watched him hang, life slowly draining from his face, listening to his grunt and the weary groan of the rope. Shaw turned his eyes towards the Lord Commander, but the man that he had known walked with quick steps away from it all. ¡®This is your fault, Shaw,¡¯ His father said. ¡®You have no one but yourself to blame.¡¯ Shaw gritted his teeth. Get out of my head! His father spoke to him no more, but his judgement never seized. Had it ever? He watched until Jackals¡¯ thrashing stopped. NINE: BIRDS OF DOOM
His neck was broken. The rope snared tight around his throat, it cut deep into his skin, but he couldn¡¯t feel it. He couldn¡¯t feel anything. His body denied his command. Shaw watched the world, swinging from an oak with limbs tortured and twisted, thought he could hear the tree scream from deep inside of it. The landscape was an endless sight of grey and white, giving no room for colour, no room for thriving life. A gentle breeze brushed through the oak¡¯s baren branches, a gentle hand to give relief, it set him in motion. The rope groaned in agony as he pendulated. Beneath him he could hear a boy cry. His dead gaze fell to the ground to see the boy¡¯s unwashed face streaked with tears. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. ¡®Why did you leave me alone?¡¯ The boy said and Shaw remembered the voice. ¡®Why did you leave me?¡¯ Shaw knew those questions were not for him, but the dead body he inhabited could not answer. Crows and ravens circled around the tree like birds of doom. The boy rose to his feet, the fiery red hair lashing in the wind. ¡®Answer me!¡¯ He screamed. ¡®Answer me!¡¯ He punched the body which jolted and spun, but nothing more. Whatever he tried he couldn¡¯t get the corpse to speak, nor return his father¡¯s soul to it. Defeated the boy collapsed to his knees, tears welling in his eyes. ¡®I hate you,¡¯ he said in quivering whisper. ¡®Why did you have to leave me? I hate you. I wish I had been the one who had killed you. I wish.¡¯ The boy sat in silence beneath the tortured oak until the blood red sun fell from the horizon and vanished beyond Shaw¡¯s sight. When the boy was gone, the crows and ravens descended on him with their wicked talons. They tore at his flesh, his eyes, his tongue. The pain was excruciating, he wanted to scream. But Shaw found that he couldn¡¯t. TEN: TRAPPED WITHIN
Days. How many days had passed since it all began? Shaw couldn¡¯t tell. Brothers vanished and reappeared, but nothing changed. Darkness was the constant state of the waking world. Awake. Shaw wondered sometimes if he was awake at all. Maybe he was stuck in a perpetual tormenting nightmare. Winter¡¯s whip slashed him across the face, he could feel the pain. It burned, but it wasn¡¯t the quick heat of fire, it was the slow burn that couldn¡¯t be escaped. Shaw had stepped outside to know if he was awake, to feel anything. But he couldn¡¯t say. Hands, slimy and cold, sometimes crawled over his face, jutting their rotting fingers into his flesh. Sometimes they did not. Sometimes ghosts whispered in his ears; memories that screamed with terror. Sometimes they did not. Sometimes it was only the cold of winter, the wind¡¯s endless howls and shrills. He couldn¡¯t tell whether he was awake or forever cursed to dream. You are mad. You are lost. Light escaped from the sole window of the Raven Tower. Light from a place that should have shone its last. The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. He is dead. Dead? Does anything die with you? Trapped within you? Shaw wound blistered fingers around the cold hilt. He strode towards the place he had hoped to leave forever alone in its dark bliss. As he wandered up the treacherous stairs that twisted into the darkness before leaving for the light, he thought himself a wolf walking into the snare of a hunter. It was a feeling buried deep, a primal fear. It whispered its warning, pleaded him to go back. The feeling would devour him if he let it. It had happened before. He is dead. Arms stretched out from the tower walls, now black as obsidian. They had bleeding wounds, torn flesh, others warped and twisted, bent far and unnatural. They grabbed, jerked, and pleaded. Shaw drew his sword and cut himself free, dead arms flopping down the stairs for others to take their place. He ran, upwards, towards the light, hounded by the screams from the depths of the earth, of souls who demanded their due. Shaw broke through the door and collapsed, gasping, and spitting. The Madman¡¯s chamber, however, gave him no respite. The pewter that had been subdued by the scent of citrus had broken the spell, consumed, and grown. The stank of it gagged him ¡ª it was unbearable ¡ª but he managed to stand against his body¡¯s will to heave all that he had eaten. ¡®I¡¯m better than all of you¡­ I¡¯ll prove it. You are nothing¡­ but peacocks¡­ nasty words¡­ but no bite.¡¯ Shaw¡¯s weary eyes saw the Lord Commander lying on the floor, spasming and frothing at the mouth. His eyes were delirious staring into a world of his own conjuring. ¡®What happened to you, Arthur?¡¯ A black bottle lay near the Lord Commander¡¯s sprawled out hand and Shaw could see spillage around the Madman¡¯s strange contraptions. ¡®What did you do?¡¯ ¡®I could kill all of you¡­.one hand behind my back. You are no better¡­ than the rats in your castle.¡¯ The Lord Commander laughed before his laughter burst into a horrific scream. His whole body arched, throat grew and bulged, and Shaw could hear the jaw pop and crack, seeing a black feathered creature rise drenched in mucus and blood. The raven stared at Shaw with eyes of cold jet. It laughed, and Shaw screamed with his sword raised. ELEVEN: THE BEAST LURKING IN THE HEART
Gore drenched Shaw¡¯s face, he could feel the blood slithering down his temple, dripping from his nose, but when he touched his skin with his fingers, he found nothing. I washed it all away yesterday¡­ or was it today¡­? He couldn¡¯t remember. His skin felt clammy, sweat crawling down his temple. He found it hard to breathe, the smoke from the fire poisoning the air. The darkness of the common hall had grown, encroaching as the firelight waned and yielded. The firewood had become sparse, and the storm had not relented to give them a chance for more. The whole keep was standing on the edge, they couldn¡¯t run much longer. A tension was imbued in the hall, thick and suffocating, a string strung to its breaking point, a sword held over their heads. The string would break, and the sword would fall, for the Lord Commander was gone. Dead. No one said it, but they all knew he was, and someone had to take the blame. Someone had to die. The question was who? When Cook and his apprentice entered with the steaming black cauldron, the tension, like the black cloud it had become, cleared. The smell of venison stew made brothers give murmured prayers around Shaw as Cook placed the cauldron on a table closest to the fire. Brothers jostled to get to the cauldron with bowls in their hands and blessed the smoky hall with their laughter. Shaw took a bowl and saw the meaty chunks bob on the surface. He seated himself in hopes of enjoying the stew in peace, but he couldn¡¯t help but let his gaze wander. Amidst the relief of supper, he caught the sight of a burly brother with short, raven black hair. He didn¡¯t touch the stew, how he scooped up a chunk of meat with the spoon before dropping it back with a frown. Then the brother rose. ¡®Cook,¡¯ the Burly Brother said with a gracious tone. ¡®I wanted to thank you for providing us with the food that gives us hope. These are horrible times, especially with the loss of our Lord Commander. You, brother of mine, give us reason not to despair.¡¯ Cook grunted, indifferent to his brother¡¯s praises. But the boy smiled with delight. ¡®I just have one question.¡¯ The Burly Brother grinned. ¡®What sort of meat is it?¡¯ The Cook said nothing, and his eyes gave no answer. But Shaw could see the worry in the apprentice¡¯s eyes. The Burly man strode forward looming over Cook. ¡®Venison? Cow? Sheep? Pig? Bird? No? I¡¯ve inspected our stores and I can tell you that we have no such thing.¡¯ He drew a knife from under his furs. ¡®So, I¡¯m asking again, what sort did you use?¡¯ ¡®It was rats!¡¯ The apprentice said, jumping in between them. ¡®It was rats!¡¯ ¡®The chunks are too thick for rat meat, boy.¡¯ He shoved the boy aside. ¡®Its human flesh, isn¡¯t it?¡¯ ¡®Leave him alone!¡¯ A brother shouted and others started to move towards the burly brother. ¡®Silence!¡¯ Others shouted. This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. ¡®The Lord Commander vanishes without an explanation and two days later you serve us venison stew when there is no venison to be served. You killed him, didn¡¯t you? It wouldn¡¯t be a surprise knowing what you are.¡¯ ¡®He didn¡¯t!¡¯ The boy screamed but the Burly Brother had already decided. He was the judge, jury, and executioner. Let him take the blame. ¡®You¡¯re willing to let another man die for the sins you committed!¡¯ John cursed him, hidden in the back of Shaw¡¯s mind. He ignored the ghost. ¡®Coward,¡¯ Darshan muttered. This isn¡¯t my fight! ¡®I¡¯ll be the one to cut your throat, traitor¡ª!¡¯ A short blade cut through the top of the Burly Brother¡¯s mouth and jutting out from the top of his skull, fresh blood and brains dripping from its sharp edges. Shaw saw Cook holding the hilt and he could see a smile on those pale lips. He drew out the blade and the heavy brother collapsed with an audible thud. ¡®Butcher!¡¯ An axe fell, cracking into the back of Cook¡¯s head, gore splattering upon a brother¡¯s face lost in the haze. The boy¡¯s scream cut through the brewing chaos. Everyone watched their slain brothers, watched the blood pool around them. They could sense it, smell it, taste it. The blood stirred the trapped beast inside. It howled in their thumping hearts, growled in the darkest places of their souls. Aike strode forward and with his battle axe and decapitated the murderer, it rolled through the crowd. There was brief silence. Hate shattered reason, giving way for all the fear and paranoia built up for so long to explode in a cathartic release of intense bloodlust. The hall became soaked in blood, straw dyed red, steel crushing flesh and bone. Aike transformed back into the beast he had been, swinging his long axe near the fire. Shadows danced upon his face, and corpses lay mangled by his feet. ¡®Burn,¡¯ his father said, watching the chaos. ¡®They must be burned. Their sins, their wickedness, burned. There can be no mercy, no ease of ways. This is who they are.¡¯ He gestured towards them; they were nothing more than beast now: biting off ears, yellow teeth ripping out throats, scratching and hollowing. Shaw¡¯s mouth was filled with the taste of iron. It was massacre. ¡®These violent men, they can¡¯t be changed, only fire can cleanse them.¡¯ ¡®Burn,¡¯ Shaw muttered, watching the Cook¡¯s apprentice crying over his master¡¯s slain body. ¡®Burn.¡¯ * Shaw¡¯s raspy breaths scraped against his chest; two bodies sprawled near his feet. He continued to stumble across the hallway, the sound of the fighting dying down as he came further and further away from it all until his strength gave way and he collapsed against a chamber door. He heard steps approaching. He peered his eyes down the hallway, and there he saw the boy. His red locks were a mess, tears streaked his dirty face, and blood stained one hand, the other tucked behind his back. ¡®Boy,¡¯ Shaw croaked with pained breath. ¡®I have a name; did you know that?¡¯ Shaw didn¡¯t say anything, eyes fixed on the hand hidden behind the boy¡¯s back. ¡®It¡¯s Theo. My master knew it, but he couldn¡¯t speak it,¡¯ The Boy¡¯s voice quivered. ¡®He couldn¡¯t speak it, but he didn¡¯t need to. He was kind, kinder than anyone I have ever known. And now he is¡­ he is¡­¡¯ He bit off the word as if the word seared his tongue. ¡®It¡¯s your fault!¡¯ Shaw snatched the knife inches from his chest. Blood ran from his hands as he wrestled with its edges. ¡®I didn¡¯t kill him!¡¯ ¡®You killed John! You killed Darshan! This wouldn¡¯t have happened if you hadn¡¯t done it!¡¯ ¡®I had no choice. You have to trust me, boy!¡¯ ¡®I did! That is why he is dead!¡¯ Shaw manged to twist the blade from the boy¡¯s hand, and it clattered to the ground. Theo collapsed to his knees. ¡®I hate you,¡¯ he hissed, tears running over bared teeth. ¡®I hate you.¡¯ The boy¡¯s eyes had become two black pits, gaping with lost innocence, loathing, hating. Shaw saw it now, he saw himself, the boy he had been, sitting under his father¡¯s corpse, crying, wishing that he had been the one who had done it. He saw it now, the cruel repetition. Time is a flat circle. He picked up the knife and killed the boy. It was a mercy. That was what he told himself. He could hear Aike¡¯s words in his head ¡ª Justify. Justify. TWELVE: TIME IS A FLAT CIRCLE
A bright light cut a path through the darkness, radiating with warmth and desire. It was an aspiration; it bore the scent of spring. Standing in its light, Shaw felt his sores and pains melt away like snow in the summer, the voices in his head dispersed against the coming tide. It was paradise, a place of upmost beauty, a place free of sorrow and woe. ¡®Mother,¡¯ his voice quivered, his hand outstretched. He walked towards it with hope in his heart. ¡®Paradise does not belong to the wicked. Remember, son,¡¯ his father whispered. ¡®Say farewell to your mother.¡¯ The darkness pressed inwards and strangled the light. ¡®Please,¡¯ he said, but his voice was hardly audible, his mouth filling with the taste of decay. He could feel rotting hands clamouring to his naked skin where the light vanished, and darkness took its place. Shaw ran as the path of light narrowed, two walls of pitch-black pressing against him. Do you ever feel guilty, Shaw? For the violence you have done? The walls pressed inwards, but he couldn¡¯t move. Violence takes a heavy toll. It depraves the soul. He couldn¡¯t breathe. You always lie! Lie to others! Lie to me! He had to move. He had to move! Breathe. He couldn¡¯t breathe. You will burn, Shaw. The great pits await you. You¡¯ll burn. Images flashed before him, striking his vision like lightning. A nail was driven through a man¡¯s hand, blood and red flesh, a hammer rung, the nail driven deeper. ¡®Evil is found in the heart, the tempting shadow that all men wrestle with. To give in is to be a bearer of evil, no different from a bearer of disease,¡¯ Shaw could hear his father speak, detached and ominous, and he found that it morphed into his own voice. He could hear the scream; it tore through his ears. ¡®Death of the sinful is the lesser of two evils, a vile action of necessity that shall bring paradise! They must be cleansed. They must be burned.¡¯ The images flashed again and again, grotesque, the figure hanging from the wall, arms sprawled like an eagle¡¯s wings. The light died. Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings. He was sinking. He couldn¡¯t breathe. Pressure broke his bones. Dead hands clamoured to his naked body. Rotting hands crawled down his throat. He couldn¡¯t breathe. * ¡®Shaw, please.¡¯ He was standing in the common hall, light glowing beneath him. A lantern lay near his feet, and the whole place reeked of straw and oil. ¡®Shaw, please.¡¯ He looked up and saw Aike crucified to the wall, his face a mockery of the human visage, broken and bloody. ¡®Please,¡¯ Aike¡¯s swollen lips repeated. ¡®Please...¡¯ The light around Shaw displayed the thick blood that drenched his hands and wrists, and the hammer that dangled in his right hand. ¡®Burn,¡¯ Shaw mumbled, the words stuck in his head. ¡®Burn.¡¯ He dropped the hammer, and it smashed the glass of the lantern. The small flame escaped its cage, devouring the oil, the straw, and the air. It grew rapidly, smoky tendrils rising from its flaming body. The fire spread and slithered through the hall and the keep like a giant serpent. The smoke squeezing and throttling, seizing its grip. Shaw coughed and spit, his mind racing at the realization of his mistake. He ran through the hall, but he couldn¡¯t see through the smoke that had formed a black wall. It encircled him, drove into his lungs. Shaw stumbled forward coughing violently. He tried to stand, but something collapsed behind him in a rain of embers. Shaw stumbled forward, failing to the ground, pain exploded through his body; he could taste salt in his mouth. ¡®Shaw.¡¯ Shaw¡¯s gaze twitched towards the sound, but he saw nothing. ¡®Shaw!¡¯ He looked up and saw John standing before him. He seemed younger and his sword was drawn. ¡®I challenge you to single combat.¡¯ Shaw got to his feet and drew his sword. ¡®To the death.¡¯ John grinned. The swords clashed amidst fire and smoke; their steel rang over the roaring flames. Shaw parried John¡¯s blade, but it travelled through his steel and cut him across the chest. Shaw buckled with hissing breath. How! ¡®You cut like a butcher and your footwork is sloppy, Shaw.¡¯ Shaw looked behind him and saw Darshan stride towards him with sword drawn, wind dancing in his hair. ¡®Again!¡¯ Shaw faced him and the dance begun again, but Shaw didn¡¯t have a chance to act before Darshan¡¯s blade cut him across his thigh. Shaw bit down on the pain, stumbling a few steps back. Shaw felt a searing pain in his chest and saw Judge standing before him with knife buried deep into his ribcage. ¡ªI shall wait for you, traitor.¡¯ Judge pushed him away and laughed. Shaw fell through the flames and came to a crashing halt against the door. He started flinging himself against it with all the force he could muster. Again and again, he slammed himself against the door, the wood shivering and rattling beneath the impact, until it snapped open. Stumbling out in the cold Shaw could hear Arthur¡¯s voice through the howling wind. ¡®You disappoint me, Shaw.¡¯ I know. He felt a sharp pain shoot up from his leg. He looked down and saw a knife sticking through his thigh, dripping with blood. Shaw collapsed into the snow, feeling the cold teeth of winter gnaw and bite him, driving its chilled fangs through his skin. He saw the boy standing above him, looking at him with those same black pits. ¡®I hate you,¡¯ he said, before he dispersed in to flakes of snow. Shaw couldn¡¯t muster the strength to stand, but he fought, crawling towards the cellar. It will protect me against the wind. He refused to die. Snow swirled around him, and thunder rolled in the distance. He could hardly see five feet in front of him. ¡®Shaw.¡¯ He saw a figure seated in the snow; a baby snuggled in his arms. ¡®That will be your name. Shaw. You will be a better man than I ever was. You won¡¯t make the same mistakes.¡¯ Shaw watched his father. He could feel the warm blood that smeared him, dripping down from his face. ¡®I¡¯m sorry,¡¯ he said. All around him, he could hear crows and ravens chanting. Death! Death! Death!