Chapter Twenty

  Dead Men Walking

  For days, they dogged after the Sons of Barthus. Their noses, caught in brush, pressed against the hard earth, their eyes snagged against every broken branch and footprint in the road. But not once did they see them. They did not know how long they had been in that forest, but it must have been a terrible while, for though the tracks remained, they were always behind. They went southward, ever sloping down and down. The hills shifted and flattened, and green grass darkened; it was as if the whole world muddied. The spruce and birch faded into weeping willows, with long, sad boughs. And then, the tracks disappeared. Lost in the wet muck of a bog.

  They might have despaired, but just in sight, half shrouded by cold, morning mist, was a small village, held up on posts. Carefully, they approached it, keeping hidden in the high brush. Water poured into their shoes and stained their socks. But the townsfolk quickly revealed themselves; none were shrouded in black cloaks or had any distant expression upon their faces. Seeing no reason to hide, the three of them hurried up to the village, scrambling up out of the marsh and onto the wooden balconies. Just as soon as Nephis slipped off her shoe to pour the dull water out, a bullish man approached them, the veins on his neck bulging and his nose and mouth scrunched up to his eyes.

  “Get out! Leave!” he bellowed. “We’ve had enough of travelers!” He loomed over Nephis, who on the ground must have seemed like a child.

  Kugo stepped between. “What happened?” he asked calmly.

  “You! And people like you!” the man shouted, “I’m not taking more risks with strangers.”

  “What sort of strangers have troubled you?” Kugo pressed.

  “Don’t try to be a friend, I’m sorry if you are kindly, but you cannot stay! Don’t make me hurt you!” he threatened. “The world is turning dark, can’t trust anyone anymore.”

  “Sir,” Kugo demanded his attention, not flinching once, “We are after a mob of strange men, they have . . . taken a friend of ours, and we are going to get them back. We will leave as soon as you tell us which way they’ve gone.”

  The belligerent man’s eyes grew as wide as dinner plates. “You’re going after them? Those fellows in the black cloaks?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Kugo answered, “They call themselves the Sons of Barthus.”

  “I couldn’t care less what they call themselves. But when you find them, what are you going to do?” he asked.

  Kugo paused a moment and looked into the man’s shaking eyes. “I’m going to kill them, if I can.”

  The man nodded. “Good to hear. Those men passed through here two days ago. They took one of our boys, snatched him up from his mother. They said he had a gift.”

  Nephis' ears perked up. “What sort of gift?” she asked.

  “I wouldn’t know,” he said. “He wasn’t too strange a boy, but they took a liking to him. Come along. I’ll introduce you to his mother; it’ll give her some hope. You can ask her all about what happened. She was there.”

  He took her to a small shack along the walkway, quickly, the sound of their shoes beating against the wooden boardwalk was drowned out by piercing weeping. There was a small crowd of mourners around the cabin. “Out of our way,” the man said and began to push through.

  “Moss,” Nephis said, “You best stay outside. We do not frighten her anymore.”

  “Oh . . . Alright,” Moss echoed sadly and waited outside the shack.

  In the small room was a woman sat in a low chair. Around her were others, holding her hand and comforting her. They had brought bread and water, though it all went untouched.

  “Misha,” the man said, “These folks said they’d go and find Dana. They’re already after those monsters.”

  The woman settled down some, but was still weepy.

  “Really?” she asked. “You’d do that?”

  “Yes, ma'am,” Kugo said, “We’ll do our best. But we need you to tell us some things.”

  “Alright, what – hic – do you – hic – need to know?” she said between sobs.

  “First of all, which way did they go?” And the woman pointed out into the bog.

  Another of the mourners spoke up, “Andrea said he saw them taking him to old outpost ruins by the willows.”

  “Ruins?” Kugo asked. “What’s in the ruins?”

  “There’s nothing special about them,” the man said, “Just a bunch of grey stone, it’s been there as long as anyone can remember. A ways out from here, but not more than a day.”

  “And why did they take him?” Nephis asked, “I heard something about a gift?”

  “That’s right,” the mother sniffled,” They were coming through, buying odd provisions, when all of the sudden, my Dana comes home with a strange man. I knew he was trouble right away. I never saw eyes so hateful, even with a smile. He told me that my Dana was special, had a gift, the makings of a leader. He said that he’d take him with him, if I pleased, and take good care of him. He showed me a bag full of gold as proof that he could, and he offered me a handful, like a dowry. Even still,” she blew her nose, “I didn’t trust him. And Dana’s so young. So I told him to leave. We wanted nothing to do with him.” Then the mother began to break up and sob, unable to say another word, her tears nearly run dry.

  “And then they took him,” the man said, “Picked him up and carried him off.”

  Kugo held his tongue.

  “And has Dana ever been strange? Different?” Nephis asked. “Did he ever do things he shouldn’t be able to?”

  The mother shook her head.

  “He was a very good boy,” a mourner said, “Got along well with the other children, always behaved, and he was very bright, wasn’t he?”

  “Not a sorcerer, then,” Nephis muttered.

  “Enough with ‘was’,” Kugo said, “We’ll bring him back.”

  Then mother nodded and forced out a small, “Thank you.”

  The three of them and their greeter left the shack to the muttering and the whispering of the townsfolk. Once they had gotten far enough away, Kugo turned to look him in the eyes again. The man stopped and waited to hear what he had to say. “Why didn’t you go after Dana?” Kugo asked. “Why didn’t anyone go after Dana?”

  The man was quiet and hung his head low. “I can’t lie. I was afraid. There was so many of them, and there was something . . . unnatural about them.”

  “Is that all you have to say?” Kugo asked.

  The man nodded.

  “Alright. Just have our pay ready when we get back,” he demanded, “And don’t make poor Misha pay a cent.”

  Cold, muddy water filled their boots, spilling in and soaking their socks through in an instant. Nephis grimaced, dirt and silt and who knows what else hugged her ankles. But she did not say a word, for they did not know who lurked in the swamp. Not before long, they lost sight of the village. The swamp was dense with rotten trees and mist, low-hanging branches blocked the way, their willow leaves brushing them as they passed. Flies and gnats buzzed about them, nipping at the back of their necks. The water here was stale and smelled of it. Not just that, but decay, sour sulfur, and rotting leaves filled their senses like paste. Though the three crept through the water, the sloshing and sticking of mud and water would have given them away.

  For hours they walked, trudging through the swamp with no hope in sight, until in the distance Kugo spotted a clearing in the woods. It was far from the path they had taken, but to the perceptive, it was obvious. Trees had been cut in a wide ring. Kugo drew both his blades, and Nephis her dagger, Moss did as he was ought to do, though he crept low to the ground. Their eyes darted every which way, for anything or anyone could be lurking in the trees. And as they grew closer, they saw ruins. Blackened, grey stone piled upon itself. Once cut and sturdy bricks, now weathered and dulled by time and water. In the center of the clearing was the greatest of the ruins. An old fort crumbled even now, sinking into the muddy water. There was no one on watch, at least as far as Kugo could tell. It slanted, like a sinking ship frozen in time. Kugo motioned for them to wait and crept ahead. He pressed his back to the stone wall, and when no one came out to meet him, he motioned for the other two to hurry over.

  For a while, they wondered if they had found the wrong place, for the air was still and quiet. But as they snuck around, a man passed by a slit in the wall. They froze. And when they did move again, it was at a snail's pace. The Sons of Barthus had always been a silent group, but even they could not bear but make noise in a group. Enough shoes clicking on the floor, enough cloaks batting in the wind, enough hands scraping the walls were sure to be as loud as a drum. But as Kugo sat in the swamp, he heard little more than the beating of his own heart and the shrieking of birds.

  His heart beat in his throat. Within the fort was a small army of strange men, at least some of whom were mages not afraid to destroy their bodies just to hurt you. He looked down into the water to see his expression, to see his wild eyes and mouth stretched in fear, but it was his wooden, snarling mask that reflected back at him. And gazing at the lie settled his heart. He looked at Nephis and Moss, turning the demon mask to them. He motioned for them to get closer.

  Each step was cold and careful. But slowly they made their way out of the water and onto the damp, mud-speckled grey stone. As Nephis stepped out of the water, she felt the mud and sand grip onto her shoe, as if it were a beast clamping down with its jaws. Nephis yanked her foot, and the beast gave a low pop as it let her go. The shadow of the swamp leaked into the keep and festered and fermented. From the open gates, it seemed that it should be empty, but they knew otherwise. Kugo went in first, soon followed by the other two.

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  The gullet of the fort was wide open to them, and the deeper they went, the darker it grew. Their way was only lit by the rare arrow slit, seeming like a scar or wound in the beast. Every step to them, even their own, was a clanging of bells or the howling of a guard dog. And yet, this was a fear all their own. No one came to stop them, not at first. They crept along the outer walls, hoping to find the poor boy. Though Nephis was distracted, her mind often wandered from the boy to the glass, and she kept her eyes peeled for it. But soon it was clear that the fruits of their raiding would be hidden deeper within.

  Nephis stepped into a small room a moment too late to realize she stepped into the light. She was caught in it, like a dead man hanging. And she stared with dead eyes at a black cloaked Son of Barthus who stood in the room, gazing at the far wall. She braced herself, wincing as she waited for him to shriek or to dagger her. Then, nothing. She opened her eyes to see that Son of Barthus staring at the far wall, his mouth half agape, and his eyes were like marble. A marionette hanging upon invisible strings. She watched as a fly skittered through the air toward him and landed upon his dry eye, its little feet padding around the soft orb, sucking the salt from it. He did not even blink. It was not an eye, it could not have been, it was glass or jelly or winegrape, but never an eye. But he breathed. Slowly and softly as if the air were a precious thing. And he stared off at that far wall. A dead man.

  They kept moving, crawling deeper and deeper into the belly of the beast. Living corpse after living corpse waited in the keep, standing and staring into the great nothing. And darker it grew until the world was grey. Then, as they crept, a light spilled across the corner. Like a sudden flood in crashed upon them, and Nephis watched as it rushed towards her. It crept up her like fire, and she could not move. Soft, petting footsteps shuffled after. And by the doorway passed one of the pallid wizards, weakly holding a candle. Though he walked, to them it seemed he stood still. They held their breaths, not daring to move, not daring to draw the eyes that lazily stuck forward. And slowly he moved on, his greying eyes not once falling on them. They waited until the sound of his footsteps disappeared before they allowed themselves to even breathe. Even then, they did so lightly.

  Before them was the only way deeper, to the right they would stalk the pale man, and to the left was where he had gone from, washed in darkness. They set out to the left. The hall turned, so that they could not see what lay ahead. Every moment, every step, they were sure one of the Sons of Barthus would turn around and hex them. Then, a door. At the end of the hall was a door, tall and thin. Light spilled from the thin viewing port atop it. Moss peered in. Inside was a young boy, sitting on a floor covered with heavy blankets and rugs. He watched the boy for a while, supposing he must have been important.

  “There’s a boy in there,” he whispered.

  “It must be Dana,” Kugo said. He pulled on the door. It shuddered and stopped. It was locked.

  Inside, something skittered, likely the boy.

  Kugo hissed to himself. It shouldn’t have been a wonder it was locked, but there was little to do about it.

  “Hello?” the boy called. It was a shaky and sorry voice.

  Nephis scooted herself closer to the boy. “Dana?” she replied gently.

  “You know me? Who are you?” he asked again, nearly shouting.

  “Sshh!” she hushed him. “Your mother sent us. We’re here to rescue you.”

  “Mother sent you!” he cried, “Let me out!”

  “Dana!” she nipped in a harsh whisper. “You must be quiet; they mustn’t hear us.”

  “Alright,” he whispered back.

  “Very good, now just sit still for a moment,” she comforted him, “Everything is alright.”

  Nephis turned to Kugo and Moss. “How are we going to get him out?” she asked.

  Kugo returned to staring at the door. “I have an idea, but it’s not a good one.” He pointed to the left-hand of the door. “The hinges are on the outside; it was likely a cell in its time. I can remove the pins. But it will not be quiet, I’ll have to hammer them out.”

  “That would wake them,” Moss cautioned in his lumbering voice.

  “It would,” Kugo answered. “But the only other way would be to break the door or steal the key. And we do not know who has the key.”

  Nephis mulled it over for a second. “Every moment we stay here is another moment we risk being caught. Hammer the pins out.”

  Like small bells, they rang through the halls. Ting, ting, ting. Kugo swung up the back of his dagger, striking at the pins until they popped up. It was only a minute before one of the black cloaked Sons of Barthus turned the round to investigate. Moss swung his fist as soon as he saw him, caving in his head. The pale man crumpled to the ground, but not before he cried out in an inhuman gurgle. “Arruugghha!” The alarmed shout bled through the fort and was followed by a chilling silence. Nephis froze; she knew well that the cry had been heard, and now it was only a matter of waiting. Kugo kept on striking. Ting, ting, ting.

  At last, the brass tip of his pommel knocked the topmost pin up and out. The door slumped slightly, no longer supported. Kugo pulled the door from the hinges and set it aside. Inside the room stood Dana, waiting round faced about a plush room. Kugo stood dumbfounded. The room altogether was quite nice, with a firm bed, plenty of light, and a plate of hearty food sitting on a small table. Kugo blinked his shock away and took the boy by the wrist. It was time to go.

  But they were too late. Rushing around the corner came five or six men. Moss pummeled one and swiped at another, but the rest passed him by with daggers high in the air. “Inside!” Kugo ordered, and Nephis pushed Dana back into the room and threw him around the corner.

  Kugo held them back for a moment, but could only watch as they leapt at him, chests open and knives held high. Which one would he stop? He wondered to himself. And which one would bury in him? Then, Nephis cried out, “Kugo! Run!” Her hands were stretched out like a fan.

  “And from Heaven came the first flame. And from the flame came ovens and man. And from this man became like God, making and unmaking.”

  The room was bright with fire. Hot, white light filled the room, and long black shadows cut through the bricks like washes of ink on paper. The Sons of Barthus swung down upon Kugo, but with blinded eyes they missed entirely. Kugo was quick to finish the job. Four heavy strikes and the foul men slumped to the ground. Nephis shielded young Dana. The boy shut his eyes tight, at once afraid and excited, desperately wanting to see. Thump, thump, thump, thump. On the floor were things no young child should see. “Come along now,” the man in the demon mask said. He had a deep voice with only a hint of emotion to it. Dana could hear him wiping the blood from his blades. The girl took him by his hands and led him out and around the door.

  “Did you get them?” Dana asked.

  “I did,” the man responded.

  “And did you make fire?” he asked the girl, “I saw fire! Are you a witch?”

  “I am a sorceress,” she corrected him. There was a bit of iron in her voice that wasn’t there before. “But yes, I did.”

  “Wow!” he exclaimed, “Can I open my eyes now?”

  “Not yet,” the man said, “And be quiet, there may still be more.”

  And Dana shut his mouth.

  But the man kept talking. “How many were there?”

  Dana did not answer.

  “Dana,” the girl prodded him gently, “Do you know how many of these men there were?”

  He shook his head.

  The man sighed.

  And then another spoke, this one with a great and deep voice that shook Dana’s heart in his chest. “This den isn’t very big,” he said in a slow voice.

  “No, Moss, you’re right,” the other man answered. Moss, what a strange name for a person. “There can’t be too many of them. They must be close. Quiet now.”

  And in the darkness, they crept, Dana being guided along by a small but callous, worn hand. Eventually, Dana opened his eyes and peeked around. The bodies were far behind them. His shoulders slumped in disappointment. Feeling this, the girl looked down at him. And she smiled, mouthing the word, “Sorry.” Sorry for what? He wondered. But he liked her smile. It was kinder than the blank faces of his keepers or the cold and false smile of their leader. This girl was pretty and young, with rich clothes and fluffy hair. Yes, very much unlike the other, pale and ugly. No, she had kind eyes.

  Then, the man made a sound. He was tall with a grey fur cloak and a strange mask. He breathed in and stepped back. The girl’s smile snapped, and she looked up and down the hall. Then, Dana saw it, the Moss. He was nothing like Dana imagined. Huge and wooden, like a statue or the hazy image of a man. Dana stared in fright and wonder at it. The girl pulled him away, shushing him with a finger, as the man and the Moss crept into the next room. The girl gently pulled a knife from her sash, but she didn’t need it. There was a rush and a thump. And so went the next few minutes until the keep was rid of his kidnappers.

  Three rooms, they found others in only three rooms. There were fourteen of them in the whole of the keep. And though each battle was won quickly, Dana thought the three of them looked nervous. Especially the girl. She would look over her shoulders at every other moment, and when she wasn’t, she was scouring the rooms, running her hands along the walls, and cracking open every chest and box. In the end, they came to one last door. It opened without any trouble, creaking in a low moan, as if it were last guard of this fort, feebly letting them through. It, too, was empty, aside from a desk and a thick layer of dust. The girl swept through the room, but finding nothing, her shoulders hung idly in defeat. Then, her expression changed.

  “Dana,” she said, “Was there a man who wasn’t so strange? Someone who looked in charge?”

  Dana nodded. “Yes,” he answered, “He asked me a lot of questions.”

  “He did?” she cocked her head, “What sort of questions?”

  “If I had ever done anything strange,” he said, “Or if others didn’t like me.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I ate a beetle once,” Dana responded. It was a very strange thing, indeed.

  “Aha,” the girl laughed gently.

  They overturned the room, searching for any clue to their purpose or master. At last, Kugo busted open a locked drawer, finding a collection of messages written on fine white vellum paper. He began to look it over, at first muttering what he read. “Greetings and honor to Grewa, servant of Barthus, the Wise,” Kugo huffed, “So his name is Grewa, fitting, Grey.” But as he read on, his bluing skin became pale and his fingers numbed. At the bottom of the page was a mark of three fingers. The Rod of Three Parts wished to speak with Grewa. “Meet us,” Kugo said with a shaking voice, “At the appointed time in the Sunken Sword tavern, in Glina.”

  Dana peered up at the masked man. He stood differently than before, no longer composed, but with shoulders high and neck low. The wooden mask seemed more alive than ever, twisted and coiling into fury, gnashing its painted teeth at the paper. And from its chasms came steady, shaking, biting breath. The boy hid behind Nephis and Moss.

  “Kugo?” Nephis called, “Are you alright?”

  “We are going to Glina,” he snapped.

  “What? No, we have to return Dana!” she nearly stumbled back at his barking. “And then we have to catch up with the wizard, and get Naki and the townsfolk back.”

  “It’s only a day away,” he hissed.

  “That could be a day we can’t afford!” Nephis pressed.

  “We’ll catch Grewa, their leader, there! It will be easy after that,” he stomped closer, the whites of his eyes catching in the dull light, like a revenant trapped. “It will be easy. One fell cut.”

  Dana shrunk even further, his nails digging into Nephis’ leg, pulling at Moss’ cloak till it threatened to rip.

  “You’re scaring the boy,” Nephis’ voice wavered. And Moss took a step forward, placing himself between Nephis and whatever had overtaken Kugo. “That letter may well be very old,” Nephis added. “Does it even have a date? The meeting may well have passed.”

  Kugo scoured over the letter. There was none. He tore apart the older letters, nothing of interest, and no date. “Fine,” he hissed, and stuffed the letter into his pocket. “Let’s go.”

  He was the first one out. He harried them through the swamp.