The trek was a relatively short one—or at least it should have been. The mist, thick as cream it was, made it hard to trust one’s footing. The twins knew the path well but also knew that lack of caution was dangerous; after the rain, the loose mud sucked on the soles of their boots, ever threatening to trip both siblings.
“I’m gonna say it,” said Allistor, “I haven’t missed this part onebit—it rains too damn much around these parts.” The man cursed all too loudly, breaking the silence of the dew-strewn field as the tip of his foot collided with a jutting stone.
“I quite miss it myself,” responded Allisaid with a sly smile, “the sound of it relaxes me, and the air feels that much smoother after all has been said and done. And the smell of wet grass is-“
“Only surpassed by the smell of dung, which is everywhere, all the time.” Allistor paused to look at his sister with furrowed brows, who in turn kept smiling until he returned the smile. “You’re allowed to have your opinion, sister dearest—even if it’s the wrong one.” He said in the end, teasingly and their journey continued once more. It was only after a few minutes—or was it more?—that Allistor broke it and spoke.
“I worry, you know. Our cousin was never known for his… steadiness—” spoke Allistor finally, though he was quickly interrupted by his sister.
“Let’s not jump to assumptions just yet,” she stated with a dip of her chin. “He found work, didn’t he? We’ll talk to Odhrán first and see what’s what. See? We’re close,” Allisaid nodded ahead, as the shadowed outline of a great, gnarled oak loomed in the mist ahead. “Odhrán’s cabin is north from here; that I remember.”
Standing directly in front of the tree, Allistor looked up. “We check the treehouse?” His sister nodded in agreement.
“He always did like to hide in that rickety thing when things got dire…” Quickly they went up the ladder and pushed open the hatch with a bang. There was no one inside; the place was silent as a grave, the gloom of the mist forcing him to squint to look around. Alas, some things are not hard to see.. Resting on a corner, a yellowed cow’s skull could be seen, interlaced with long strands of twine that each carried an item of their own as they hung closer to the ground: a smoothened pebble, a straw effigy, a bundle of horsehair, a lone feather, and other such things–too close for comfort to the trinket they had found in the field. With an almost instinctual nod of understanding, they looked around some more. Cocking his eyebrow, Allistor reached for a left-behind pair of boots. “Take a look at these—our cousin’s, I bet.”
Allisaid picked one up and examined it: besides and under the layers of mud and grime, there were splashes of crimson —blood. “Why?” she asked. “Why would he do this? If the others find out they’ll lynch him.” Then she went on, without waiting for an answer. “Come. We must make way for the cabin.”
Over and down a shallow hill, the cabin finally came into view, or at least the vague outline of its jutting chimney in the not-so-far distance. The mist seemed denser here—thick enough to cut with a knife, or so it felt like.
Before Allistor could take another hurried step, Allisaid grabbed her brother by the shoulder. “Stop,” she said. “Listen…”
A breeze blew past them; then came the rustling of leaves, many of them. No trees were in sight, however, nor were there any close by.
Allistor closed his eyes and let the sound wash over him. “It feels rhythmic—” he paused suddenly, turning to look at his sister. “I feel dizzy…”
Allisaid nodded and reached for her satchel. With a small pouch in hand, she turned to her brother. “I do too—here, smell this.” Her voice was forcibly calm but she could not hide her surprise and fear from her twin.
“Bah,” snarled Allistor, pulling back and rubbing his nose. “What in the fall is that?”
“Smelling salts,” responded the woman, cringing as she moved her nose over the pouch as well. “Maybe it will help. I think… I think they’re here.”
Allistor’s features tensed. “What now, then? We need to go get him—”
“This is too dangerous,” interjected Allisaid. “We need to think this through…”
Silent, the rustling of nonexistent leaves mocking them, the twins thought. A decision had to be made, and they could not afford to stall any longer.
Vote in the Living World!
Prelude
302 P.R.
“Colglough, come on,” Aisling said. “This is far enough.” She was giggling, but there was some nervousness in her voice. The young man’s green eyes flashed with mischief as he looked at her and stopped. This, she thought; this ever calmed her. Even in their most mischievous, his eyes promised. No harm, they whispered. His broad shoulders, expanding like the Cairn above as he turned to sit, agreed with the promise.
“Remember the song, did ya?” laughed the fire-haired man, as he pulled her down to sit with him, embracing her. She laughed herself, as she let herself be pulled on his lap, leaning her head back to rest next to his. Below, the land spread wide with a hint of morning mist remaining, the cattle of the clans like puffs of clouds against a green sky.
“Beware, beware..!” he mocked, singing in her ears.
“Hush!” she said, slapping gently his shoulder. “There is bravery and tomfoolery, Colglough U’Darr, and then there is plain foolishness. To provoke the Fae is the latter.”
“Let us appease them, then, wife,” the young man said. “The way the midwives say the ol’ones did…”
She laughed and called him a brute but did not resist. Later on, they were sitting, her head leaning back, her cheek against his once more, humming.
“Who is provoking them now, woman?” Colglough asked.
“I think they know we’re here already,” she said mischievously, and he laughed. “Should we get back?” she asked.
“’Tis early still,” he said. “And Pa said he won’t need me ‘till the Mallees come for the flock tithe, no sooner than midday.”
“The Mallees all but run the shire, husband. It would be wise to be on your best behavior.”
“The Mallees are bastards and will get what’s coming to them, you’ll see. We have an Emperor now, haven’t you heard? Even the Cadeyrn’s lackies will behave. Besides, I feel dizzy.”
“Aye, dizzy is a word,” she said. “Sleepy is another.” She smiled satisfied and closed her eyes relaxed, resuming her humming, sleep sneaking up on her, as she heard him sing:
Beware! Beware! Beyond go ne’er the green and brown gate!
For once inside, you cannot hide, the Forest Things await…
“Oh, you fool,” she muttered, stretching sleepily. “’Tis not a joke. The druidess, Niamh, says that-“
“I didn’t sing.” His voice was shaking, and it came from far, much further than it should be. It did not seem, in her dream, that he was taking to her.
I didn’t sing!
Eyes wide in terror, she got up and was alone. And that was the last Aisling U’Darr ever heard her husband’s voice.
348 PR.
“Two hunters of the Legion of Ash arrive to aid us! My, oh my, aren’t we the lucky ones, ey?”
Rain fell light, like spray from sea’s waves only sweeter and chilled, as they stood side by side before the Burgomaster. Nay, Allistor thought. Mayor she’s called here, he realized, surprised by how much their years away from home had changed their very thinking.
“It’s been years since little ol’ Farshire has received such attention,” the Mayor, Jonet Mallee, went on with a hefty laugh, a few stray droplets careening toward her under the hide awning that crowned the lodge’s entrance. “And for cattle!”
Allissaid dipped her chin at her brother and continued without pause, facing the stout Jonet. “Your bounty spoke of ill omens, esteemed burgomaster,” she said and Allistor smiled. They shared so many things and their mistakes among them. “The Ash would see them answered.”
“Aye,” confirmed Allistor without missing a beat. “You spoke of bloody murder, not cattle-snatching. Is it not so?”
“It is, lad, it is,” the stout woman said, nodding anxiously. “We had another one only this daybreak reported. By the Karnagh fields, up the hill, ye all know the place. We’ve woken up to sheep and cattle alike strewn across entire fields too many a time as of late. The guts and gore have pointed to one place each and every time,” the woman paused and turned, raising a single finger to point toward the woods that peeked over the easternmost hill. “I say its wolves that drag them to their lair. Them northern ones, the bloody barbarians bring, can be vicious and mean. But the people—you two know how they can be—insisted, and Kanasare of the druids agreed so…”
“You did well,” Allissaid answered. “The Ash would have the truth of it. This close to the mountains…”
“Oh! Suppose you are right!” interrupted Jonet. “And none of the local dare go there—beware the gates and all—in fear of… Well, you two should know best of what the Fae are capable of.”
The twins shared a knowing look, and, their voices now one, they spoke. “Well, we best get movin’ then!”
As they reached the forest’s edge, the rain began to dissipate, and silence—muddled only by the keening wind—settled in its stead. The aroma of wet soil and evergreen foliage permeated the air—yet it was not alone. Rot also caressed the nostrils of brother and sister alike, their senses honed by years of hunting down the abominable and the monstrous in service of the Ash Legion. Silent as a whisper, the duo moved closer to the woodland border, coming upon a sight all too expected. A non-local would have a hard time discerning what was now splayed before them: bits and pieces of flesh and sinew were peppered across the central site of the massacre. But…
“Hard to find a body whole or part, it is,” the Jonet suddenly said. “Every time. Such terrible the carnage.”
“Yes, quite the sight,” grumbled Allistor, raising his collar to cover his nose and mouth. “Indeed,” agreed Allissaid between a gag and a cough. They wouldn’t have been able to guess that they were cows, only a few patches of their woolly exteriors visible. “A bit too…”
“When you two enlisted, I honestly thought that was the last I’d see of you both!” the mayor said, leaning against the stone hedge marking the field. “What, especially after your granny, good ol’ Aisling, passed…” her gaze drooped and darkened at the mention, and so did those of the twins but they said naught to it.
“Good lady Mallee,” said Allissaid, “perhaps you best call for the shepherd. We’d hear his tale, if there is one to tell.”
“Oh, I can tell you all!” the mayor said, waving dismissively.
“The Legion would need us hear it from his mouth. Old Petten was it?”
“Petten the Young now,” the mayor said, “old Petten left us some time ago.” The twins nodded their sympathies but kept looking at her expectant so, after a while, she added quite disgruntled “I’ll better fetch him, then.”
“Our thanks, good Mayor,” Allissaid said, and they watched her take the winding path to the houses below the hill.
“Fancy seeing ye here!” he said turning to her with a mischievous smile, once the mayor was out of earshot.
“I just knew ye wouldn’t resist, ye stubborn oaf,” his twin chuckled, her clear sound such a stark contrast to the bloody mess around them. “Ye always took gran’s oath too serious. Where were ye posted?”
“Close,” he said. “A couple of days north of Burneaux. Had just finished bringing in a hedge witch. Took a leave when I saw the notice. Ye?”
“Closer still,” she answered. No hug, no greeting, part for fear of being watched, part because between them it was never needed. They both kept looking around the mayhem, their Legion training at good use as they scoured the site. “Galania, middle of nowhere but a week from Lantony. Drake tracking training. Heard a rumor, asked for leave and here I am. Quick thinking about telling her we came together.”
“She said it herself,” he smirked. “I just never corrected her.” She chuckled, shaking her head, and kept looking.
“I was about to say,” he went on. “A bit too extravagant, don’t you think?” The brother moved forward, pacing between the patches of gore and nudging a hacked-off limb with his boot—a blood-soaked curio lay underneath it, made of twigs and coarse hair, with more readily visible across the blood-soaked site. “Extrapolate, if it pleases you, sister.”
“Such violence, such waste—this is unlike the Fae,” mused Allissaid aloud, moving to her brother’s side.
“Call me superstitious,” responded the brother, “but I’d think greater powers would see us drawn to this place from such a distance—far apart and urging us to relinquish our official duties to boot…” The man paused. “Not to mention, such would not be above creatures that would readily snatch men and women away from their families. Grandma always said that the woods were inhabited by evil th—”
“Grandma Aisling, long may she be remembered, was bound to the past!” Allissaid lashed out with her tongue. “We must not let myths and grim tales cloud our judgment; this could be a ruse, a demented jest.” The woman moved without giving her brother the space to interject. “Jonet spoke of four killed cows, no? Well, I only see enough limbs to account for two. See, the hooves, they—”
“The rest could have been dragged into the woods proper. Besides, there’s this…” he lifted the charm with a stick; an old pattern, meant to protect against the Fae; a superstition, they both knew.”
“Since when did the Fae leave behind evidence of their ill-doings so openly? ‘Tis too convenient—”
“Maybe they’ve grown bolder—hungrier. Do not project your logic onto the eldritch; such weavers of demise follow no set rules…”
The pair ceased their arguing and turned, in perfectly timed unison, to gaze further into the forest. It was silent, that it was, and the passing howling of the wind and the rustling of leaves offered brief respite. “So be it, brother,” Allissaid was the first to speak. “You know of my opinion. I shan’t argue with you anymore… What would you have us do?”
Allistor looked around the field one last time, his words deciding the actions that will follow:
Choice
- “If we are dealing with the Fae, we must set up a trap. We must coax them out of the forest and into the open…”
- “You are right. My emotions got the best of me. This is clearly the work of a twisted yet human mind. We must follow the evidence into the forest and snuff them out!”
- “I can’t tell, dear sister—and, I gather, neither can you. We must head back into town and gather more information before we act.”
348 PR.
Allistor sighed and got up from kneeling close to the carnage.
“I say we hear what Petten has to say, before we draw conclusions,” he said in the end, though his eyes still wondered west. “Perhaps, perhaps I say, there something else afoot here. Perchance a feud’s at work that we don’t know about, ey?” he admitted.
“Perhaps. But why the trinket then?” Allisaid asked and motioned towards the charm, still dangling from the stick, then added with mischief in her eyes “and why aren’t ye holding it proper?”
“Pah!” he exclaimed and tossed them aside, stick and charm as one.
“See?” she pressured. “I told ye, ye take the oath too seriously. “Mamó was a gem but…”
“Mhór was who she was and we both know what that was,” he cut her off. “That doesn’t make her wrong or our oath any less of a burden. If not, ye wouldn’t be here.”
“I ain’t here for no oath, brother,” she said honestly. “I came because I knew ye’d come.”
“Ye’re a pain in my arse, sister,” he said, then looked at her, smiled and added. “It is good to see ye, Alli.” She nodded, motioning from her heart to him with a warm smile, then flashed him that grin she always flashed when she had won. He grunted and laughed and they left. The rain would stay away until the eve, they could tell, and soon the mist would roll in, so people, the Mayor and Petten included, would gather at the public house. They followed the path, chatting about their missions since last, they’d been posted together, over a year ago. True enough, like a grey, moist blanket unfolding, the mist haunted their steps, hiding the gruesome the carnage of the scene they’d left behind.
* * *
“A feud? Bless me, who’d feud with me for real, Al?”
The whole alehouse was filled with muffled chuckles. They’d welcomed them with smiles and caution in equal measure, not forgetting who they were, not forgetting that they’d left; even if it were to join the Ash. Now, they had been given space to talk to Petten, meaning people would pretend, at least, not to listen. They were failing, and the twins felt right at home.
“Come now, Pets,” Allisaid patted his hand. “Such a catch and nae loop to mark ye called for. Perhaps some scorned lass?”
“Which lass would stand for such blood and gore, ey?” Petten asked but regretted it before the words were out of his mouth. Not even trying to pretend, the Mayor and Leianne the barmaid, turned to look him and there followed a litanies of curses the likes of which would make a sailor blush. Alli was starring too and her, in truth, Petten believed; a warrior’s eyes, he noticed, weathered and burdened with sights best left unseen, behind that joyful glitter, like morning dew on an oak’s leaves catching the sun.
He gulped, for many reasons, and said. “All I meant was…” he whispered to her, as the litany was dying down, but Alli stopped him.
“I know what ye meant, Pets.”
“No,” the shepherd said, moving on. “No feuds, nor lasses scorned,” he said, and buried his face in the ale. “Besides, there were others. Ye think I’m in a guild as well, eh?” he tried to joke and chuckled. The twins smiled and he went on.
“I’d say it’d be them Things, ye know, of the Woods. But that seems an ugly thing to say to ye, me complaining about sheep while yer family…” Silence and blank stares were his answers so he drank some more and went on. “I found them at dawn. Before that was Shimmy; Shimmeagh U’Candar, ol’ Cokes’ boy. Four heads he says he lost, though only three they found, skulls impaled as if to mark the forest. Then, of course, a month ago, the mayor’s herd was hit, but that ye’d know. It’s why ye came, eh?” They nodded but stayed quite. No better way, they knew, to keep him talking than letting him talk. “Same thing, but only a head this time, the rest were scattered. This on’ was first and close to the woods, it was, that why we all urged the mayor to call for…”
“Wait, the U’Candar’s herd was not close to the forest?” Alli asked.
“Nay,” Petten shook his head. “His route goes east, close to the Way.”
“A long way for the Fae”—Petten, and others in the room, made the sign at the word—“to come,” Alli remarked, looking at Al. He simply nodded but said nothing and Petten jumped in.
“Aye, it were,” he said. “Ye ask me, I thought they gotten mad, see, for the Mayor”—he raised his glass and smiled at her and she nodded—“or her hands I should say, drove the U’Donnor herd up by the Gate and…”
It took all Allistor had to not turn to look at his sister. Allisaid, sensing his tension, patten his knee under the table.
“Whose the hand?” she asked.
“Yer cousin,” Petten said. “Odhrán. He keeps a cabin close to where they too-” he paused and hid his face in a mug, then went on lowly, “but an hour from the Gate.”
Allisaid gripped her brother’s leg and he nodded. Odhrán was their aunt’s son, a twin to their father herself, but was a lone-child. Thus, he spent a lot of time with their grandmother and she was a… passionate woman, when it came to the Gate. She’d raised twins alone, her husband taken but so soon after their wedding. It broke her mind and she lived to the end of her days in the obsession of her fear and hatred for them. Were it not for her, they might had not left to join the Ash and all in the family had to swear an oath. Beware, beware…
While Petten kept going, starting with the gruesome sight he’d met only that morning, The twins looked at each. Odhrán always feared they’d come for him one day as well, for he shared their grandfather’s look, or so their grandmother always said.
Allistor motioned with his eyes to the exit. Outside the mist was thickening and Allisaid looked doubtful…
Choice
- …but she got up. They needed to check on their cousin. If nothing else, he’d be afraid.
- …and motioned to the Mayor instead. They needed to find out more and wait for the mist to part.