Mistress of Helena

Chapter 27

25 August 149 Third Age

Outside, sheltered by a wooden awning attached to the fort’s main structure, was the communal kitchen. This is where meals were prepared in large quantities for the garrison. Carrack stood alongside Alaina, who had at last managed to procure the mysterious food source she had spoken of days earlier. The persistent rain drummed against pots, pans, and dishes. An old trough, once used for horses, now collected rainwater, overflowing, and muddled. The air was thick with a rank aroma, punctuated by the occasional bubble from the grey, primordial soup bubbling away in a deep cast iron cauldron. Thankfully, the smoky scent from the fire below offered a slight reprieve from the overwhelming odor.

Stifling a gag with a cloth over his nose, Carrack frowned. “This is the Soma you promised? It smells like a swamp.”

Alaina shrugged. “The scent isn’t the selling point here. It’s meant to fend off starvation, remember?”

Peeking from behind the cloth, Carrack replied, “If it tastes half as bad as it smells, I fear some might prefer the hunger.”

“You’re overreacting,” she huffed.

Carrack gestured to the distant city beyond the walls. “The people here have been through a whole lot. They’re wary of all of this. The idea that they’ll catch a whiff of this and think that we’re trying to poison them isn’t really out of the question.”

Alaina rolled her eyes at his comment, but after a moment’s reflection, a subtle change softened her expression. She nodded. “Fine. I’ll see what I can do about the scent,” she conceded with a resigned sigh.

“Thank you,” Carrack responded, appreciative of her acknowledgment. He replaced the cloth over his mouth and nose and stepped out from the shelter of the communal kitchen. Instantly, the ceaseless downpour enveloped him, the sound of his wet boots squelching in the mud echoing in his ears, blending with the relentless patter of rain.

As he surveyed the courtyard, aiming for the main section of the fort, his gaze fell upon the sodden earth, a muddled mixture of water and mud, crisscrossed with half-sunk wooden boards. The sight drained his desire to traverse the direct, yet messy path. With a heavy sigh, he resignedly pulled his boots from the mud’s grasp, turning instead toward the nearest staircase that ascended to the top of the walls to take the longer way back.

He was cautious in his steps upon the wall, navigating the slick and uneven surface with deliberate care. Carrack’s boots were heavy, burdened by the thick muck of saturated earth that clung to them. Pausing, he was suddenly overcome by a numbing sensation in his head. His gaze dropped to the ground, losing focus as his mind drifted into a state of thoughtless limbo.

These spells of disconnection had become familiar to Carrack on the island, unsettling yet transient. He likened them to a limb falling asleep—uncomfortable but temporary. Sure enough, clarity soon returned, his vision sharpening on the mud-stained stones beneath him. He lifted his feet, noting the stubborn filth, and moved towards the wall’s edge overlooking the fort.

There, Carrack found a jagged rock, ideal for scraping the mud from his boots. He balanced himself carefully, flinching as flashes of pain shot through his still-healing leg wound. With each scrape, he felt a measure of the day’s burdens fall away on to ground being further washed away by the cleansing rain.

Having cleared his boots, Carrack paused to gaze out at the city’s distant silhouette. The flickering lights, scattered amongst the buildings, shimmered dimly, some powered by the city’s waning electricity, others by candles brave enough to pierce the gloom. Weiss had departed in the early hours, seeking contact with the teamsters and a gauge on the city’s condition. Although his absence was brief, Carrack couldn’t help but feel a deep-seated unease as he looked out at the urban sprawl.

Was this disquiet a reflection of the disturbing nightmare that had jolted him from sleep, or the remnants of his haunting near-death vision? Carrack wrestled with these thoughts, convincing himself that his concern for Weiss was separate from his personal tumult. Yet, an unsettling aura seemed to emanate from the cityscape, a spectral echo of the horror he had encountered in the Bathhouse. Despite his mind’s tendency to prepare for the worst, the fear that the same chaos might be unfolding in the city, exacerbated by the destruction of their food supplies, clung to him like a persistent shadow.

Before him, the barren expanse surrounding the fort stretched out—a desolate landscape of rocks and dirt, giving way to the sparse tree line. The scene was typically uneventful, its monotony a challenge to the alertness of any sentry, the temptation of sleep ever-looming despite recent events heightening their vigilance.

Yet, amongst the rain-shrouded trees, a disturbance caught Carrack’s eye: a dark silhouette, motionless, almost blending into the gloom. It had the shape of a person, standing eerily still, as if locked in a silent gaze. A ripple of shock coursed through Carrack when he first noticed the figure. He froze, careful not to reveal his awareness of the interloper. His fingers clenched tightly against the rock wall, knuckles whitening under the strain, as his eyes strained to discern the figure’s identity.

For a fleeting moment, Carrack doubted his senses, wondering if it was merely an illusion or a trick of light and shadow. But as he continued to watch, the stark realization dawned on him: it was no trick of the mind. There, amidst the rain and shadows, stood a very real, enigmatic figure.

Carrack’s patience thinned as the standoff continued. The initial shock had faded, leaving him acutely aware of his cold, wet state in the relentless rain. His feet ached, and his injury nagged persistently at him, swaying his focus.

With a determined effort, Carrack straightened up from his lean against the wall, his gaze fixed unwaveringly on the distant figure. But as he watched, an unsettling flutter stirred in his stomach. The figure abruptly darted away, disappearing over the horizon towards the city.

Something about the figure’s retreat struck Carrack as deeply disconcerting. It moved with a peculiar haste, not unlike a child caught spying and dashing off. Yet, this was no child—the size of the figure and its movements were all wrong. Instead of a child’s playful scampering, there was an eerie, disjointed quality to its retreat, a disturbingly frantic scramble that left Carrack with an uneasy sense of foreboding.

Carrack lingered for a moment longer, his eyes fixed on the spot where the shadowy figure had stood. When he finally snapped into action, it was with a decisive clarity. He quietly ordered a small group of sentries to patrol the tree line, reporting his sighting of someone surveilling them from that vantage point.

Three soldiers promptly banded together, leaving the fort to check the surrounding perimeter for any signs of the mysterious observer or other disturbances. Carrack chose to contain knowledge of the incident within a tight circle, informing only the current sentries on duty. He directed them to maintain a vigilant overwatch on the party venturing outside the gates.

Carrack’s gaze followed the trio as they set out, rifles in hand, their path illuminated by the flicker of lanterns. They moved cautiously along the edge of the open area that bordered half of the fort, the side opposite the seaside cliffs. To Carrack, they resembled fireflies against the night sky, sticking close together, opting for safety in numbers rather than efficiency in coverage.

Despite his orders, Carrack harbored no real expectation of them finding anyone; it was more a precautionary measure. Yet, his attention sharpened as the lanterns neared the very spot where he had spotted the mysterious figure. The lights paused there, lingering longer than elsewhere. Carrack wondered if it was because he had mentioned seeing the watcher there, or if the patrol had discovered something.

The time they spent investigating that area stretched longer than he anticipated, igniting a flicker of curiosity within him. However, it was the abrupt return of the patrol, their lantern lights retreating to the fort without completing their full route, that quickened Carrack’s heartbeat. A mix of concern and puzzlement washed over him as he watched the lights disappear into the fort’s embrace below him, leaving unanswered questions hanging.

Without hesitation, Carrack hastened down the nearest staircase, his steps quickened by curiosity and concern. As he approached, he saw the soldiers gathered in a tight cluster, their whispers sharp and laden with tension. They only disbanded their huddle upon noticing Carrack’s approach, parting to reveal one of their own holding something unexpected.

“An apple?” Carrack exclaimed, his voice tinged with astonishment. He instinctively reached out, prompting the soldier to reflexively draw back, clutching the fruit protectively. Realizing his overreaction, the soldier sheepishly extended the apple toward Carrack, who accepted it with an almost reverent care, as if it were a delicate artifact rather than a simple piece of fruit.

The apple’s rich green skin and bulbous, ripe form seemed almost out of place in his hands. Carrack turned it over, marveling at its lushness. Apples were a rarity on the island—not native and never part of their supplies. Carrack’s eyes narrowed in perplexity as he pondered aloud, “What in the hell is this doing here?”

The soldiers exchanged uneasy glances, their faces mirroring the bewilderment that Carrack felt. The apple, with its vibrant color, stood out starkly against the grey, sparse backdrop of their surroundings, its inexplicable presence sparking a silent flurry of questions.

They lingered in a collective pause, each man processing the surreal nature of their find. One soldier, skepticism etched on his face, questioned aloud whether the fruit was even real. To answer, Carrack deftly pressed a fingernail into the apple’s skin, piercing through to the flesh. The vibrant hue of the inside, along with a trickle of sweet-smelling juice, confirmed its authenticity. He brought the fruit closer, inhaling the fresh, tantalizing aroma, which only deepened the enigma.

Despite a sudden, unfamiliar craving for the fruit, Carrack restrained himself from taking a bite. His appetite, usually indifferent to apples, now strangely yearned for it. Yet, he held back, his instincts warning him against indulging in this out-of-place temptation. The other soldiers watched him, their curiosity mixed with a hint of apprehension.

Carrack’s eyes met each of the soldiers in turn, his gaze piercing and unwavering as he held the apple aloft for all to see. The seriousness etched on his face left no room for doubt or misinterpretation.

“Not a word,” he commanded, his voice low but resonant. “Not a word to anyone.”

The soldiers responded with a silent, collective nod, their expressions a mix of understanding and lingering curiosity. The gravity of Carrack’s words hung in the air, as tangible as the chill that enveloped them. In that moment, under the dim light of the lanterns and the ever-present rain, the apple took on an even greater significance, its mystery deepened by their commander’s emphatic order.

Carrack pondered its impossibility. Even if the apple had arrived on the last ship, it would have withered by now. An orchard on the island? Unthinkable—the soil was inhospitable, and no such secret could be kept hidden. Trees don’t thrive in disguise, he mused. But then, a realization struck him: the underground. It was the only place where unconventional growth could occur. He knew of one person capable of nurturing life in such conditions, yet if there had been a breakthrough of this magnitude, surely he would have been informed.

“Could there be another?” he whispered to himself.