The Witch Hunters, Book 1: The Prophet of Ash

Kurt stood before the blasted, destroyed wall, his jaw slack.

“Eisengrim did this?” he asked for the third time.

“Definitely,” Janus said with a disinterested nod. He was several feet away from the human, examining a spot of ground. “Those footprints back there are his.”

“Couldn’t they be Theo’s?”

“No, Theo’s lighter, and he wears a different make of boot.”

“You can tell someone’s identity just by their footprints?”

“I wouldn’t go that far, Bauer. You can pick up certain features of a person if you know enough about tracking. It doesn’t hurt when there’s not too many other peoples’ footprints overlapping with them, either.”

“Should we look around inside?”

“In a minute,” the runner said, standing. Kurt saw blood on his claws, which Janus rubbed indifferently on his pants. “The others might have left some food we could take.”

“What if they left someone inside?”

“I doubt that, Bauer,” Janus said, turning to look at him. He nodded past the house, where the pit had been dug and where the fire was still burning. “Everyone that’s here still is going up to the sky goddess with the smoke. In her realm they will be torn apart for all eternity, their entrails devoured by her birds.”

“Don’t you people believe in any kind of heaven?”

“No.”

They explored the rest of the outside of the house. Much to both of their surprise, they found the tell-tale signs of a freshly dug grave. Janus became agitated at this, rushed over quickly to examine it.

“Too tall for a human,” he said, kneeling down and measuring the length of the freshly turned earth. His clawed fingers found footprints as Kurt came to stand just behind him. “These prints here are definitely Eisengrim’s. I…I think he dug this.”

Kurt stared down at the grave, and he felt his blood grow cold. “It’s not Theo, is it?”

Janus was quiet for far longer than Kurt liked. “No,” he said, finally. Kurt let go of a breath he did not know he had been holding.

“It is a minotaur’s though,” the runner went on. There was a small wooden marker at where presumably the head had been laid to rest. A pendant was hanging from its one arm. The runner and human examined it together.

“Is that a star stone?” Kurt asked.

“Definitely,” the runner said with a predaceous smile. He pulled it off of the marker, and slipped the strangely glittering rock and its leather thong deftly into his pocket. “It’s not one of the hunter’s, either. See how there’s no star carved into it? That’s a few extra coins in the Great Market.”

“You shouldn’t loot the dead,” Kurt protested, tiredly. He looked about this place, and his stomach felt sick. He did not want to linger here. None of the bodies in the pit had been a child’s, he hoped. Martin was still out there somewhere, and the hunters were in pursuit. They should be on their way.

“The dead don’t need it,” Janus stated, with an indifferent shrug. “Come on, we’ll do a quick sweep of the house, and then move on.”

“Why did they only bury a minotaur?” Kurt asked as they entered the rear of the large building. They paused a moment at the thick, still damp pool of blood they found in the kitchen.

“I doubt ‘they’ did, Bauer. It would have been Eisengrim, maybe with Theo’s help, or maybe not. I don’t know what that man’s like. I’ve heard enough about Eisengrim to know he does that with his own kind.”

They found food inside. What had been left of the supplies here, at any rate. Janus sniffed about, found a couple of still edible loafs of bread hidden away under a counter, along with some dried meats and a glass jar filled with what turned out to be strawberry jam. A quick check of the label on the side had the wolf man laughing.

“Somebody here was a customer,” he said, showing Kurt the Bauer label on the jar before stuffing the sweet preserve into his sack. They went into the hall, began to check the ground floor rooms, where Janus found something that wiped the smile off of his face.

“Whose helmet’s that?” Kurt asked. It looked made for a human head, once. One side of it was badly battered, caved in by what must have been a very severe strike from something heavy. One of the eye slits was ruined, leaving it worthless.

“Klara’s,” Janus said, picking it up. He ran a finger along the inside, and Kurt was surprised to see concern in the runner’s face when his clawed digit withdrew stained with blood. “She was hurt.”

Kurt felt as if he should speak then, but he chose to stay silent. There was something about his companion’s relationship with his former teacher that the man could not understand, and he lacked the patience to explore it. His son had been here, of that Kurt was absolutely certain. His boy needed him, and yet they still lingered.

“We should get going,” he said after what felt like an appropriate time to wait.

Janus stirred, as if woken from a dream. He looked back at the human, set the helmet down on the table he had found it on. “Ready the horses, Bauer. I’ll just do a quick search of the rest of the rooms. I’ll be ten minutes. I know we still have to get to your pup.”

Kurt nodded, and took his leave.

Outside, again. Kurt was drawn back to the pit with the smouldering bodies. The stink was enough to make him feel like giving up his meagre breakfast, yet he lingered there long enough to mark out what he thought were all the twisted, sizzling occupants. His own people had not even been granted this most basic form of disposal. Kurt felt a pang of guilt that was ruthlessly quashed. They would understand, he told himself. Besides, the King would know by now of what happened, and his farm was probably crawling with men-at-arms cleaning up the dead. He hoped that they would be given proper burials. The wiser part of him knew that was not likely. He walked away from the pit, glared at the fresh grave not terribly far away. He had not been sure of Eisengrim when he had first met the greying bull, and there was something about his action here that left the man feeling bitter and resentful. He was eager to be away, and was pleased when Janus emerged from the destroyed wall, with a full sack in one hand and sheathed sword in the other.

“Got a present for you,” he said with a smile, offering the human the weapon. Kurt took it, reluctantly. “We should get going. This was fortunate, Bauer. Our friends have reduced our enemy’s party, and this has slowed them down enough that tracking them should be child’s play. We can camp near them, and if we’re clever they’ll never know that we’re near.”

“Are you that clever?” Kurt asked before he could stop himself. Janus glared at him.

“Yes Bauer, I am. Just be grateful I’m not clever enough to kill you in your damned sleep and take your money.”

The ride over the next few hours was tense, and somewhat awkward. Neither said much. Janus was leading Kurt through the woods at points, saying that their prey had taken to dodging the road for several miles at a time, as if they feared pursuit. They stopped for breaks occasionally, to give the horses a chance to rest. Kurt used the time to practice with the sword Janus had given him. He had never had need for a blade his entire life, he was happy to say.

“I envy you that,” said the runner. He showed Kurt the most basic stances, which they did together for half an hour together before they remounted and travelled on a little further.

“Are you sure they came this way?” Kurt asked at one point. Janus had stopped them, and was examining a bush nearby with great intensity.

“Definitely. Look here, Bauer. See this? That’s a hoof print, and this low branch has been stamped into the mud, but hasn’t escaped the dirt’s grip yet. This only happened a short while ago.”

Kurt observed. He saw what Janus was pointing at, but could not understand the conclusions his guide seemed to be drawing from it. Despite the relative mildness of the weather he found himself feeling very warm. His arms were tired by the short explanation of the art of swordplay.

“Why don’t you use a sword?” he asked Janus, as they rested the horses again that evening. This was a prelude to another session with Kurt’s new weapon.

“I don’t like them,” the runner answered. “Too big. Too heavy. You can’t throw them, or at least not accurately like you can my axe and knife. I’m a hunter, Bauer. I prefer to kill my targets at a distance, since many will be stronger than me.”

“Are you going to practice with your bow?”

“Yes.”

“Will you teach me?”

Janus stared at the human as if he suspected a trick. But Kurt was sincere. His boy was in danger, and anything he could learn that might help save and protect him was essential. Janus needed little convincing.

“Very well, Bauer. Your arms could definitely use the extra attention,” he said, taking a fistful of his new employer’s right arm with a somewhat harsh smile. “Melee is generally easier, and you’re a big man. I should find you a shield, if I can. Don’t get angry, but there’s lots of you to aim at. We’ll worry about that, later. Come along, now. We’ll find a target for you.”

Kurt gratefully put down his sword, as Janus picked up his bow and one of the two quivers he carried. One was stuffed full of perhaps thirty arrows, while the slimmer, lacquered one, only seemed to have three in it.

“What are those?” Kurt asked, pointing to the smaller quiver. He had been meaning to ask this for a while, but the notion had always escaped him before he could ask his odd companion.

“Signal arrows,” Janus replied. “They’re basically arrows with big fireworks on the end. My people always carry some when hunting. If we get in trouble, or lost, we’re supposed to light one and shoot it skyward. It’s a plea to the rest of the clan to come and help us, since the gods have us.”

“Have you ever used them?”

“A few times. Klara doesn’t like them. I dropped one in our campfire once while I was pretending to sleep. It’s an old prank my friends and I would play sometimes when we were out on the hunt.” A smile toothy crossed the runner’s lips. “That was the third night I was with her, when she took me away from my home to train me to be a witch hunter. Both our ears were ringing, and the horses were spooked. But I couldn’t stop laughing.”

“Was she?” Kurt asked.

“No,” Janus muttered, sourly. “She beat me.”

*

“Just relax, Bauer. Keep both your eyes open.”

Kurt nodded, and took aim. At Janus’ command he loosed the arrow, which cut its way through a bush. The spare sack which was his target, was hanging from a branch on the opposite side of the tree. They stood about thirty feet away from it, almost invisible among the shrubbery of the forest floor.

“That’s better than I expected,” Janus said, handing him another arrow, the grin on his face only half mocking now.

“Thank you.”

Kurt loosed another couple of arrows. He was surprised at how difficult it was to keep the bow steady in his big hands.

“Why did you not take another mate?” Janus asked him suddenly.

“I didn’t want anyone else,” Kurt replied, taking another arrow from him. The idea of claiming to have had another wife had occurred to him, since this mercenary did not know anything about him, but the thought of lies and bragging was tiresome. “I loved Sabine. More than anything. We built everything we had together. We did it with our own hands. When she died…it was sudden. I wasn’t ready for it, not really.” Kurt notched the arrow, drew it and aimed as best he could at the target that had been setup for him. The sack swayed in a very light breeze, weighed down by a trio of apples. Kurt exhaled, as Janus had told him to, before he loosed. He missed, but not by much. “Do you have any children?”

“I would like them,” Janus replied, his focus on the dangling bag. “I had a girl. Her name was Nyx.”

“What happened to her?”

“I left the tribe with Klara to become a witch hunter. Nyx would have moved on. She had many suitors.” Janus smiled then nostalgically. “I haven’t had a girl since I left the Black Woods. There are few females of my kind out among you pinks. The ones that are usually are either old, or whores, and I don’t like the idea of mating with a female of another people. The tribal elders said demons come from such unions.”

“What’s wrong with whores?” Kurt asked, a little taken aback. “Fellas have got needs, Janus.”

“I’ve got my right hand, Bauer. In the dark Nyx still pays me visits with her claws and her red dyed cords.” Janus looked wistful as he said this. “You know the funny thing, Bauer? She wanted to be a witch, like the hags that lived at the edge of the tribal lands. She believed in the old magic. She’d daub my body with scented paints as she rode me, whispering hexes in my ear and taking my blood with her claws.”

“She sounds like a handful,” Kurt said, staring intently at his target.

“She was, Bauer,” the runner went on. He had crossed his arms over his bare chest. His fingers were pressing into the muscles of his upper arms. “No other female in the tribe could compare to her. Everyone was afraid of her, so perhaps I’ll be lucky when I reach home? Perhaps she’s still too much for any of the other males to mate with?”

“I wish you luck with this, Janus.”

“Thank you, Kurt. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry you lost your mate, and your friends. I was…cruel, before. Death is just something you get used to when you live in the Black Woods.”

“How am I doing?”

“You’re a fast learner,” Janus said. “But I think you’ve lost enough of my arrows for the moment.” He took the bow from the human, patting Kurt on the shoulder as he did so. Kurt was not sure if it was wishful thinking, but a lot of the mockery and the tension in the hunter’s gait seemed gone. “I’ll go get my arrows. You see to getting the coffee and food ready. I’ll be awhile. Don’t come looking for me.”