Wander West, in Shadow

Kells, Elyse, Martimeos and Aela sat around a small campfire, one whose weak and flickering light seemed to struggle to push back the utter darkness that surrounded them, as if the shadows themselves had weight that threatened to put it out. The night was like that, here, in the Killing Grounds. Bitterly cold, and utterly dark.

They made their camp beneath a small overhang of rock in the base of a cliff - not a true cave, but enough of a shelter to shield them from the snow that fell thick and heavy outside. Mors had led them here, after they had found him in the midst of the corpse-riddled clearing. Even now the bear lay by the entrance, his massive bulk shielding them from the wind, which he barely seemed to notice at all. The fire was just strong enough to illuminate his gruesome, half-dead face. It was a little disturbing to look up from the fire and see the light dancing across his savage, ruined features, floating there in the dark.

Elyse sat with Cecil in her arms, soothing her familiar with whispers and strokes as the cat dug its claws anxiously into her. It was Mors that had him in such a state; her familiar was terrified of the bear, and would not even go near him without yowling, hissing and spitting. Funny enough, Flit did not seem to have such a fear at all; Martim's little cardinal was currently perched upon the top of Mors' head, pecking here and there for bugs he might find in the bear's fur, and Mors seemed perfectly content to let the bird do this.

Their camp had been quiet and hushed, all the cheer driven out of them by the sight of the slaughtered, rotting Crosscraw. Elyse shivered, remembering the dread and terrible feeling she had had, amongst that clearing, in the middle of all those cold and broken corpses. It was not merely that the sight of all that death had been shocking. It was that, amidst all the decay and brutality, she had felt a strange stirring of the Art; like a thread, waiting to be plucked. She knew Martimeos must have felt it, as well. A place like that was ready, pregnant with power, almost more than any place she had seen. Thick with the potential for necromancy. She understood, better than ever, why necromancy was considered a dark Art.

Aela had not taken the sight well, either. Upon entering the clearing, the Crosscraw woman had gone into a strange fit of panic, her breath growing ragged and weak, until Elyse had actually wondered whether the woman was going to choke to death. It was only when Kells had dragged her away from the clearing that they had been able to soothe her. Even now, Aela stared numbly into the fire, her rations laying half-eaten before her, her normally bright eyes cloudy and dim.

Kells, on the other hand, had seemed the least disturbed by the sight of the slaughter. While the soldier had become grim and silent upon first seeing the corpses, he had recovered quickly, and now sat sharpening the point of his spear as if all were right with the world. Truth told, though Elyse found Kells a bit cold at times - from the first she had met him, she had thought him far too lackadaisical about death - she appreciated his stoicism now. It helped that one of them should remain sane in all this.

For Martimeos had taken the sight nearly as hard as Aela had. The wizard was ashen-faced as he sat with fur blankets draped around him, and even now looked lost and stunned. When she had tried to speak to him of it, he had been silent. Even when pressed, all he had managed to do was mumble in reply, "It's not really Hadley." It had made her heart twist in unfamiliar ways to see him like this, but she did not know what could be done.

The wind howled, long and low and keening, and she shivered once more. The cold was so biting that even she, with her hot blood, would have felt the sting of that wind like a knife. She looked towards Mors. Gruesome as the bear was, she was grateful for his almost unbelievable bulk blocking them from the elements. The bear had spoken to them, as he led them to this shelter, telling them that he already knew of their mission, and the identity of the Bogge-King - Grizel, he said, had spoken to him in the Dream. That seemed a useful trick, she thought, and wondered that if she might learn from the old witch to do the same with Cecil. But as she looked at the bear, something still plucked at her curiousity.

"Mors," she said, breaking the gloomy silence, feeling a spike of fear as the bear's head turned towards her, pinning her with his one wild, orange eye. "Might I ask a question? How did you become so large? Was it Grizel's Art that made you so? Or perhaps the fae? I hear they do such, at times."

Mors regarded her for a long moment, the dead half of his face seeming to grin, revealing fangs that could have pierced her through at her thickest point. "I AM AS I AM, WITCHLING," he replied in a low grumble. "I WAS ALREADY LARGE WHEN GRIZEL TOOK ME AS A FAMILIAR. AS FOR THE FAE, I HAVE NEVER EVEN SEEN ONE UPON THE CRAGS. THOUGH I UNDERSTAND MANY LIVE IN THE LANDS OF THE HOLLOWHEART."

Martimeos stirred at this last. The wizard looked up, glancing towards Mors, dark bags beneath his eyes. "The Hollowheart...?"

"THE ONE THAT THE FOXHAIRS CALLED THE WHITE QUEEN." Mors huffed, and the blast of his hot breath was nearly strong enough to put out the campfire, causing the flames to dance wildly. "IT IS THE NAME BEASTS HAD FOR HER. YOU SEE, WIZARD, I CAN SMELL YOUR HEART. I CAN SMELL YOUR BRAVERY, YOUR FEAR, YOUR HATE AND LOVE. LIKE ALL OF MAN. BUT WHEN SHE WALKED UPON THE MOUNTAINS, I COULD NEVER SMELL ANYTHING FROM HER. IT WAS AS IF SHE HAD NO HEART AT ALL."

"Ye might hae tol' us." This was Aela, her voice hoarse and thin. She looked up from the fire, the tracks of dried tears cutting channels through her dirtied face. Whatever fire that had lain behind her eyes, it seemed to have grown dim. "We would come so much tae regret servin' her. None....none o' this would hae happened."

"BUT I DID TELL YOUR FOLK, LITTLE FOXHAIR," Mors replied, letting out a growl that Elyse realized, after a moment, was the bear's chuckle. "I TOLD GRIZEL. I EVEN LOWERED MYSELF TO APPROACHING SOME OF YOUR CHIEFTAINS. I TOLD THEM THEY SHOULD LET ME DEVOUR HER." He grinned, his teeth gleaming in the firelight. "I WAS CURIOUS HOW SOMETHING SO HOLLOW MIGHT TASTE. BUT THEY WERE TOO ENTHRALLED BY THE IDEA OF PLUNDER TO LET ME INTO THEIR CAMPS WHERE SHE SLEPT."

Aela remained staring at Mors for a moment, before slowly turning her gaze back to the fire. "Ancestors damn us," she murmured softly. "All this. All this ruin, fer plunder." She gave a bitter, harsh laugh, one that sounded odd coming from her. And then she drew her knees to her chest and sank her face into them.

Kells tested the point of his spear with a finger, and, satisfied with the sharpness, set it aside. He looked up across the fire, gray eyes curious. "You think you could have slain her?" he asked Mors. "You did not fear her power? She was a dread sorceress."

"THERE ARE VERY FEW WHO HAVE WALKED UPON THESE MOUNTAINS THAT I HAVE EVER FEARED," Mors Rothach boasted. "SHE MAY HAVE BEEN A QUEEN OF THE LANDS OF MEN. BUT IN THE WILDS OF THE CRAGS, I AM THE KING."

"It seems odd that such a King would serve a witch." Martimeos drew his blankets around him further, reflexively, as Mors swiveled his head to give the wizard a harsh, frightening glare.

"SERVE?" the bear responded, amused. His one good eye rolled upwards towards his head, where Flit lay perched. "IS THAT WHAT YOU THINK YOUR FAMILIARS DO, WIZARD? DO YOU THINK THEY...'SERVE' YOU?" His laugh, nearly a low roar, illustrated well just how ridiculous he found that concept.

"Seems to me," Kells said idly, once the echoes of the wild and savage laughter had died, "That there's a new king upon the peaks." He reached down to his boots, to pull a dagger out of them, examining the blade closely. He looked pointedly across the fire at the massive bear. "The Bogge-King, that is. Seems to me, he's the one who reigns in the wilds these past years."

Mors grew quiet, though his claws carved great furrows in the earth. "YES," he said simply.

"I do not mean to insult." Kells tested the edge of his dagger with his thumb, frowned, and picked up his whetstone once more to set to work on it. "I am merely curious. I do not know how such a thing might be fought, though it is our goal now. We were helpless before it last time we faced it, as well."

Mors gave a derisive snort and shook his head, causing Flit to flutter back to perch on his shoulder blases. "THE TWISTED KING'S LITTLE TRICKS WORK ON MEN, NOT BEASTS," he bristled, saying the word 'men' with snarling condescension. "I WOULD NOT BE SO HELPLESS, SHOULD I FACE HIM. AND YET I AM NO FOOL. WHILE HIS SERVANT'S BLADES COULD DO LITTLE TO HARM ME, THE BLADE HE CARRIES IS MUCH LARGER, AND HE IS VERY STRONG, AND VERY FAST. HE COULD CLEAVE ME IN TWO, THOUGH IF WHAT GRIZEL THINKS IS RIGHT, HE WOULD NOT EVEN NEED TO DO THAT TO KILL ME. I DID NOT LIVE TO GROW SO LARGE, MANLING, WITHOUT LEARNING CAUTION."

"If even you are afraid to face Hadley," Martim said quietly, "Why do you think we will be able to defeat him?"

Mors' one good eye seemed to swim with fire, orange and wild in the midst of his black fur. "I DO NOT. I SUSPECT I ESCORT YOU TO YOUR DEATHS."

In the silence that followed, all that could be heard was the weak crackling of the fire and the howling of the wind outside.

And then, something else. Through the dark night, in the far distance, came a low, strange, keening wail. Certainly not human, and like no animal they had ever heard. Mournful and alien, and almost songlike. It echoed off the mountainsides, long into the night, before fading away. Simply the sound of it made Elyse's blood freeze in her veins.

"THE WORLD GROWS THIN HERE," Mors said, when the cry had died down. He had turned his head to look out into the night; now he turned back to them and gave an unpleasant, fanged grin. "IT IS NOT JUST THE TWISTED ONES THAT STALK THESE WOODS. STRANGE THINGS FROM THE LANDS OF DEATH MAKE THEIR WAY HERE, AS WELL. I WILL NOT FACE THE TWISTED KING. BUT FOR MY DEBT TO YOUR BROTHER, WIZARD, YOU HAVE MY PROTECTION FROM THOSE."

The hour was late, and they intended to set out early tomorrow, and travel long, to try to make their stay in the Killing Grounds as short as possible. The temptations of sleep took them, despite the strange night outside, and the terrible, wild creature that was their only protection from it.

Elyse watched from the shadows as Martim cocooned himself in the blankets he had filled his pack with, the wizard silent and despondent, turning to sleep with his face towards the stone wall of the cliff. She bit her lip, considering. And then she dragged her own blankets over to him, and lay down by his side. And, after a moment, she wrapped an arm around him from behind, settling in to rest against his broad back. Martimeos did not say anything as she did so, and did not move, but she felt his muscles relax a bit. There was no dark hunger in her right now, and no temptation. She simply had an urge to make sure the wizard was warm. Closing her eyes, she fell asleep to the steady sound of his breathing.

She woke some hours later, staring at the cold, gray stone of the overhang above her head.

The cavern was still full of the sounds of slumber. Cecil lay curled by her side, his tail twitching occasionally in his sleep. Even Mors was letting out low, deep snores. Dimly glowing embers were all that was left of the fire.

She sat up, and looked around. The wind had died down, and the storm, it seemed, had abated. The pale light of a bright, full moon flooded the space beneath the overhang, where it was not blocked by the shadow of the gigantic bear. She staggered to her feet, careful not to disturb Cecil or Martim.

She was not sure what she was doing. Her mind felt blank, as she stepped over the dying fire. But something about that moonlight called to her. There was a dim, small part of her mind that sounded a note of alarm as she squeezed her way past Mors, to make her way out from underneath the overhang. But it was quickly drowned out by the quiet blue light that filled her eyes and drowned her thoughts.

The moon was enormous, it seemed, in a dark blue twilight sky, making all the stars that it swam in seem dim by comparison. The Killing Grounds, she thought, were strangely beautiful, in a way. Before her stretched the endless corpses of black, skeletal pine trees, bereft of needles, frost-glazed from the recent storm, clawing upwards at the sky. All the world was covered in a thick blanket of white, in utter, perfect stillness.

And then, frifting through the night, came an eery, beautiful sound. A woman, humming a strangely familiar tune. That small, weak part of Elyse's mind screamed in panic upon hearing this. But it was once agains smothered, as the lilting notes filled her head. Where had she heard this before? It seemed such a comforting sound, striking a primal chord somewhere deep within her.

She trudged forth into the snow, following the woman's hum. It led her away from the overhang, and along the cliffside into which it was carved, through snowdrifts that sometimes came up to her knees. But she barely felt the cold. She barely felt anything at all, her head full of moonlight and that soft, intoxicating hum. Whenever she paused, or stumbled, the hum would grow louder, more urgent.

Away from the camp, between the dark and dead trees, through the cold white, Elyse walked in a trance, until she came to the edge of a small, frozen pond, the reeds that grew by its banks frozen bristles jutting up out of the snow. It was here that the hum slowly faded away, trailing off, echoing, as if reverberating off of unseen walls. As the enchanting tune trailed off, Elyse shook her head, looking around herself. What was she doing out here, again...?

But before she could think much on that, the moon, almost seeming to pulse in the sky, flooded her mind. She knelt by the side of the pond, reaching out to sweep away the snow that had piled upon it. The ice beneath was thick, and clear as glass. Her own reflection stared back up at her from it. Dark blue eyes, long dark hair cascading down her shoulders, and pale skin, cheeks holding a faint blush. And that strange, bright moon hanging above her.

She sat there in the snow, not feeling the cold of it upon her skin, gazing calmly at her own reflection. And as she stared, it seemed, slowly, her reflection changed. Almost imperceptibly, at first. In her reflection, her cheeks slowly became more hollow, the angles of her face harsher. Full lips that were used to holding mischievous smiles became thin, drawn ones that seemed more accustomed to snarls. The blush drained from her cheeks, and dark circles spread beneath her eyes. And her eyes - the dark blue faded from them, replaced by a steely gray. Until, Elyse realized with a start, her reflection was no longer showing herself. It was showing-

"Mother...?" she whispered, voice full of confusion and wonder. She shook her head, and reached out to touch the reflection. And then realized, with alarm, that the reflection was no longer following her movements.

Her mother, in the ice, raised a long, thin finger to tap on it, as if against a pane of glass. Her eyes narrowed, and a wicked, thirsty grin crossed her featured. "Hello, child," she said, her voice muffled and faint, as if coming through a thick wall.

Part of Elyse's mind was screaming with fear. Clutching her hand to her chest, she shook her head frantically. "This...this should not be. You're dead."

Her mother's smile grew sadistic and mocking. And the skin across her face seemed to tighten, her visage growing ever-more skull-like. "Oh, foolish little Elyse. Did you truly think that one such as I would have no power on this side of death?"

Elyse stared at this vision of her mother. And then the fear in her was overwhelmed by a wave of debilitating guilt, so strong that it rocked her and drove the air from her lungs. Tears frell from her face to freeze in the snow. "I'm sorry," she whispered. A ragged sob escaped her, and she gasped, "I'm so sorry, Mother, I'm so sorry-"

She was cut off by her mother's derisive, cackling laughter. "Sorry. Stupid, miserable child. Apologies are not going to do you any good." The smile faded from her mother's face, replaced by a grim, hateful snarl. "You murdered me."

Elyse did not respond to this. She merely put her face in her hands and wept bitter, hot tears.

"You've seen your father, haven't you," her mother continued. Elyse raised her head from her hands to gaze at the ice. Her mother stared long and hard at her, and then gave a curt nod. "Yes. You have. Even here, I can see his filthy stain all over you. Was it worth it, Elyse? Was it worth it to meet him?"

Elyse drew a trembling breath, doing her best to meet her mother's glare. "Yes," she whispered, her voice barely audible even in the quiet stillness that surrounded them.

Her mother's cold eyes flashed with such a terrible rage that Elyse moaned in terror from the sight of it. Her visage in the ice grew yet more gaunt, her skin growing gray, her lips shrinking back to reveal the awful rictus grin of a corpse. "And how many men have you slept with since killing me, you little slattern? Dozens, I suspect, if not hundreds. You know you've killed them all, you stupid, selfish whore."

"No," Elyse cried, "I have not-"

"DO NOT LIE TO ME," her mother shrieked. Her eyes had gone wild and frantic, mad and full of burning, cold light; the skin on her face had begun to rot off, her hair growing brittle and thin. She raised her fists to pound on the ice, the beats emphasizing her every word and ugly accusation. "I watched you grow, I know you, Elyse. Despite my warnings, you could not keep away from men. You never saw one that you did not desire, you wanton slut. I should have known better than to think I could control your slovenly ways; it is your father's blood that feeds the lust in you. Did you sleep with him, as well?"

Elyse covered her ears with her hands, trying to shut out her mother's wretched words. But her voice came through clearer now, not nearly so muffled, and as Elyse watched, her mother slowly changed. Skin rotted away, her face stretched and became thin, hair became cracked and stiff and dry, until not merely a corpse, her mother was something long and pale like a grub, something of narrow teeth set into blood-red gums, and wild gray eyes that screamed with rage and madness.

"I ought to have smothered you in your crib," her mother hissed, in a voice that sounded like wind blowing through a dry tomb. She hammered her fist upon the ice in a frantic fury, and the pond hummed with the force of her blows. "You will damn us all. I never should have let my foolish love for my daughter stay my hand from what I knew should have been done. You never deserved it anyway - look what it got me, in the end. Ungrateful little bitch, stinking whore, do you have any idea what you've done to me? DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT IT'S LIKE BEYOND THE VEIL OF DEATH?!"

Elyse scrambled back from the edge of the pond as her mother screamed and wailed, wordless, mindless rage mixed with sick accusations and insults. The pounding grew louder, and louder, and the shrieks of her mother more and more clear, until the ice of the pond thrummed with her every blow. Elyse knew that she ought to flee, but beneath that throbbing moonlight, and with her mother's voice ringing in her ears, she could barely think, barely feel anything at all but her guilt, so thick and dark that it made her breath catch in her throat-

And then a long, wild roar shattered the stillness of the night, echoing off the crags.

All at once, her mother's voice vanished; the pounding stopped. Elyse lifted her head to see Mors Rothach, like a hulking shadow in the moonlight, standing there perhaps twenty feet from the pond. He lowered his barrel-sized snout to look at her with his one burning, orange eye. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING AWAY FROM CAMP, FOOLISH WITCHLING?" he growled.

Elyse felt some of the fog clearing from her mind. No longer did the moonlight seem to throb and hum and drown her thoughts. Her breath grew less ragged, and she felt the fear slowly fade from her blood, leaving a bitter aftertaste. She stared at Mors for a moment, and then glanced back behind her, towards the pond. Where once the thick ice there had been smooth and clear as glass, now it was laced with deep cracks. Her heart hammered in her chest, on seeing that. "I..." she breathed, turning back to Mors, eyes wide and confused. "I...did you see...my mother..."

And then a fresh wave of guilt roiled through her. All the wicked, ugly things her mother had said. And she fell to her knees, gasping, trying to drink in enough air between wracking sobs.

She could feel Mors approach, more than she heard him; feel the ground tremble as the giant bear padded his way towards her. She could feel the blast of his hot breath on her back, as he stood over her while she wept in the snow. "I TOLD YOU," the bear rumbled. "THE WORLD GROWS THIN, HERE. I HAVE SEEN DEAD MATES WALK THE WOODS HERE; SEEN CUBS OF MINE THAT DID NOT LIVE. I HAVE EVEN SMELLED THEM. THOUGH YOU CANNOT EVER KNOW IF IT IS TRULY THEM. MANY FROM THE LANDS OF DEATH WILL TAKE THE GUISE OF THOSE YOU HAVE LOST, TO TRICK YOU."

When Elyse made no reply to this, remaining curled in the snow, he snuffled at her, attempting to turn her over with the tip of his nose. "GET UP," he commanded, in a disdainful snarl. When still the witch did not answer, he gave a long, heaving sigh. "MAN IS STRANGE," he mused. "MANY BEASTS FORM PACK-BONDS. AND YET YOURS SEEM STRONG BEYOND ALL REASON AND NECESSITY. FOR WHAT PURPOSE DO YOUR PACK-BONDS REDUCE YOU TO SUCH MEWLING, PATHETIC THINGS?" But despite his harsh words, he lay down beside her in the snow, massive enough to send a wave of it crashing over her, nearly burying her. "CLIMB ON."

With trembling arms, Elyse dragged herself up from the snow, gripping the bear's thick hide as she pulled herself onto his back. His shoulders were broad enough for her to lay down upon. She buried her face in his fur, letting her tears soak it. Mors stank, but she did not care. And with a brief shake and a mutter about how weak and useless man was, Mors carried her back to camp.