Chapter 34:

The candle’s flickering light reflected from the stone, the color a crimson red. I stared, unmoving, at the statue that met my eyes. I licked my lips nervously before speaking. 

“Did you just talk?”

Silence. The shifting of stone grated into my ears as the statue’s head turned towards me. The mouth curled into an unnatural smile. 

“Did you not hear? Do you not see?”

It laughed, the sound like wet rock scraping against itself. 

Fuck this. I had seen too many horror movies to wander around like an idiot. I flew backwards to the door, pushing it open with a thudding shoulder. I tumbled into another room, but when I looked around, it wasn’t the hallway I expected. 

What? Where is this? I surveyed the area, confused at the sight. I had walked straight into another room. Gone were the bodies of animals and the statue, but in their place was a person standing in a rustic log cabin, his back towards me. The smell of fire and wood filled my nose. This isn’t possible. Wasn’t I just in a warehouse? Yet, through the windows, I could see a populated forest, trees surrounding each side of the cabin I was in. The man rubbed his hands over the fireplace, humming in a low voice. I couldn’t see the front of him, but he was wearing threadbare clothes, and his long, greasy black hair hung past his shoulders. The cabin was lived in, but tidy. This can’t be real. Am I dreaming? Is this an illusion, like Atrax?

My throat bobbed with a swallow. I walked into the room, eyeing the man warily. The sound of my feet clomping on the wood elicited no response. I tapped his shoulder. Solid. The man leaned over, scooping some liquid from a pot on the fire into a bowl, and set it on the table. He walked to the door and stepped outside. Should I follow? He didn’t seem to realize I was here — would I be stuck forever if I didn’t tail him? Guess I’ll try my luck. 

The smell of clean mountain air kissed my nose.  The clearing where the cabin sat was surrounded on all sides by coniferous trees, and the distant rush of water rang low. It reminded me of the camping trips I’d dragged Gale on. I hope he’s ok.

The man was ahead of me, and I had to jog to catch up. The dirt beneath my feet clung to my shoes in clumps, before scattering into bits from my footsteps, and the scent of dirt wafted to my nose. Was this really an illusion, a dream? Could a dream be this realistic?

The rushing of water grew louder as we walked. The path was well traveled, whether by this man or something else, I couldn’t tell. We came to a bubbling river, and a boy sat on a rock, fishing something out of the water with a line and stick. He walked ankle deep in the rapids, wrestling a fish long as his forearm onto the bank. He smiled at the man’s approach. 

The boy was young, in his early teens, and his blonde hair hung around his somewhat pointed and lengthened ears.

“Father!” He held the fish up with pride. “Dinner!” 

“I have the table made already.”

The boy walked bow-legged to us, carrying the fish in his arms, a dismayed frown on his face. “You started without me?”

“The sun does not set with your catch.”

“Nor does my father’s hunger abate on soaked bone and root. You should eat your fill of fish.”

The man smiled. “A son’s filial piety warms this old man’s heart.”

“If food were all it took to soften your mood, I’d be head of the house, and you’d be fetching the water.”

A gruff laugh rumbled from the man’s chest. “Were you head of house, I would be dead, and you would still be filling pails.”

“At least I would have more fish.”

I listened to their chuckles as we walked back to the cabin. Who were these people? Why was I seeing this? Anxiety tore through me. What happened to my friends? Was I laid out on the floor somewhere, unconscious?

I bit my lip as we entered the cabin again. The boy flopped the fish onto a table, and skillfully cut into it, stripping the organs from the belly with a sharp knife. He dipped it into a pail, pressing his fingernail to the intestine, washing the filth from inside.

I had seen Gale do this sort of thing, but the idea of getting my hands dirty and crouching over a river for half an hour had always left me disinclined to try it. A pang shot through my chest. I miss him.

I walked to the door, putting my hand over the latch. My eyes lingered on the men for a moment, their casual chatting, the warmth. I wonder if I would have been like them. Would my dad have taken me fishing?

I pushed the door open and walked through. 

The statue sat in front of me. It leaned forward as I entered. Its stone-carved clothes fell like cloth, hair drooping in strands. My skin crawled. I glared at it. This thing couldn’t keep me here forever. 

“Why did you show me that?”

“Did you not see? Do you not hear?”

“Don’t feed me that cryptic bullshit. Tell me what you want.”

“You are the Saintess, are you not?”

“And? Who are you?”

The candlelight flickered before going out. The room plunged in darkness. I staggered forward, arms outstretched; the sounds of the room disappeared; the floor beneath my feet vanished; the air chilled with a biting cold. I was nowhere. I fell. 

I crumpled to my knees as I landed in snow. My head lifted, and the sight of the cabin met my gaze once more. The warmth of firelight poured from the windows, painting the snow in an orange glow. The forest behind it was black as pitch. The sparse moonlight lit the tips of trees, but little else. I pushed to my feet, shivering at the cold and wetness of the flakes clinging to my legs. I staggered to the door, eager to be rid of the shivering freeze. The fucker couldn’t have put me in the house?

I pushed the door open, and staggered in. The man and his son were sitting at the table, sipping at drinks. They didn’t notice the bite of the wind that followed me into the room. I warmed myself by the fire, turning my head to watch them. What exactly is that thing trying to show me? I don’t get it. Maybe the system can help me?

“System, what’s going on? Where am I?”

[You are alone.]

Huh? The hell did that mean? 

[Know your enemy.]

A cold sweat dripped down my back. Had the statue gotten to the system, too? 

“What do you want?”

No answer.

I clicked my tongue. Why was this thing speaking in riddles? I couldn’t count on it for help — it was even more worthless than the normal system. I’d have to figure this out myself.

I looked at the men.

The father leaned over, slipping his food to the other’s plate. The boy looked up, shaken from his reverie. 

“Father, no.”

“Eat.”

“I can’t—”

“Your chill will worsen if you don’t eat.”

“Father…at least let us split it.”

The boy cut the meat in half, and speared some of it back. The man looked at it for a moment, before silently taking a bite. 

“It is good.”

“Mother wrote it in the book I found—the spices to use. When she was…”

The man chewed, his gaze peering through his son. The boy returned the look. He coughed into his elbow, sickly, wet things. He cleared his throat and wiped his nose. 

“Can you tell me about her?”

“No.”

“Please? You said you would tell me of her when I was older.”

“Older still.”

The boy bit his lip. He ate another bite, coughing, the conversation seemingly dropped, before he set his fork down. His voice was soft, pleading. 

“…I won’t ask for anything else. I won’t go with the caravan this spring. I’ll stay. Please.”

The man swallowed. 

He leaned back in his chair, a sigh rushing from his throat. He looked up, eyes lost, vacant. He took a deep breath, readying himself to talk at length. 

“Your mother was a curious woman. Stubborn. She would speak her mind when she could, and often as it was, she found little company in the village. ‘Too honest for a demon,’ they’d call her. It was her arguing with me over a price of the pelt I’d tried to cheat her with that caught my attention. 

“I’m thankful she realized my clumsy attempts at flattery were more than a bartering attempt.”

He took a drink, thinking his words over. 

“We were married by the next fall. She was with child before that winter, and moved in with me by the time her belly was peaking. We were happy. She gave birth while I was away; I had been logging for Larin at the time. 

“When I heard, I damn-near cut my leg off with the axe. I sprinted back as soon as I could —I hadn’t run that fast since I was a boy— but I was too late. She was cradling the child in her arms when I pushed the door open.”

The boy’s interruption was quiet. “Was that me?” 

He shook his head. “Your brother.”

“I have a brother?”

“No. He was stillborn. You carry naught but his name.”

“His name?”

“Yes. When she was with you, she grew sickly. Knew she wouldn’t live to see a third child.”

He clenched his fists. The words which had been divorced from emotion grew hoarse. 

“She wanted something of her to stay. A piece of her. She chose your name. Her little Albrum.”

The boy pushed his cup between his hands, idly thinking. He looked up at the man. “Do you…blame me? Her dying.” His voice was quiet, insecure. His ragged, sick breaths echoed in the cabin.

The man looked at him, the pale face, flagging strength, and his eyes sharpened. He clenched his cup until it cracked. His fingers dug into the wood. His answer was low, harsh, and rumbling. His drink loosened his tongue.

“Yes.”

The room melted at the word. I blinked, and gone was the firelight, replaced by the cold light of morning peering in, darkened from cloud-cover. I looked around. The man sat next to the bed in a chair. 

Something lay under a sheet on the mattress. I walked over, my hand raising to my nose as the scent of death met it. I flinched when I realized what lay beneath. 

The man leaned forward, his fingers gently brushing over the pale hand that stuck from under it.

Tears streamed down his emotionless face. He gripped the slender fingers. 

He spoke quietly. “Would that I could join the three of you.”

“Would that I were not cursed.”

He slumped over, burying his face in his hands. His voice trembled. 

“Were that it was me lying there. Not…”

He broke. The man stood, wiping away his ceaseless tears, lifted the body, and brought it outside. I followed behind, somber. 

There was a grave prepared. Beside it were two other markers. One large, the other small. He lowered the body into the hole. He stared at it for a long while, before he began to bury it. When it was done, a small mound was all that was left of the boy. 

He tried to speak a few words. His lips trembled, and he forced them still. His voice didn’t come.