"Part 6 of The Woods Boy"
Emerging from the darkness, the flickering lanterns and cookfires of Irok appeared to be a soothing sight. The village had expanded since my previous visit, with several tents and shanties popping up along the edges. As we made our weary way through these temporary dwellings, we encountered numerous northern folk huddled around small fires. They seemed emaciated and pale from hardship, staring at us with bored curiosity as we passed by.
At the heart of the village stood the inn, its windows aglow on its grey stone walls. Stepping into the bright, noisy common room after our long journey across the barren moor felt like a warm hug. The innkeeper was a large woman whose gruff manner softened when she saw the coins we offered as we asked for a room. "I've got one at the back that should be fine," she said, heaving herself up from her stool and leading us past the bar and into a narrow hallway. Various doors lined the passage, and she pointed us towards the farthest one. "It's got an inside lock on the door. I advise you use it," she said with an ominous tone before adding, "Washroom's at the end."
We helped Asprey into the room and onto the bed. The last part of our journey had taken a toll on him, and even though he refused to admit it, his grey skin and hollow eyes told me his wound was causing him considerable pain. I carefully removed the bandage, and when he winced, I could see the gash still oozed blood and the surrounding flesh was swollen and red. I asked the innkeeper for some hot water and she quickly returned with a steaming basin and clean rags. I cleaned the wound, applied more salve, and wrapped a fresh bandage, which left Asprey feeling close to delirious with exhaustion. I covered him up and let him rest.
I handed the innkeeper a few copper coins and asked for food and drink to be brought to our room. We wanted to avoid unnecessary attention, so the innkeeper instructed us on where to find it and then left a serving boy to bring it over. The boy carried bowls of hearty mutton stew, chunky bread, and several bottles of strong wine. He set up the food and drink by the fireplace before leaving us alone, and Brook, Daylen, and I took our seats around the table. After a moment's silence, I felt a wave of relief wash over me as I looked at Brook and saw that he shared my sentiment. I took his hand and kissed him, but then remembered Daylen sitting just a few feet away and we awkwardly separated.
"I'm sorry, we...," I began, but Daylen quickly interjected.
"Don't apologize. Love is always wonderful to see." He smiled and waved his hands. "But, yes, it is stunning to watch." I watched tears build in Brook's eyes, and I wondered if I had the same emotional display. To divert attention, I filled our cups with wine and raised them in a salute to Asprey's health. Once we drank, we dove into conversation. Daylen proved to be an excellent storyteller, and Brook listened to him intently as he described his life in the north.
"Where is your priest now?" Brook inquired. "Do you think he could tell me more about my mark?"
"He stayed behind when my companions and I left," Daylen answered, his expression growing somber. "He's old and has a strong spirit, but I fear for him. But, yes, I'm sure he could provide more insight than I can."
Brook stared into the flickering flames, and his dark eyes were momentarily reflected in them. "We are heading north. Would you...could you guide us?"
Daylen contemplated before answering. "I could. Although my path leads south. I left the north when you were just a lad."
Some unspoken dispute seemed to be happening between them, silence filling the room. Eventually, Daylen broke his gaze. "I will guide you. There is something important about you, I can feel it." He intensity met Brook's gaze, strong and genuine. "Indeed. I will do this for you." He nodded. "Yes, I will guide you through the strange lands of the north."
The fire began to dim as Brook asked, "Would you?"
Daylen sighed. "Aye. I will. I can help you with this." He fixed his gaze on Brook, and Brook stared deeply back at Daylen. "Yes. That's what I'll do."
Asprey moaned from the bed, his lips making faint sounds. I wet a rag in the cool water and dabbed them, mumbling about the arrow that had hit him. "The arrow..." He continued to murmur this phrase over and over. "The arrow..."
We finished our meal and laid out our bedrolls on the floor, Daylen near the fireplace while Brook and I chose a spot at the foot of the bed. As the inn below us went from lively chatter to a soothing quiet, we drifted off to sleep.
I had a dream, we had a dream. A menacing creature reemerged, lurking in our subconscious, serving as a distant warning. It spoke of the mountain king, yet its dialogue was muddled and barely comprehendible. "I have limited time left. This group is deteriorating," it announced. "Bring the boy to his home." Then the voice faded.
The fire had extinguished when I awoke. I checked on Asprey first. His pallor had a faint rosiness now, thanks to a night of sleep working its natural magic. I summoned the innkeeper to prepare soup and fed the elder man. He was more coherent but still in a state of delirium. He kept repeating about the arrow, and I told him that we had cleaned the wound and he would recover, but he continued to talk about the arrow. "It shouldn't have struck me," he remarked, and I draped a cold cloth over his brow. "It shouldn't..." and he slipped back into his delirium.
"Is he...Will he..." Brook murmured with anxiety. I attempted to reassure him even though I wasn't reassured myself. "Yes," I said. "He will recover."
Daylen was adding more logs to the fire. He spoke up. "Those brigands use toxic substances on their arrows. It will require more than just water to cleanse him."
I knew he was right. We needed a healer. My abilities were limited.
I conversed with the innkeeper.
She shrugged and sighed. "Yes, there's a problem here. I'll fetch Ghast. She might know. Yes, she might."
I paid her another silver token for another day of shelter and secrecy, and she sent the boy to locate Ghast, the neighborhood healer.
When Ghast arrived, she seemed like a bushed being given flesh. A tangle of hair and branches, and I had a strong suspicion she had a bird's nest in her hair. She ignored me and immediately rushed to Asprey.
"Yes....yes...." She mumbled as she hovered over him. "Yes...there's a gloom lingering here." She glanced at Brook as she said that. "Yes.. a gloom and a light. Interesting."
She attended Asprey, and he weakly argued as she whispered incantations over him. His expression relaxed.
"I've ended the curse." She eventually turned to me. "But there's more than one poison here. I can sense it." She looked between Brook and me, her old face creased with a smile. "More than one..."
"What do you mean?" My voice caught in my throat as I inquired.
Her eyes wrinkled deeper. "Exactly what I just said. The metal-minded one will survive, but it's not just him. There's another poisonous figure here. I'm well aware."
"What do you mean?" I asked again, furious now.
She grinned and uttered, "Then the Dreamer King plucked the voice from the bird, the arms from the bear, the legs from the deer, and the ears from the hare. He plucked the bravery from the badger and the fear from the mare, and from these things he fabricated the heir of the mountain."
I turned to Brook, and he was crying, shiny silver tears on his face. I placed a protective arm around him, shielding him from this seer who knew too much. She smiled mirthfully and shook her head.
"Yes, my dear, my fool. It seems the mountain heir has resurfaced," she mused. "Perhaps it's time..."
She shook her head and chuckled one more time before handing me a bundle of healing herbs. "Cover his injury with these under the moon. He's close to crossing over, but he hasn't crossed the veil yet."
With that, she left.
Daylen spoke up first. "She's a witch. Don't trust her. She blends truth with deception." He fiddled with a bandage as he spoke.
"She healed Asprey," Brook noted. And it was true, Asprey's features were no longer grisly, and although he slumbered, he did so peacefully.
"Woodswicker," Daylen nearly spat, and ruminated by the fire. "If you travel north, expect more of that."
His dark eyes shimmered and Brook knelt beside him.
"That's why we need a tour guide.." He placed his hand on Daylen's knee.
"Yes. You do." Daylen replied, then fixed his attention on the fire, and tranquility infiltrated the room once more.
We ended our fast ahead of schedule. Before leaving, we thanked the innkeeper, who handed us a generous amount of supplies we hadn't paid for. I expressed my gratitude, while she watched us sadly as we headed north with Asprey's support. He could now walk, albeit slowly, and Daylen provided him with the healing he required.
The moors stretched out for miles, making the journey wearisome. It poured continuously throughout the day, leaving us unable to create a fire when setting up camp.
I caressed Brook as I spoon-fed Asprey a small bowl of soup, quivering in my arms.
"He'll be fine," I assured him, and Brook cuddled up close. Hopefully, I was right. Later that same night, we slept.
I remembered the wooden switch from my dreams, echoing the witch's words, "There is darkness here" before fading into silence.
When I awoke, Brook was rekindling the fire. Asprey was also awake, reading.
"What did you find out?" I inquired. Asprey halted, his gaze distant.
"Not much... I think..." His mind seemed preoccupied. "The mountain's heir... I've seen that phrase before." He smacked his head, attempting to remember. "Somewhere..."
I patted his back. "Give yourself a break, old friend."
He eased back, and I found more salve to tend his wound.
Brook had crafted tea from the herbs given to us by Ghast. Daylen frowned disapprovingly as I served it.
Brook beckoned me, his eyes now darkened and closing again.
"There is darkness here," the witch's words resonated in my thoughts.
Brook held me, and I wept. He held me close once more, relieving the anxiety that arose as I ventured into his subconscious. Together, we began a free-flowing trek through shared memories and overlapping dreams, singing merrily like birds until language failed us, leaving only kisses full of emptiness. We connected in such a way that I lost my own sense of self.
Sleep came as tranquil snowfall, with its silence and chill. I hugged Brook, and we danced under the night sky.
I stood in Pa's pantry in my dream, breathing in the sweet scent of vanilla. It became a dreamlike, artistic world. The war god emerged in the sky, merging with the goddess of love, presenting themselves as silver and red.
I found myself lost within him, examining the complexities and peculiarities of his origins. We observed various shapes and gauntlets of darkness together.
"Yes, there is darkness here..."
His words mirrored the witch's.
Darkness.
I pondered the events from earlier, where Brook had committed a heinous act for my sake.
