Whispers of Fate: Part 7

Part 7

Kestrel stood post at the tall window in his room at the top of Lorrington. It had been six days since he had sent the wolf after the bangle and it still had yet to return with his prize. Perhaps it had been killed or lost the scent. No, the scent was far too strong, he could smell it now even after days of bathing. The very thought that he may have failed, no matter how small the thought itself may be, was enough to niggle loose a primal urge in the back of his mind. He wanted to smell new blood, it didn’t matter whose it may be.

No matter, a new plan must be made. Sure, it would take an entire army to replace her. But, if that's what it took to reclaim what he believed to be rightfully his, then an army he shall send.

Turning away with a grunt, he stared at the written list of casualties on his desk, many of whom were important figures within the army. Nearly every general had been either killed or wounded beyond the ability to serve him. Even though seeing Quail get eviscerated had been the highlight of his night, Kestrel found himself annoyed at trying to decide on someone to replace him.  

After finishing his introspection, he moved to the door. Just as he reached for the nob, a knock on the other side caught him off guard. Stepping back, he smoothed out his ruffled shirt. “Yes, come in.”

Pushing the door open, in stepped a tall vampire in the traditional leather garb of a soldier. She bowed and knelt gracefully before her king. “My lord, I am Siskin, the second hand to the late Murrelet. As I know it, you are looking for a new general and I believe that I would be the best fit, with all due respect, sir.”

Kestrel shook his head at providence, it often had a habit of being too poignant to the point of being obvious. No matter, if the woman wished to fight, then let her. 

He reached down and placed his hand on her right shoulder. “Arise, Siskin.”

She did as she was told. He placed his other hand on her shoulder. “If you wish to be my general, then so be it. However, I do require something of you before you take the position. A trial, if you will.”

He gestured for her to come in and take the seat at his desk which she did, gratefully. Shutting the door behind her, he turned and clasped his hands. “If you are to become my new right hand man, the great commander of my armies, you must complete this task if you are to be considered ready.”

“I am listening, my lord.”

He laughed. “Indeed, this is what I like to hear out of a prospective general. First, you are to take a hundred soldiers and their horses, and you are to head north, following the scent of magic and the scent of the wolf. If Drysi simply got lost in this foreign land, you are to return her here. If she is dead, bring back whoever killed her, they shall be publicly executed as in times of old. If they resist, kill them on sight. It won’t be as fun but you eliminate whatever threat there is toward this kingdom. Do you understand me, my general?”

Siskin nodded, a smile beginning to spread across her face. “Yes, I do, my lord. It shall be done.”

Kestrel smiled as well. “See to it. Let the hunt begin.”

  “How much longer should we be up here?”

Drysi sprinkled a handful of magically grown carrots, cut to perfection, into the pot lowered precariously over the fire by three large sticks. Taking the wooden spoon at her side, she slowly began to stir the steaming liquid inside.

Natalie threw out a strike of lightning across the mountain side and another, this one slightly hotter than the last. She shook the smoke from her hand and looked up at the clear winter sky. “Well, I was sent to be here for forty days on end, and it has… yes, it has been thirty four. So… about six more days. Have patience, Drysi.”

She fired off another bolt, this one burnt a couple bare wayward branches. It was clear that her magic had gotten better. Whether it was practice or the goddess’ hand that caused the improvement, she couldn’t tell. Ashallalah had been quite distant recently, ever since that night of Drysi’s healing. Perhaps she just felt guilty and the silence was a sort of superficial apology. Either way, Natalie was glad to have a bit of distance, the presence had begun to grow stifling. 

Letting loose a wayward shiver, Natalie ducked through the curtain and took a seat by the fire. Her hands were warm enough but it was the rest of her body that needed the heat of the flames.

“Lunch is almost ready, can you go dig out the utensils?”

Natalie nodded, obeying the young chef, and scooted to her bag in the corner. After a second of searching, she found the twin pair of bowls and spoons sitting under a towel beside the burlap. 

This was often how days went now. Natalie would wake up at dawn and go through her ritualistic prayers. Drysi would wake up slightly later and would take Natalie’s knife and go hunting. She wasn’t quite sure how the little girl did it, but she always came back with any number of prey without ripping through a single piece of the new clothing which Natalie wove from magical strands, much like the curtain which hung over the cave. It was as if her wolf instincts somehow carried over even though she swore they didn’t. 

She would then go about gathering the ingredients for lunch and eventually dinner all while Natalie practiced every spell and incantation she knew. Her repayment for Drysi doing all the meal work was providing a small garden from which carrots and potatoes sprouted continually as if the very ground was spitting them out. The gardening spell was an easy enough spell to cast and lasted a very long time before it had to be renewed. She also did the dishes. She was a witch, not a monster. 

She had enjoyed the monotony of these days, it was normal and normal was something she hadn’t felt in a very long time. It almost made her forget why she was up here to begin with, something that the faces in her dreams were keen to remind her of every night that they slept in this cradle of divinity. 

Holding up her bowl as if it were a prayer to the almighty cook, Natalie’s bowl became full of the rich broth which Drysi then poured into her own bowl. 

Drysi had never realized she could cook before this week, it was simply something she never had the chance to do. She had been told over and over that cooking was a woman’s job and that, when she became a woman, she too would cook for a family. It was usually something mothers taught their daughters as they grew up. Drysi never had the chance to grow up. She didn’t have the chance to learn to be a woman. Not that she missed it, it all seemed so containing, so limiting. Yet, something inside her was happy to play the role, even if she only could cook soup and her ‘family’ was just a young witch. Maybe it was to repay her kindness, or to repent for her sins, but she would be pleased to cook for this family as long as it lasted.

Over the bowls, Drysi offered up a prayer. Only once did ‘Mol’ slip into her words but she quickly caught herself and changed in favor of Ashallalah’s name. Once the prayer had finished, they began to eat, pleased at the company of each other, even if neither of them spoke much at all. Sometimes friends don’t need words to be friends. Having each other can be enough, and it was.

Across the countryside, a hundred midnight riders stake out their path, their red eyes etching the towering peak under England’s wolf moon. 

Siskin, despite her eagerness to drive the hunting party, now found herself annoyed at their over zealous excitement. Day in and day out, they would speak of blood. Blood, blood, and blood. Even now, as the approach of their target drew nearer, she found it hard to be pleased. 

“Say, what do you think the bangle guy is going to look like? I think he’s a large guy like you see at the circus!”

Siskin looked behind her at Coucal, the surly young vampire whose nasally voice had forced itself into her ear. She snarled. “You moron, it's a witch. If anything, she’s a tall woman, not your… strongman.”

He laughed. “Yeah but it would be humorous if I were right. Come on guys, don’t you agree?”

The pack of vampires began to howl and throw raucous jeers at Coucal, the loudest was Trogon, the largest man in the hunting party. “You have to be the god of sheer stupidity. Say another one, I still don’t hear Mol roaring!”

 Again, the laughter, ending in Coucal clearing his throat. “Alright, alright, here's one. It is common for all great rulers to become popular foods. Take Queen Charlotte. They made her Apple Charlotte, like the cake. Or… or the Duke of Wellington! They made him into Beef Wellington. I know Siskin likes that one. But, I have been thinking. If they were to ever make our king into a food, it should be a pickle!”

Trogon nervously chuckled. “Why- why a pickle?”

“Because…”

He stifled a premature laugh. “Because he’s such a sour puss! HAHAHAHAHAHA!”

As he laughed his heart out, a rock hit the back of his head. 

“That was terrible!”

Rubbing at his head, Coucal turned around. Noticing no one else was laughing, he too stopped. “Yes, you are right. I… I’m sorry. I will remain silent.”

“Then start already!”

The party laughed as Coucal hung his head. There was never a crew more degrading than a vampiric hunting pack.

Siskin shook her head and gripped her nose bridge. It was moments like these that made her wish Murrelet had survived just so that she had someone to gripe to. Pushing the thought aside, she rode slightly ahead of the pack. She wanted nothing more than for this outing to be over and, as they came to the foot of the mountain, she felt her wish slowly coming true. 

Stopping so that the rest could catch up, she addressed those that were already standing still beside her. “We will have to go by foot, your hooves will not do well on the ice.”

Once they had all dismounted, their steads themselves transformed into the rest of the hunting party. When she saw they were done, she turned to the mountain. “Let's get on with it.”

A strange smell ripped away any sleep that Drysi had been getting. Sitting straight up in her own bedroll, she stared at the wall and contemplated the scent. Vampires, there was no doubt about it. Maybe ten, no, twenty… no, there were far more than that, the smell was like being back in Lorrington. Much like too much of a pleasant scent, it made her sick. Now she remembered why she hated vanilla.

After building up the courage, she removed the blanket wrapped loosely around her disproportionately warm body and crawled over to the witch’s bed. She was sleeping much more sound than Drysi had in her entire life. When shaking didn’t work, she began to whisper into her ear. “Hey… Nat… Natalie. Get up, witch. Come on, get up.”

Growing desperate, she reached over her curled form and lightly touched the bangle on Natalie’s stretched out arm. Immediately, as if someone had thrown cold water onto her face, Natalie sat straight up in the bed, chest rising and falling from panic. Gathering her faculties, she looked down at the girl who had fallen back onto the ground. “What? What happened? Is everything alright?”

Dumbfounded at the suddenness of it all, Drysi didn’t speak, she merely shook her head. 

“Well, what is it then? If we are going to fix it, whatever it is, I need to know. Take a deep breath, and talk to me.”

Drysi allowed air to fill her lungs and let it out with a sigh. “Vampires. They are here. There are a lot of them. We need to go, now.”

“And you are certain.”

She nodded. “I would never mistake their scent. I couldn’t forget it if I tried.”

Natalie nodded in return. Without saying another word, she began to roll her bed and Drysi did the same. While she put away the supplies, Ashallalah stood at the center of the room. “Where are you going?”

Natalie didn’t look up and focused only on stuffing the pot into her pack. “Away. It's no longer safe here.”

“You forget, you still have five more days before you are ready.”

Natalie stopped and cast her eyes at her goddess. “Listen, I know. I know all that. If we stay, we die.”

“You won't die, I will protect you.”

Ashallalah knew she had said the wrong thing when her Mara’s eyes narrowed at her words.

“Thats not the problem.”

“Then what-”

The goddess looked over at the feral girl in the corner, her dark eyes full of unspoken fear. 

“Ah… I see. All of this… to protect her.”

Natalie stood and took Drysi’s bedroll from her hands before stuffing it into the top of the pack. “You picked me to rebel, then let me rebel. Forty days. What is even so special about forty anyway? It's just another number. Let's go, Drysi.”

Taking the girl’s hand, she pushed through the now ragged curtain without looking back. Ashallalah, now left standing in the desolate cave, looked around with grim acceptance. She was right, this was why she was chosen but… oh, why was it so hard to predict humans? They were the spawn of Ashallalah after all. Well, a mother can never truly tell their child what to do. They may poke and prod and speak of punishment but, in the end, it is their child that chooses their path.

She sighed and kicked at a clump of coal left behind in the fire pit. She cannot let her anger control her, it never benefitted anyone, least of all her children which, despite all of their flaws, she still loved as much as they day they were made. It was at this thought that she began to smile. They were entertaining, to say the least.

Trogon stooped and held a piece of coal he had seen against the wall. He examined it for a second and threw it over his shoulder. “They really saw us coming, huh?”

Coucal walked lazily around the cave, his arms and legs swinging about without care. “Well, naturally…”

Nearly stripping over his own feet, he slumped to the ground with his back against the stone. “They are a slippery sort and probably were terrified of us. After all, we are the superior beings.”

Siskin ran her fingers over the strange fabric over and over until a hole started to form. She couldn’t fathom how the witch knew they had been coming, something was not connecting. Take a short walk back towards the path, she looked outward, scanning the horizon for any answers. It was then that an unique aroma forced its way through that of magic. She muttered under her breath. “The wolf. She was here.” 

She looked around at the soldiers bumbling in and around the cave, checking if any of them could smell it too. When none of them made any move, she turned back to the path which unfurled before her nose. Unsheathing her dagger, she took a deep breath and began to run away from her soldiers. If anyone was going to handle this, it would be someone competent. That someone would be her. Kestrel will be beyond pleased when he hears that she killed both the witch and the little traitorous brat. 

Siskin smiled. Yes, he will be very pleased.