Rogues Gallery #21

Dearest Sylvia,
I know how my current employment causes you much unease, and I’ve resolved to write you as often as possible, if only to help calm your fears about my safety.

Although it’s understandable, seeing as how I’m a simple chaplain among a group of savage mercenaries. I can assure you that my presence here is much more telling of the mindset of these men than I believe they’d like to reveal.

For instance, before we set off on our journey, their leader asked me to ask The Lord’s blessing for safe passage across the treacherous seas. The power of the Almighty works in mysterious ways, as it was not long ago that his people were ransacking and pillaging the countryside in the name of their pagan gods of bloodshed and strife. I found myself becoming closer and closer to them in the passing days before our journey, and I have the utmost confidence in our ability to complete the task that was laid out before us.

Oh Heavens, I know you’ll be asking me about just what our work is in detail, but I fear that the details are not fit for the ears of such a gentle woman as yourself. All I wish to say on the matter is that we’re on the hunt of a murderer and a kidnapper, a despicable man who seeks refuge in the savage lands of the west.

He shall not escape his crimes. Arnfinn, the leader, and his crew are a capable bunch, and they’ve been charged to bring justice to the foul sinner we seek.

Wishing you well,
Your brother,
Joshua

“Whatcha scribblin’?”

Startled, Joshua Hale looked up from his journal to see the worn, jagged face of Arnfinn Faller staring down at him. He was a large man, weathered by harsh climate and even harsher living, with muscle rippling from beneath his simple clothing.

“It helps me ignore the ship’s movements. I don’t quite have my sea legs yet, Mr. Faller,” Joshua replied, smiling weakly. Throughout the voyage he had found himself wishing for a simpler way to travel across the sea, but the only way to traverse the open ocean was by vessel. Besides, if man had been meant to fly, God would have given him wings, a fact that he had to keep reminding himself of as the sickness rose in his belly. The year was 1614 after all, things were as comfortable as they were going to be.

“The Englishman is weak, like his God,” came a voice from Joshua’s left. It belonged to Grendil, Arnfinn’s brother. They could very nearly be twins, save for Grendil’s perpetually wet-looking dark hair and his discolored left eye.

Joshua shook his head; Grendil was not nearly as open-minded as his brother. When Joshua had recited the blessing of Saint Christopher, Grendil had sat in annoyed silence, mocking the chaplain with childish faces.

“My God moved mountains and parted seas,” Joshua answered, folding his journal away in his tunic. “He is anything but weak.”

Grendil laughed sharply, and replied, “We shall see whose God is strongest come Ragnarok.”

The ill-tempered mercenary snorted and spit up something unhealthy colored over the side of the ship. He leered over at the third member of their crew and scoffed.

“See, Mahler agrees with me!” he cackled in a sickly fashion. Mahler, who was (if such a phrase could be believed) even larger than the brothers Faller, carried a nasty scar across his neck and could not speak.

“The lands to the west are dangerous, Englishman,” Grendil continued, “we’ll see how long your God protects you once we make port.”



Dearest Sylvia,
Today we begin sailing north, towards the closest thing to a town in this part of the world. It’s a small fur-trapping outpost, barely large enough for thirty men to occupy. According to Arnfinn, our quarry more than likely passed through, and he knows the outpost’s founder. Arnfinn speaks kindly of him and assures me that Johann Uviestant is to be trusted, despite his allegiance to the trading companies. The western continent has a still sort of beauty to it, Sylvia, it’s unspoilt and lovely here. I wonder if maybe, once I find the resources, I could retire here. Can you imagine, your brother, a colonial? With thoughts like that, our days playing in front of father’s fireplace seem all so far off now.

It’s hard to admit that as enchanted by the new world as I am, I still miss home.

But I’ll remain in high spirits, as I hope you are.

Love,
Joshua

“What do you call this?” Joshua asked, looking over the side of the ship. “The river, does it have a name?”

They had been traveling up river for close to two days now, and Joshua was beginning to grow anxious. The mercenary crews had packed up their gear already and were simply waiting for the ship to reach port. Grendil was sharpening a wicked-looking ax on a bit of stone, while Mahler was busying himself with arranging their supplies.

“Iss Ríkir,” Grendil answered dryly. “Here, Ice Reigns”

Joshua tilted his head and raised his eyebrows quizzically. The weather hadn’t exactly turned yet; the sun was still warm enough, and the plants along the riverbank were still green and full of life.

“Why?” he asked.

“Worry not about savage men in savage lands, ” Grendil snorted. “I doubt your stomach could handle it.”

The ship was approaching a rather simple-looking wooden dock, where a stoic-faced man grimly watched their approach. Frustrated by Grendil, Joshua stood and walked to Arnfinn, who had settled down on the opposite end of the ship. He took note of Joshua’s approach, nodding to him as he lit his rather ornate pipe.

“Nearly to port,” Arnfinn said between puffs of his pipe. “How are your nerves, Mr. Hale?”

Joshua sighed. “I’ll be much more comfortable when my feet are on solid ground again,” he answered. Arnfinn laughed his big broad laugh and clapped Joshua heartily on the shoulder.

“We’ll reach Uviestant’s outpost soon, from there it’s simply a matter of hunting,” the Norseman said. “I doubt our quarry will evade us long.”

Joshua nodded. “Arnfinn, why do they call this river, Iss Rikir?” he asked, taking a seat next to the mercenary leader.

Arnfinn laughed, and exhaled, sending sweet tobacco smoke into the air. “The first trappers that came up this river made the journey in winter,” Arnfinn replied. “They got their ship lodged into the ice… ended up killing each other for food.”

Joshua gulped. He thanked God that they had made the trip out near summer’s end.

As the port drew ever nearer, an unexpected cold wind brushed over the ship, giving Joshua a foreboding chill. The sooner they made it to port, the better.

The outpost was modest, if nothing else. Joshua had spent most of his youth in cities, but Uviestant’s place of business had all the simple necessities that a man could desire. There was a trading post, and to the delight of Mahler and Grendil, a tavern. As the party approached the gateway, they found themselves being welcomed by a shrewd, sinewy man, dressed in deerskin. He greeted Arnfinn like an old friend, smiling broadly as he approached.

“Faller! I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me when I got your letter!” the man crowed, slapping Arnfinn hard on the back. “What are you doing all the way out here?”

“Hunting, Johann,” Arnfinn answered simply. “A man and a woman…”

For a moment Uviestant’s expression fell, a look of dread passing over his face. Joshua noted the change, however slight it was.

“Please, before business, let us have a drink!” Uviestant interrupted. “We have catching up to do!”

“I like his way of doing things, brother,” Grendil interjected. “Perhaps he should lead us into the wilderness…”

“Ah, Grendil, I’m too old to be running through the woods,” Uviestant replied. “But enough of that! Let us drink!”

With that, their host wrapped his arms around The Brothers Faller’s shoulders, leading them into town.

Joshua wasn’t a drinking man, and as his cohorts lost themselves in beer and boasting, he found himself going over the mission once more. Isabelle Hertan, the daughter of an incredibly wealthy nobleman was engaged to marry, when she vanished on her wedding night, with her fiancé found murdered in her room.

She had been spotted boarding a ship headed for the Americas with Malik Shazad, an arab trader who had worked closely with her father in his business dealings. Lord Hertan had hired out Arnfinn and his men as soon as he had heard, and Joshua had been placed among them to keep the whole affair ‘righteous’, though Joshua assumed that his involvement had more to do with his father’s relationship to Lord Hertan more than his religious leanings.

Uviestant was in the middle of a rousing story about Arnfiin and himself fighting off a bear when Joshua found himself speaking up.

“So what of our quarry then, Mr. Uviestant?”

Uviestant shot him a look of annoyance, glaring at the young Londoner with a furrowed brow. Arnfinn caught the exchange and stepped in, wrapping a burly arm around Joshua.

“Forgive my friend. He’s a bit spoiled and misses his ‘civilized’ lifestyle,” he joked, winking at Joshua.

“No, no he’s right,” Uviestant said. “You men didn’t come all this way to drink my beer and tell stories…”

He glanced around the bar cautiously, trying to discern if their conversation was truly private. Satisfied with his observations, he continued.

“A man fitting the description you sent me came into town about a month ago. He picked up supplies and he... uh… he headed out east…”

He threw another quick look around the bar.

“There isn’t much out east. Just some real dense forest, then the coast, I’m not sure where you’d head from there,” he added, taking a hasty sip of his drink. “Sorry, Arnfinn.”

“If they went east, they went looking to die.” A voice from the back of the bar spoke. The party craned their necks, setting their eyes on a man drunkenly slouched in his seat.

“Don’t listen to that drunk,” Uviestant sneered. “Some people are too busy drinking my beer and telling ghost stories to do honest work around here.”

The drunk rose from his seat and stumbled towards the party, and although his breath was rank with the stench of booze, Joshua saw the glimmer of truth reflected in his eyes. Truth that could only be affirmed through fear.

“I took six men with me, went east to hunt. We passed through those damn woods, eyes on us the whole time…” the drunk slurred. “We were about to break the tree line when one of my men just up and disappeared… didn’t even scream or anything.”

He took a swig from his glass before clumsily setting it down on the bar. Joshua was fully invested in the man’s story, drawn in by the sobering effect the memory had on the drunk, who seemed to be falling deeper and deeper into his own recollection.

“Then, we stepped out of the woods, and there were the caves,” he said. “Across the flatlands, nearly to the coast… there were the caves…”

The drunk’s eyes widened, as if he could see the very monsters he was describing right in front of him. He couldn’t speak, his very voice shaking with terror at the thought of his tormentors. He suddenly grabbed Joshua by the lapels and locked eyes with him. He brought his wretched face to Joshua’s ear and whispered:

“Miagani. All dead in the shadows now. Miagani.”

Uviestant scoffed. “These trappers, they get a few drinks in ‘em…”

“What’s a Miagani?” Joshua asked, looking up at Uviestant in concern. Uviestant sighed in frustration, and Joshua had the feeling that he had perhaps struck a nerve. The bar went silent at the mention of the name.

“Miagani… they’re supposedly a tribe of ghost Indians. Or Demons. Or whatever the hell else a storyteller wants to make ‘em,” he explained, reaching over the bar to pour himself a drink. “Every now and then some trapper rolls in with stories about them killing his men or anything else they’d rather not take the blame for.”

“The Bat People!” the drunk shouted from the floor. “Miagani in the trees. In the caves.” The other patrons of the bar were growing anxious, with each mention of ‘Miagani’ they seemed to grow more and more on edge.

“These Miagani… they’re due east?” Arnfinn asked, nodded to his men. Uviestant grumbled to himself, but nodded in agreement.

“They would be, if they were real.”

“We’re leaving,” Arnfinn said, heading towards the exit.

“Wait… where are we going?” Joshua asked, unable to take his eyes off the drunk.

“East. We go east.”

There had been no exaggeration on Uviestant’s part, as the forest was incredibly dense. Joshua knew very little about trees, but for a forest to grow in such a manner, it would have to be ancient, and long undisturbed. They had been on the move for hours, stalking through the brush, attempting to find some sign of Malik or Isabelle. Night was beginning to approach now, and the sounds of the animals and insects had begun to grow louder, making an already wild place seem even more primeval and dangerous.

“Why do we head this way?” Joshua asked, clumsily removing his foot from the inside of a rotted tree stump. “Uviestant wasn’t even sure about them going this way.”

“Are you uncomfortable walking through the forest?” Grendil chuckled. “Afraid of monsters?”

“I’m just wondering if we’re wasting our time, that’s all,” Joshua replied, finally finding his footing.

“The men are afraid of the east,” Arnfinn said, then he stopped and peered upwards, towards the treetops before adding, “If I had to deal with superstitious, cowardly men, I would do so in a way that made them afraid.”

His eyes darted upwards again, “And the men fear the Miagani.”

Arnfinn kept moving forward, every so often looking to the treetops and off into the distance, as if he felt eyes on him.

After some time, Joshua began to experience the same sensation.

They had stopped and made camp for the night, but sleep had not come to Joshua. He felt the eyes of the Miagani on him at all times, and there were a few moments were he swore that he saw something man-shaped watching him from the fringes of their fire’s light. After many hours of fruitless attempts, Joshua fell asleep. A few times in the night he found himself awake, and in those fleeting moments he thought he heard the sound of drumming echoing through the forest.

The next morning was prefaced by an ominous message. Joshua had felt the sun’s rays on his face and turned over onto his side. As he groggily opened his eyes, he found himself looking at a wicked-looking stone knife stuck into the ground, just inches from his face.

He rose with a start, letting out a frightened yelp. Arnfinn ran over to him to find the man holding the knife in his hands.

“What devilry is this?” Arnfinn growled. “Grendil! Weren’t you on watch?”

“I was brother!” Grendil answered. “But I saw nothing!”

From then on, the woods seemed to take on a life of their own; every tree had eyes, and every sound held menace.

The party had been walking for most of the day when they reached a clearing in the woods. From between the once-thick growth of trees they could make out the line of the coast, they could smell the salt air and the sound of the rolling tide faintly crashed off in the distance. The whistle of the wind suggested the mouths of caves.

Caves. That cold shiver that Joshua had felt on their arrival suddenly returned with a vengeance.

This was the place the drunkard had warned them of. This was where the Miagani killed his men. Joshua couldn’t help but notice the signs of a scuffle still relatively fresh in the dirt.

“Some curse,” Arnfinn scoffed. “The words of a drunk are just that!”

While his companions made about setting up camp, Joshua wandered deeper into the woods. He let his hands run over the bark of the ancient trees, distracted by the sheer height and majesty of them. Joshua, despite being an educated man, was always awed by the power of nature.

That was until his hand found itself upon a blade embedded into the bark of a tree. He allowed his hand to track up, finding his fingers tracing across a crude message in the bark.

“IN THE TREES. IN THE CAVES. NO SAFE HAVEN.”

Suddenly, the already-forbidding woods became far more frightening, and in the distance, Joshua heard the sound of low drumming coming from the coast. He fled, reaching the safety of his friends in what he felt was the nick of time.

“W-we should leave,” Joshua said, trying to catch his breath.

He wouldn’t get the chance to explain himself, because from the trees themselves, the party found themselves under attack. Joshua found himself thrown to the ground as his companions drew their weapons, and it was at that moment he saw the ‘Bat People’. They were wild-looking, smeared with grey soot and black dirt, wielding stone knives and spears.

He didn’t get to look long, as the savages launched their attack on the party. Moving with animal quickness, the Miagani threw themselves at the mercenaries. Mahler, being the largest, became their primary target, but he was more than capable of using the metal-topped club he wore at his waist to fend off his attackers.

Grendil was almost as feral as the Miagani, using his own knife as an extension of his body; Joshua blinked in the time it took him to take out two of the ‘Demon’ warriors.

Arnfinn stayed close to Joshua throughout, defending him from harm, his weapon of choice a shortened lance he referred to as a ‘spontoon’. Using the blunt end of the weapon, he knocked two Miagani unconscious and pointed the sharp end at a third.

Joshua looked into the eyes of the third Miagani and recoiled. Despite the layers of soot and warpaint, he could recognize the face underneath.

It was Malik. Their quarry. Joshua whooped and pointed at the fugitive. Arnfinn narrowed his eyes, and all at once he knew.

Malik knew too. He took off running for the tree line, leaping over his fallen comrades, and breezing right past Mahler and Grendil. When the remaining Miagani saw Malik flee, they too joined him.

“After them!” Arnfinn roared. “They are harboring our quarry!”

The band gave chase, but soon they lost the Miagani in the trees. Angry and winded, they moved back towards camp.

“So what now?” Grendil asked. “The Indians have Malik, and we’ve lost their trail.”

“Perhaps we attend to these fellows first?” Joshua suggested, looking over to the two unconscious Miagani braves. “Tend their wounds and see what we can work out?”

Grendil spat. “I say we burn the woods down, no place for them to hide makes easy hunting.”

“We can’t just do that!” Joshua said. “Please, Arnfinn, let me try and reason with them first.”

“I doubt they speak English, Hale,” Arnfinn replied, frustrated from how close they were to success. “I doubt we have the time for you to teach them either.”

“Give me a few days. The rest of their tribe will need to regroup and plan. Let me try and talk to them, and you boys work out our next move. All I need are a few days.”

Arnfinn furrowed his brow and looked to the Englishman.

“A few days,” Arnfinn replied, “but at the first sign of trouble, I hope you know what side of the battleground you stand on.”


Dearest Sylvia,
Several days have passed since the skirmish, and my time in the company of the two Miagani has been informative, as they pick up more and more English and I pick up more and more of their language. Arnfinn remains in control, although my insistance that the two braves are allowed to heal and recuperate from the bloody struggle that transpired just a few days prior, seems to be a most unpopular opinion. I am convinced, however, through that kindness they should be motivated to show us to the hiding place of the Miagani.

The two surviving Miagani call themselves ‘GreyWing’ and ‘SharpTooth’ (to the best of my translation); of the two of them I find myself favoring GreyWing. He’s much more intelligent than he’d let you believe, and his grasp of the King’s is growing exponentially faster than his counterpart. He often surprises me with his insight. Perhaps I’ll have gained his trust soon.

Hoping that you are well,
Your brother, Joshua

Joshua looked up from his latest journal entry to see GreyWing, one of the Miagani ‘captives’, staring at his writing. GreyWing was much more curious, more eager to learn, than his cohort. Joshua immediately felt much more at ease with him than the other as well, a fact that he attributed to GreyWing’s softer features and his general lack of aggression. GreyWing had seen how the men had tended to his wounds, and because of that was more willing to accept his new situation. Joshua knew that, at least in him, his kindness was not wasted.

“Why?” GreyWing said, eyeing Joshua’s book. “Why seek sacred place?”

This was the first time he had addressed their issue up front, which had surprised Joshua, for he had purposely skirted the issue in an effort to put GreyWing at ease.

“The man that was with you…was from my home,” Joshua said, being mindful of his phrasing. “Killed a man and stole his woman… We’re here to bring them back.”

GreyWing narrowed his eyes in thought; the white man’s tongue was new to him, and it often took him time to find the right words to respond to Joshua.

“Hard for man to think when woman involved,” GreyWing said plainly. “Woman makes man…” He stumbled on the word for a moment before trying, “Makes a man like beehive.”

Joshua laughed a little, letting out an amused snort. “How is a man like a beehive?”

GreyWing flashed a smile of his own and replied, “Full. She makes her man full. Sometimes full of honey. But often full of stings.”

Joshua found himself nodding in agreement. The native man had surprising depth, for a savage at least. He’d have to remember that particular allusion for a later date. GreyWing then motioned for Joshua’s journal with a pointed finger, which Joshua had come to identify as his way of saying that he wanted to learn more English. And as Joshua began to go over the alphabet once again, he thought that maybe there was hope for the primitive people of this western continent.

SharpTooth, as he was want to do, simply sat in silent protest, quietly sharpening the edge of a stone against another. He thought about how the edge had to break skin, how the edge had to cut.

He slept easier knowing that the edge would soon cut.

That night, as the rest of the camp slept, Grendil crept over to the sleeping Miagani and removed his knife from his belt. His brother and his weak English ‘pet’ had wasted enough of their time on civility and kindness. The savages could have killed Malik by now, or he could have fled to another part of the country, and it was all going to be for naught. They were not worthy of such a luxury; Grendil had seen the coldness in their eyes when they had attacked them in the forest, the same coldness that lingered in his eyes. They were nothing but savages, and Grendil had heard them howl like wounded dogs for their dead kin. He would act.

Somebody had to act.

He nodded to Mahler, who followed him out to where the braves were sleeping. Grendil practically slithered over their sleeping bodies, his had ready on the handle of his knife. The blade had spilled Miagani blood before, and it would again.

He slapped GreyWing awake. Then he pressed the knife to the groggy Miagani’s throat.

“I’m weary of all this,” he snarled. “Where are you hiding the fugitive?”

GreyWing struggled against Grendil’s grip but could not shake himself loose. Grendil’s Norse dialect made it hard for him to understand, and Joshua had not used the word ‘fugitive’ before. His fear caused him to thrash more, trying desperately to break Grendil’s grip.

“Where are you hiding them?” Grendil hissed.

Now SharpTooth was awake. He rose to his feet, only to be clocked by Mahler, sending him staggering to the floor. GreyWing pursed his lips and said nothing.

“I will count to three,” Grendil replied. “One…two…”

GreyWing did nothing. His eyes darted in the direction of Joshua’s sleeping body, and again to his fellow brave. SharpTooth cried out in their native tongue as he tried to get to Greywing, but Mahler’s strong arms grabbed him.

“Three.”

There was a wet slicing sound. Then blood. SharpTooth let out a mournful howl, loud enough that Joshua and Arnfinn sprung awake. The two men ran for Grendil, who turned to look at his companions.

“They’re escaping!” Grendil screeched, but whatever else he was going to say was silenced by a sickening gurgle nearby.

Mahler sputtered, the only sound that Joshua had ever heard him make, and a trickle of blood came running down from his mouth. SharpTooth practically snarled in savage glee as he pulled the sharpened stone from the giant’s neck. Taking one last look at his fallen friend, SharpTooth ran for the tree line.

Grendil gave out an angry cry and gave chase, brandishing his still-bloodied knife. Joshua and Arnfinn followed close behind, pursuing the crazed Grendil as he pursued SharpTooth.

“You coward!” Grendil raged, trying to catch the fleet SharpTooth on foot. “I’ll kill you! I’ll kill all of you! I will hunt you down! Your friend was the first!”

In the end, SharpTooth broke the tree line first, and Grendil emerged from the woods to see the dust-caked form of SharpTooth making a break for a stony ridge. The native then vanished into the mouth of a giant cave. Grendil howled again and tossed his knife at the cave; landing short of his target, embedding itself point first into the earth.

The battle lines had been drawn.


Dearest Sylvia,
Despite my attempts to quell their bloodlust, my companions’ desire for vengeance has overwhelmed them. Even the noble Arnfinn has sided with his grieving brother. I found them later that night, cutting their palms in a blood oath. It is strange to see how a warrior mourns. There are no tears, in their place there is the sharpening of blades, and instead of prayer there are whispered vows of revenge.

Arnfinn and Grendil have left me to tend to Mahler and GreyWing’s corpses while they head into town to round up enough men to challenge the Miagani.

I fear the worst.

Blood will be spilled this day, and despite my efforts, there seems to be nothing I can say to sway them otherwise. I will be joining them on the battlefield, if only to attempt to salvage what little peace I can between the warring parties.

I pray that I am able to see your face again, that I can once again walk the streets with you and see mother again.

All my best,
Your brother, Joshua


Arnfinn and Grendil had returned from Uveistant’s, bringing with them some forty men they had recruited from the outpost, all ready to make war on the natives. Joshua knew that they would not be swayed by his words, and with a heavy heart he led the makeshift army into the woods, towards the sounds of the sea.

There were no drums this time. The forest was still and quiet, which in many ways was much worse, and their trip through the woods was uneventful at best. It would be the calm before the storm.

They left the tree line behind them, Joshua got his first look at the coast. Jagged cliffs surrounded the impeding ocean, and within those cliffs were a staggering amount of caves. There were many caves, but the most notable of these stood at the top of a steep hill, its mouth broken up with fang-like outcroppings. It was from within that cave, that the Miagani appeared. At least thirty of them, all painted with soot and dirt, all brandishing stone weapons, and all looking right at the approaching army. Arnfinn called his men to stop at the bottom of the hill. He hadn’t spoken much to Joshua since Mahler’s death, and gave him a curt nod as a signal to begin.

“We only seek the one called Malik, and his captive,” Joshua called out. “I promise that these men shall not harm you if you bring him forward.”

The Miagani did nothing, merely standing at the mouth of their caves, grimacing at the crowd of angry trappers before them.

“Enough of this!” Grendil screeched. “For all the lives they’ve taken!” The rest of the group seemed in agreement, as they all took their first steps towards the caves.

“NO!”

A voice rose up from the Miagani, and someone came forward. He was painted in soot and dirt, but Joshua knew him, just as he’d known him from the days before when they were first attacked. It was Malik. Just behind him he could make out a lone blonde woman amongst the Miagani women, a woman who must have been Isabelle Hertan.

“These are not demons. Not ghosts or evil creatures… these are men These are their sacred lands, home of their spirits, and they took me in,” Malik said, stepping forward from the group. “They do not wish for there to be bloodshed, such violence would awaken the darkness they fear this cave holds…They protected the cave from the likes of you, men they’ve seen murder and pillage in the forest, men who would awaken the dark spirit from its sleep.”

There was a murmur amongst the gathering. The Miagani bowed their heads in respect of the creature they feared so much, and Arnfinn’s army of volunteers seemed to laugh at the very thought of it.

“I came here to love without persecution. Isabelle and I ran away together, there was no foul play in our leaving Europe… the death of her fiancé the result of a duel. I promise you that I had not intended for such events to transpire… But I loved her, and she loved me… and the only place we’ve found safe haven is here, amongst these native people… Please, leave us all in peace, and peace shall be the new-”

Suddenly, Malik was silent. Grendil’s knife was now embedded in his forehead.

For a time there was just silence. Both sides simply watched the man fall to the ground, their eyes tracking the blood as it flowed from his head into the earth. Then, there were those drums, the same drums that Joshua had heard in the clearing, those same drums that Joshua had heard the night before as he attempted to find sleep.

The war drums were sounding. From within the cave the sound of chanting grew and grew and grew, until the small band of Miagani that had been standing around Malik had almost quadrupled in size.

Blood had touched the sacred earth, darkness would be awakened. The land would be cursed.

All at once, the great swarm of Miagani came down the hill at the men, brandishing their weapons and chanting the name of their dark spirit.

Joshua saw many of them fall to the rifles and guns of the wealthier trappers, only for the remainder of the Miagani to engulf the frontiersmen in a swarm of knives and blades. He saw SharpTooth make a bee line for Grendil, his sharpened stone now affixed to the end of a wooden rod, raging at his friend’s killer. He looked for Arnfinn, but the giant of a man was lost amidst the battle.

Then Joshua felt a searing pain in his middle, the result of a barbed-tipped arrow finding his stomach, with a cocksure-looking brave nocking another arrow looking at him from across the battlefield. The other arrow found its mark in Joshua’s chest.

His fingers and toes felt very cold. The world was very cold.

So very, very cold.

Epilogue

When the blood began to pool around her lover’s head, Isabelle had fled. She ran deeper and deeper into the Miagani’s caves, caring little for her own wellbeing as she descended down and down and down into the depths of the Earth.

She ran for what felt like ages, until she saw a thin beam of blue light. Isabelle headed for it, finding herself in a large circular cavern. The light was coming from the ceiling; a small crevice in the rock must have opened up over the years, allowing a sliver of sunshine to filter down into the dark cavern.

The beam illuminated the center of the room, where Isabelle found herself staring at a large stone sculpture. She reached out with her gloved hand and touched the piece, marveling at its craftsmanship. The edges were smooth, almost too smooth to have been carved by human hands, and the stone was old and strong, too strong for any tools of the time to cut.

But there was a shape in the stone. Wide eyes, flared nostrils, pointed ears. There was a beast in the stone.

And there, in the dark, the beast spoke to her, and there in the dark she listened.



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