Venator

  "Don't look sad, I'm just after a drink and some food. I would like your company as well."

  "I would love to go!" Arthur almost hit the threshold of the door with his jump. "I'll even pay for it. Don't worry, I'll be quick with the weeding. We can head to town just before noon." At his last word, he ran out of the doorway. His steps began to fade, then stopped. They grew louder again until his whole body slid into the open doorway. Arthur was a little out of breath, but his words came clear enough. "You're not planning to kill yourself before I get back, are you?"

  Lorin smirked. "The thought crossed my mind. But, I… not yet. I didn't have a proper last meal, so we will see after I eat."

  "Good. I do have different plot in mind for a friend." Arthur's face contorted in thought. "I'll get that ready for you if you do decide later. Also, I have a really nice stone with sparkles in it. It's hard to carve, but I won't mind for you, Lorin Rhodes." Arthur smiled wide and cheerful, then ran out again.

  The sound of a door closing farther away in the building let Lorin relax, and he laid back down on the bed with his head spinning. For the first time in a while, his mind was kept from wandering. After some time passed, he fell asleep with a smile on his face.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Arthur, true to his word, didn't take long. The pair stepped out of the plain gray building an hour after their initial plans were made. The sun high in the sky with a few fluffy white clouds made for a beautiful day. Lorin took a deep breath. The air tasted sweet, and with the sun warming his face some of his tension lessened. He rubbed his neck, realizing for the first time since he had awoken that it was quite sore. It felt hot and stung where his fingers touched the raw skin. He was staring at the few drops of blood on his fingertips when Arthur stepped out of the door-way.

  "Oh, I almost forgot," Arthur said, spinning on his heel back into the building.

  Lorin wiped his hand on the grass, then leaned against the side of the building while enjoying the sun. He heard the rushed, chaotic steps of the grave tender long before the pale man walked out the door. He had a clean strip of linen in his hand.

  "Here, if you could turn around," Arthur said, gesturing with his free hand.

  Lorin obeyed, and the grave tender went to work. He wrapped the cloth around Lorin's neck with a gentle grace, almost delicately. Lorin could feel Arthur’s fingers tying a knot behind his neck.

  "You were bleeding pretty bad from the rope when I brought you in," Arthur said, still working. "I wiped all the blood from the cuts while you slept, but I don't keep many bandages here because, well, usually my guests don't need them. So I wanted to wait a bit for the bleeding to stop completely before I bandaged it up. I forgot about it when you woke." A light pat on Lorin's shoulder told him Arthur was done.

  "Thanks, Arthur. If you need to tend a wound again, it's best to bandage it right after you clean it. Then it stays clean and will help stop the bleeding."

  "Oh." Arthur's face dimmed.

  "You did well," Lorin said, putting an arm on his shoulder. "Now you know for next time."

  Arthur nodded. "You would know much more than I about that." He leaned in close. "I saw all the scars you have; did you stitch them all yourself?"

  Lorin paused. "No, I didn't stitch any of them. But I kept them clean until they were."

  "I thought so. The big ones on your back looked hard to reach. Who did?"

  "A very kind dwarf, but it's a long story that I don't want to-"

  "Tell it to me over lunch," Arthur cut in. Coins jingled as he lifted a pouch and weighed it in his hand. "It should be a nice long lunch."

  "Are you sure we need that much coin?"

  "I don't go to town often, and this is a special occasion, so I'm not sure even this will be enough." With that Arthur raised both hands to the sky, spun on his heel, and stepped toward town.

  Lorin, not planning on being left behind, followed in step along the winding trail.

  The town, which grew larger on the horizon as they walked, was much more active compared to the late-night glance Lorin had given it the day before. Today, horse-drawn carts and wagons entered the town from farms and homesteads of the surrounding area. Lorin was very familiar with whole system. In his youth, he would ride into town with his father every day after their chores were finished. This was a different town than he’d grown up in, but agricultural communities all had their similarities. He and his father would load up the cart with cream, milk, eggs, small game, furs, bread, and whatever else had been collected during their early-morning chores. They always sold what they brought, but if the price was in their favor, then his father would give him some spending money from the surplus. Farm kids would often get pastries from the bakery, or maybe a toy from the general store. When the children grew older and toys and treats lost their appeal, they would save for a few days and visit the young women, who were always happy to see coin purses. And so, small towns thrived and grew.

  Lorin had done his fair share of spending his profit for enjoyment, but he always kept more than he spent. He remembered a cart driven by a well-dressed older man. The individual was a merchant and would visit the hamlets and small villages to sell products that were available only in larger cities. Lorin had seen what he sold a few times. The old man always had something different and rarely the same thing twice. He created a spectacle whenever he showed up.

  During one of the old man's visits, Lorin had used his entire savings to buy a bow for himself. It didn't have unique carvings or flourishes, it was balanced well and, compared to the saplings he carved and strung himself, it was a master's work. The whole transaction of buying the bow was a blur. He had saved for so long, yet the trade lasted only a handful of seconds. Truth be told, by the time he outgrew it, that bow had made him back what it was worth and more. Certain types of game weren’t an option with his homemade bows—either he would miss out on being too far from his mark, or arrows would fly to places of their own choosing. Having used unrefined tools for so long, this new bow melded with him like a new limb. With a little practice he was bringing a lot more fresh meat and furs into town. The hides only had a single puncture—occasionally two if the arrow passed cleanly—and the meat wasn't bloody or stressed. His clean kills began to fill his savings pouch to the brim, allowing for more trips to visit the girls in town.

  Lorin was wondering if that trader was still peddling his wares as he and Arthur entered town. It had been dry for the past few days, so the roads outside town were hard-packed dirt, with hoof prints from muddier times dotting the area. The main roadway was a cobblestone path, and four masons were busy at work expanding it. Sweet air was behind them now, and in its stead horse manure mixed with the smell of fresh bread and tar filled the breeze. They passed a hand-carved sign at the start of the stone road. It was made from a dark, ebony wood, inlaid with cherry. The sign looked meticulously detailed and expensive. The words "Welcome to Blackpool" were shown prominently by the contrasting wood.

  "-smacked his face. Oh, watch your step, Lorin," Arthur said, pulling him by the shoulder. "That mare is watering the road."

  "Thanks, I'm a little out of it today."

  "Understandably so. Don't worry about anything, just enjoy the morning. I'm so glad to be able to treat my friend to a day on the town," Arthur said and skipped a couple steps in joy. "I haven't been in Blackpool for so long."

  "Never been here before, so I'll be glad for a tour."

  "You live around here, though, right?"

  "I own land at the edge of the Wilds."

  Arthur stopped walking and turned to Lorin. "How long have you lived that far out?"

  "Three years about." Lorin didn't stop.

  "This is the closest town, yet you’ve never been here?"

  "Never saw the need to."

  Arthur followed beside. "We have to go to Catherine's right away, then. I need to hear your story, and you'll have to try her special whiskey."

  "Lead the way."

  Arthur continued to talk, but Lorin
tuned his voice out, taking in more of the town around him. It felt like all small towns did. There was a palpable sense of community, and Lorin felt that anyone on the street would help him out if he needed. Quiet, beautiful and safe. Danger was nonexistent for a simple reason: the town was draped in a heavy blanket, nestled and cozy from the constant feeling of being watched and judged. Of course it wasn't just a feeling. There were judging eyes around every corner. Small towns were like that, and Lorin could feel the distrusting glances every step.

  In his time away from town he’d forgotten how suffocating it could feel. He felt as if he’d grown horns while his eyes flamed bright red. People didn't even attempt to hide their gawking stares. He turned to Arthur to ask if he, too, noticed the same treatment, but he got his answer without asking the question. Arthur was waving broadly to every person he saw, with a never fading grin. Lorin cracked a smile. Arthur only got a few waves back—children whose mothers shushed and hurried them away, grunts who waved back mockingly, and unstable elderly with wide, toothless grins. Lorin began to understand why Arthur didn't come to town often.

  They reached a two-story building with brown wooden siding, open square windows, and a wide veranda surrounding it. A few patrons watched the activity throughout the town at tables set up on the porch. The building sat at the corner of the main square, where the cardinal roads crossed. It looked to be one of the buildings built before a town had grown up around it. A large sign above the veranda was made of the same dark ebony and cherry wood inlay as the sign at the town's edge. This one, though, read, "Blackpool Inn". Lorin looked around at the other buildings in the square. Every other sign was hand painted on a cheap wooden face.

  Arthur stepped up to the door and held it open for Lorin, bowing his head and gesturing in a gracious arc. Lorin nodded and thanked him as he walked into the softly lit interior. His eyes took a moment to adjust as the room molded into shape. A staircase to his left led up to a balcony that bordered the main area with evenly spaced doors on the second floor. Across from him, the bar was carved from a single large tree and held the plates and drinks of a few customers busy enjoying their meals. Tables made from tree trunks cut into round slabs dotted the floor space, with four chairs to each. An older woman stood behind the bar talking with a man sitting across from her.

  A group of armored men and women had set up camp around two tables pushed together. Their armor, dark gray and jagged with spikes, marked them as the Thornguard. The air hung heavy with the smell of cooked meat and fresh bread, infusing the room with a warm homey feeling. Sizzling and popping sounds from the open kitchen door accompanied the burps and curses that echoed in the room.

  "Pick a spot. I'll be with you soon," said the woman behind the bar. Excusing herself from the conversation, she smiled, practiced and pleasant, which highlighted deep laugh lines and rough skin belying her age. Lorin nodded, then walked to a table in an empty corner opposite from the loud group and sat with his back to the wall. The woman disappeared into the kitchen as Arthur followed to sit across from Lorin. Arthur was barely in his chair when he began to count the rings of the table.

  "What do you usually get here?" Lorin said, shifting to get comfortable in his seat.

  "I don't usually come here, but Cathrine brings me the best she has. Dammit! One, two, three…"

  Lorin left Arthur to his counting and watched the room. The whole place was clean and well cared for. Now that his eyes had adjusted, Lorin could see animal heads mounted among the rafters above. The brown fur and bared teeth of a grizzly head were beside a large bird's head with golden feathers shimmering green and red. Its eyes captured Lorin’s attention and he had to force himself away from their pull. Across from those two was a trophy of a large snake with the webbing on the sides of its head splayed wide, and its mouth open showing fangs wet with venom.

  The most impressive of the displays sat at the peak of the roof. Gold trimming surrounded the wooden block where the head of a red dragon was mounted. Though the dragon seemed much smaller than the stories made them out to be, its scales glowed with the heat of a forge as bright whites mixed in a dance with deep reds and orange. Horns lined both sides of its jaw, getting shorter until the end of the chin, where one thick bone jutted down, making the lower maw look like the hilt of a horn dagger. In the stories, dragons were massive beasts able to bite through a castle's thick stone walls as if they were made of spider thread. This dragon was large enough to maybe kill a horse in one well-aimed bite, but it wasn't the mammoth he’d thought they all were.

  "Four-hundred-seventy-four," Arthur said, slapping his hand flat on the table.

  Lorin was still fascinated with the display hidden in the rafters.

  "So what can I help you two with?" said a woman's voice.

  "Cathrine, there are four-hundred-seventy-four rings on this one, so the tree was that old at least."

  "Well done, Arthur, first round’s on me, then," Catherine said, pinching his cheek. "What are you doing in town? I was going to bring you up some more food in a few days, but the Baron sent some men for a visit. I have been a little busy, so I haven't made your meals yet."

  "I have plenty left still. I wanted to buy my new friend Lorin a lunch. He also owes me a story, but he needs some courage to tell it."

  "That so? Well, Lorin, I'm glad to meet you."

  "Where did those come from?" Lorin asked, eyes still looking upward.

  "My husband, may he sleep well. He collected the things he killed and had them stuffed for display."

  "Your husband killed a naga? And a red dragon?"

  "Well, so the stories go, yes." Catherine pulled out a chair, spun it around, and sat with them. "I was with that idiot of a man and he wasn't the only one to get the killin' blow on any of those—he was just quick to claim the heads. He always skulked around and nipped when he could. I really miss that old bastard."

  "Tell me about the dragon fight," Lorin said, tearing his eyes from the ceiling.

  "What are you gettin' to eat? More importantly, what are you gettin' to drink?"

  "I don't care. What about the dragon?"

  "Well a story isn't given for free. I've owned this bar long enough to know that. What will you get?"

  Lorin was taken aback, impressed by the strength this woman imposed. She commanded attention, and Lorin was sure she would be the one to break up any fight in her bar. She probably could end one with just a word.

  "Arthur said you have a special whiskey."

  "I do. Make it myself. Only for special guests, though."

  "Please, Catherine, he is my friend, is that enough?" Arthur said, pulling on her arm gently.

  "Oh, sweetheart, I can't say no to you." She gave Arthur a one-armed hug and stood. "Be careful with this one. You're too good a boy to be around his type. No offense meant, Lorin. My whiskey is strong, so with your empty belly the shot will just spin your head till mornin’. I'll make two of what I make for Arthur, then after that you can try some Burnt Night. Fair?"

  "Gracious, even," Lorin said with a slight bow. It was really more of a nod, but it was enough to crack the skin below the bandage around his neck. He felt warmth seep and stick to the cloth.

  "I'll bring some ale for you both right away." With that, Cathrine made her way back to the bar.

  The two sat in silence until Arthur began talking about something that Lorin didn't hear. He was looking past his companion to the loud group now chanting and banging on the table. A dark-haired woman had emptied two tankards to much applause, while the large man beside her had only finished off one of his. He was the butt of the joke for the next few minutes until Lorin's attention was pulled away to the foaming mug placed in front of him.

  "Thank you," Lorin said, motioning to Catherine and Arthur with his mug before taking a sip. Like honey over warm bread, that sip was nothing short of magic. His body begged for more, and his arm came up almost involuntarily. He set the mug down with a satisfied sigh and licked the foam from his lip.

  "Maybe I wa
s wrong about him, Arthur," Catherine said, grabbing the empty mug. "I still don't like all the scars and bleeding, but the man can drink. I'll be back with another."

  She was back before Lorin could recline in his chair, and she set down two more mugs filled to the brim. Lorin nodded and quickly drained the first one. He set the empty one down and held the second, taking a sip with a sigh as he leaned back.

  "Ready?" Arthur asked. Lorin hadn't noticed until now, but Arthur was leaning over the table, with his attention fixed entirely on Lorin.

  Lorin wasn't looking forward to saying anything and, truthfully, he hadn't planned to tell Arthur anything. He wanted to avoid it, hide from it, bury it along with himself in his grave. Every time his mind drifted into the past, it was painful. Yet the warm buzz from his drink was beginning to melt the chains locking away his memories.

  "No," Lorin said.

  Arthur stayed cheery and leaned closer with excitement. Somehow, he knew Lorin was lying.

  Lorin sighed. "What do you want to know?" Then he took a long drink of his ale.

  "A lot. Where are you from? Why did you try to hang yourself? Why in my yard? You pick what you want, I promise to listen."

  "I don't really know where to start, everything is… unclear."

  "You mentioned a dwarf fixed up your cuts, what about him?"

  "That's closer to the end of it all."

  "Alright, I like knowing the ends of stories."

  "It's not a story." Lorin's voice let through a hint of anger. "Sorry I… I'm not making it up."

  "All right," Arthur didn't seem to notice the anger. "Tell me what happened the best way you can."

  "Well, before we met, I was with a dwarf and his wife for a while." Lorin took another sip.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Hunched and trembling, Lorin leaned on a shovel. He folded his hands over each other under his chin, and he strained to scan a small clearing in the forest. The clearing was home to a cabin, an old barn, and a tall shack covering a large circular saw. The rising sun was beginning to shine on piles of delimbed trees organized across the clearing. Lorin stood straight and looked up at the fading stars. His eyes darted to the points of light while his mouth moved in time with his eyes. The glow of dawn lit up his face, showing wet trails falling down his worn features. He was dressed in a cotton tunic that had earned its color over the years, with baggy pants hand-sewn with stiff leather inserts. They were ripped and cut all over. Bandages colored brown and reeking of rancid flesh showed through the tattered clothing. Lowering his head again, he placed one foot in front of the other and walked toward the small barn, hobbling with pain in every step. Drops of blood marked the packed earth behind him while his exhausted breath synced up with his thoughts. There was only the one word in his mind, and on his breath. Help.