6 – Stonereach County

When Chantico led him across the last world bridge and they stood on the spirit plane local to Dark Ember, Victor could feel the miasma of death in the air. Even there, though a veil separated the material and spirit planes, the thick, dark Energy bled through, tainting the twilight luster. Fog was ever-present, obscuring the firmament and reducing visibility. Shadowy spirits lurked in it, grumbling and growling their hunger and discontent.

Despite their number and possible strength, the spirits maintained their distance, and Victor was increasingly convinced it was Chantico’s presence that kept the peace. She guided him through dark forests, over steep rolling hills, and then into a great valley surrounded by stony, jagged peaks that stretched toward the heavens, much the way Iron Mountain had. On a steep slope that commanded a view for hundreds of miles across the valley, she stopped and nodded, satisfied.

“This will be a good place for you to cross over.”

“Why do you say so?” Victor wasn’t arguing; he just wanted to hear her reasoning.

“Treacherous mountains surround this valley. Travel in and out of it will be well-regulated at the pass we came through. So…”

“When I start killing the lords of this part of the world, word might not travel.”

“Yes. We’re at the edge of the livable world here; further north and temperatures become too frigid. The vampire lords can surely survive the deep cold, but not their food.”

“Will I be facing other types of undead—Death Casters who aren’t vampires?”

“Perhaps, though the great undead lords of Earth at the time of the great departure were vampires.” She squatted down, plucking a long strand of grass and sniffing the broken end. “There were other types, certainly, but when we elder races began to depart, they went to war with each other, fighting over the scraps of Energy left behind. The vampires, able to feast on the blood of common mortals, had an advantage of strength in an Energy-poor environment.”

She straightened, tossing the blade of grass at her feet. “Perhaps other brands of Death Caster have come to power in this world. All I know is that Xelhuan is still there, and he is most definitely a vampire.” She stepped close to Victor, grasping his shoulders in her warm hands. “Thank you, Victor. I am proud of you, and forever grateful that you’ve agreed to take on this burden of mine.”

Victor smiled and nodded, warm in his chest from the praise. He felt good about helping Chantico, regardless of the difficult task ahead of him. “Put Xelhuan out of your mind, big sister. He’s mine to worry about now.”

To his amazement, tears welled up in Chantico’s big, golden eyes, and she sniffed, reaching up to wipe them away. “Amazing, isn’t it? After all I’ve been through, all I’ve seen and done, I can still weep like any simple mortal. Remember that, little brother.” She moved her hand off his shoulder and pressed it against his chest.

“You still carry the man you were in here. You always will. When I’m with you or other people I care about, I don’t feel like a world-conquering titan. I feel like Chantico, named by my grandmother. I’m still the girl who feared the roars in the jungle at night and took refuge in her father’s arms. I’m still the young woman who loved her sister, Citlalli, fiercely, though we competed for Texopilli’s love. I’m still the woman who wept for her son and the horrible thing he became.”

Victor wasn’t sure how to respond to all that, so he just looked into her eyes and nodded. He wanted to convey confidence, but he didn’t want to say anything foolish, and Chantico seemed to recognize that. She squeezed his shoulder one last time, then stepped back. “I’ll leave you now, Victor. Thank you for relieving me of this weight on my spirit. I’m not sure we’ll meet again, but I’ll look forward to the possibility.”

Victor ducked his head. “Goodbye, Chantico. I hope we do meet again.” When he blinked and looked up, she was gone. Suddenly very alone in a dark, dismal corner of the spirit plane, he shifted, looking down the slope, over the miasmic fog. The valley stretched for as far as he could see—almost. Due to the peculiar nature of the spirit plane and closeness of the stars, he could see the distant peaks of the mountain ranges that surrounded the valley, stretching into the heavens.

He supposed Chantico was right. This would be a good place to start his conquest of Dark Ember. There were thick forests in the valley and a river that ran down the center. It seemed a good piece of land surrounded by all those rough mountains. Surely that meant it was settled. There had to be a city with a System stone somewhere down there.

As the spirits lurking in the fog began to creep closer, Victor decided it was time to end his Spirit Walk. He concentrated briefly, then cut the thread of Energy sustaining it. As he crossed over to the material plane, the world around him shifted, and Victor inhaled cold air that reeked of death. It wasn’t unlike the deathly fogs that Hector had tried to spread through the Free Marches, but it was subtler. He’d been able to shrug off Hector’s mists, and his body was significantly stronger now, so he put it out of his mind.

He breathed shallowly, and his mighty, titanic lungs filtered the dank, foul, death-attuned Energy from the air. Looking around, he realized he couldn’t see even one-tenth as far as he could on the spirit plane. Tall trees crowded close, fog hung thick in the frigid air, and dense, dark clouds obscured the sky. He could see the mountains behind him—tall, gray, and jagged—but the other ranges that surrounded the valley were too far and too obscured to glimpse.

The grass under his feet was coarse, more yellow than green, and brittle. Victor’s breath steamed out when he breathed, so he knew it was cold, but it would take far, far deeper cold to affect his body. Even so, he wasn’t ready to stand out so much, so he took a minute to retrieve a storage container from his spirit space and drew out some warm, leather-and-fur clothes.

Dressed for the weather, he concentrated his will and reduced his size to something much closer to what he’d have looked like if he’d remained human. Then, with a bit more concentration, he brought his aura in close, building an impenetrable shell around his Core and ensuring that none of it would leak out where another person might feel it. Thus disguised, Victor started down the slope, following his nose toward the distant smell of woodsmoke.

As he descended through the hills, the trees grew thinner, and more and more of the tough, coarse grass covered the meadows between gentle hills. Before long, he started seeing herds of anemic sheep, and more than once, he was approached by large, shaggy dogs, growling with hackles raised as he walked past. He wasn’t worried, of course; a flick of his aura and the animals would back down, tails between their legs, but it wasn’t necessary; they had a territory they guarded, and as long as Victor moved along, all he received were growls.

Eventually, he came to a dirt road that merged with a wider, gravel-covered one. The smell of fires and animals was thick in the air by then, and he passed pasture after pasture of fenced-in, grazing animals—mainly sheep and cows. The animals were numerous, but their pelts were patchy, and their ribs were visible. Whatever miasma hung in the air, it seemed to make life hard for even these herbivores with plenty of grass to eat. “I thought these cabróns were raising humans, not livestock,” he muttered, but then it dawned on him that the humans the vampires fed on would need to eat something, too.

When he came to the first field of planted crops—something with sickly-looking dark green leaves—he saw his first people. An older man, wearing a heavily patched woolen sweater, was leading a large ox around a field as it dragged some kind of farm implement. A woman, younger than he, similarly dressed but with a scarf tied over her head, was on her hands and knees, moving from plant to plant, plucking certain leaves while leaving most of the plant intact.

When they saw Victor striding down the center of the road, the man fell to his knees, ducking his head, but the girl looked up warily. She had dark hair and bright, blue eyes that glinted from the sunken hollows on her gaunt face. Victor approached her, or, rather, the fence between them, and she immediately put her head down, staring at the dirt by her knees.

Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

When Victor reached the fence and stood only a dozen feet from her, he said, “Hello there.”

“H-hello, milord.”

Victor chuckled. “I’m no lord of these lands.”

Those words got her to look up again with narrowed brows. “Are you not?”

“Not at all. Stand up, please. Come and speak with me.”

Despite his friendly tone and assurance that he was no lord, his words seemed to have the opposite effect as tears burst from her eyes and she lay down fully prostrate. “Please, milord. I’ve done nothing wrong, and we’ve paid our blood tithe this year!”

Victor frowned, looking left and right down the road. He was definitely alone, so the girl was clearly frightened of him. He checked his aura; it was entirely in check. He clicked his tongue, shaking his head as he leaned his elbow on the fence. “I’m not a lord of these lands. I’m not undead or a Death Caster, either. You can relax.” He raised his voice a little. “Both of you. Come on, get up and talk to me.”

The girl, tears still streaming down her cheeks, clambered slowly to her feet, and so did the older man, wincing and limping as his knees popped and cracked. Victor nodded encouragingly as the girl mustered the courage to look him in the eyes again. “I’m Victor. What’s your name?”

“Um, Bonnie, sir. Bonnie of Harrowbone. We”—she pointed to the older man as he hobbled nearer—“belong to Lord Fausto.”

Victor nodded, frowning. He didn’t like her use of the word “belong.” He pointed up the road. “Is Harrowbone that way? Is that a village?”

“Harrowbone is our lord, sir,” the older man said, finally breaking his silence. “Fausto Harrowbone. How have you come here if you don’t know that?”

Victor shrugged. He’d thought this through a little; how he wanted to get a feel for what things were like and get a lay of the land before starting any trouble, but he hadn’t precisely thought of a way to explain his presence. He didn’t love the idea of lying, but he also didn’t want to cause trouble by telling people with no means to protect themselves more than they should know. “Well, I’ve been wandering a while. I’m honestly not sure where I am, so it’d be hard to explain where I came from or why I don’t know who the lord of these lands is.”

“Have you lost your memory?” the girl asked, scrubbing the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand.

Victor decided he liked the simplicity of the story, so he ran with it. “Yeah. I think I have.”

She stepped closer, sniffling as she looked him up and down. “You’re dressed so finely. The Bloodcloaks won’t like that.”

“Bloodcloaks?”

The man nodded, now standing close to the girl. “Lord Fausto’s enforcers. They come round every few days and sometimes patrol the roads. They won’t like to see you all fancy-like. Lad, where could you be from to be dressed like this? Even since the System came here, we ain’t seen anyone like you, not ’less they serve Lord Fausto. Where’d you get them furs and leathers? Did you make a kill in them forests? The Pale Marshal would skin you for it, if so!”

“Doesn’t sound like a very nice guy.” Victor wanted to explore that tangent, but first, he wanted to ask about another thing the man had brought up. “So the lord lets you all use the System?”

“Well, he don’t like it, and his Bloodcloaks will take us if we gain too many levels, but aye.” The fellow nodded, glancing at the girl. “We have to be careful, sir.”

Victor nodded. “Of course. Well, I didn’t take these furs from any animals near here, but I don’t want to get in trouble. Do you have an old sweater or something I could purchase? I can trade food, alcohol, even gold or silver—” Victor stopped speaking as the girl made some sort of sign with her fingers and fell to her knees, wide-eyed. The man was right behind her, head down, muttering some kind of chant under his breath.

“What is it?” Victor asked, sighing as he looked up and down the road to ensure nobody was approaching. “What did I say?”

“Are you testing us, milord?” the girl muttered, her voice quavering.

“No, I’m not.” Victor reached over the fence, holding his hand out so she could see it, even with her head down. “Take my hand. You’ll see I’m not one of them.” He watched as, with trembling hesitation, she slowly lifted her hand and reached for his fingers. The man began to whimper, likely afraid his daughter, if that was who she was, was about to meet her maker. Victor quickly grasped her hand before she could think twice. Smiling, he pulled her to her feet—she was too light.

“You—” She shook her head, licking dry lips. “Your hand is warm.”

“Is it?” the man asked, using the fence to pull himself shakily to his feet. “The Pale Marshal grabbed my neck when I was a lad; his hand was cold as ice!”

“Aye!” The girl nodded emphatically. “Everyone knows the Bloodcloaks have no warmth in their blood!”

Victor let go of her hand and extended it toward the man. “As I said, I’m Victor.”

The man shook his hand, slowly nodding. “Howe, sir. I’m pleased to meet you.”

“Sir, we aren’t allowed to own things like gold, but we’d be happy to trade you a sweater and some rough-spun pants for a bit of food. The clothes would do much to help you escape the Bloodcloaks’ notice.”

Victor nodded, looking down the road. “Is your home nearby?”

“Yessir,” Howe said, pointing. “Just past that copse of trees, you’ll see it—a stone cottage with a hay roof. My wife, Gemma, will be there tending to the chickens.” He gave Bonnie’s shoulder a jostle. “Go on, show him the way. I’ll finish up in the field. Best hurry lest a Bloodcloak come ’round and see his finery.”

Bonnie nodded, slipping through the gap in the fence rails. “Come with me, sir.”

“You can call me Victor, folks. I’m no one special around here.”

Neither answered him, but Bonnie smiled a little as she beckoned him to follow her. “We’ve plenty of clothes, sir. The lord is far more generous with the wool than the meat we harvest.”

“Are all the animals I passed yours?”

“Oh, no! They belong to Lord Fausto. We tend to them. It’s a great honor. Our lives are far better than those thralls who live in Riverbend—Lord Fausto’s seat of power.”

“Ah. Is that a city?”

“Well, aye, I’d say so. Lord Fausto’s noble kin all live there with an army and thousands of thralls. Miserable lives, I’ve heard—stacked up like chickens in a coop. No, we’ve much better lives out here in the country, so we’re quite grateful for the opportunity to raise the lord’s livestock, even if we have to pay the blood tithe.”

They were fast approaching a sparse copse of tall trees, and Victor could see a structure on the other side. It looked exactly as Howe had described: a squat stone building with a straw roof. Smoke curled from the chimney. It didn’t look so awful, at least from a distance. “What’s the blood tithe?”

Bonnie looked down, shaking her head as she muttered, “Our farm is part of Stonereach county, and each year, as a county, we have to send five people to Riverbend. We have a lottery at the spring solstice down in Elmwood.”

“Elmwood’s another city?”

“No, sir. It’s just a village about a day’s walk from here.”

“Five people, huh? How many live in the county?”

“This spring there were two hundred and eighty-three.”

“So they go to serve Lord Fausto?”

She nodded, but didn’t elaborate, and, if the name “blood tithe” wasn’t enough of a clue, Victor could see from the haunted look in her eyes that it wasn’t the kind of service anyone would be eager to fulfill.

As they approached the low stone wall that surrounded the cottage, Victor noted the many dried, empty garden beds and a large coop surrounded by a rickety wooden fence where more than a dozen chickens meandered, digging at the hard soil. He pointed to the gardens. “Hard to grow things here?”

“Well, it’s not the season. Our last few crops are hardier, thanks to our allotment of fertilizer for the lord’s fields, but we’ll be done growing for the winter soon.”

“You can’t use some of the fertilizer for your gardens?”

She looked at him with wide, horrified eyes. “We wouldn’t, sir!”

“Right. Of course not.” Changing the subject, he asked, “When the Bloodcloaks come around, how many are they?”

“They always travel in threes, sir.”

“Any idea what level they are?”

“Pray you never find out—very high level. No, sir, if you truly are lost and aimless, you should get some proper clothes from us, then go down to Elmwood and seek work as a logger. You can say your family raises sheep in the hills to the north and that you’ve been lucky in the tithe and have too many mouths to feed.”

Victor arched an eyebrow. “They’d believe that?”

“They’d be suspicious, but none in Elmwood would know the names of all the families up in the north hills. If you avoid the Pale Marshal and the Bloodcloaks for a while, you’ll find a place for yourself and, so long as you go to the blood tithe in the spring, none would begrudge you moving in. There’s always more logging that needs to be done.” As she spoke, they approached the front door of the cottage, and a big, shaggy, gray-haired dog padded over, uttering a low “woof.”

“Hush, Squash,” Bonnie said, scratching the dog’s enormous head. He sniffed Victor, pressing his nose into his crotch, and Victor chuckled, patting his head as he shoved him off.

“Friendly.”

“Aye. We named him Squash because he has a head shaped like one.”

Victor laughed as the dog’s wagging tail thumped against his thigh. Then, the door opened, and another woman, an older version of Bonnie, stood staring, her mouth agape. After a moment, she stammered, “I-I heard you carrying on and I thought maybe Marl had come over from down the way. I’m sorry to intrude, milord.” She ducked her head and started to kneel, but Bonnie rushed forward and caught her arm.

“Hush, mother. This is Victor, and he’s a wayward traveler. He looks fancy like a lord, but his flesh is warm and he says he has food to trade, though where he’s got it stashed, I couldn’t guess.”

Bonnie’s words didn’t seem to have any sort of soothing effect on her mother. The older woman took a step back, wringing her hands, shaking her head. “He can’t come in here, Bonnie. Lissa was just here from Dasher’s farm. There are Bloodcloaks in the vale, and they’re looking for a thief.”