It was early evening by the time they arrived back in Morgan’s Creek. The whole village was still on alert, so despite the hour they had been spotted coming down through the hills. Half a dozen armed men and women were waiting for them at the edge of the village. Vargus knew they had questions but when they saw what Lanny was carrying a stunned silence fell over the crowd.
Vargus was hungry, tired and weighed down by the memory of what they’d done and what he’d learned. There was plenty of dried blood on his and Lanny’s clothes but the locals didn’t seem to notice their lack of injuries. They only had eyes for the large bundle the boy was carrying, held against his chest, shielding others from seeing it until the time was right.
Word spread of their return and by the time they pushed through the front door of the Fighting Cock, quite a crowd had built up in the street behind them. Vargus went straight to the bar, put down some money and ordered food and drinks for them both. He gulped down half of his first ale in three swallows, barely tasting it, before savouring the second half. Lanny joined him at the bar, unwilling to let go of his burden, but he did smack his lips in thirst.
“Put it down over there,” said Vargus, waving at an empty table in the corner. “Then come and get a drink.”
People began to trickle into the tavern, buying drinks and filling tables, but mostly they were all staring at the bundle, a question on their lips.
They were both on their third ales, and halfway through a tasty beef and ale pie with bread and potatoes, when Cerille came through the front door. Her broken arm had been wrapped in bandages and hung around her in a sling, but other than that and the dark slashes under her eyes, she seemed well.
Vargus nodded but continued eating, dipping his bread in the rich, dark gravy, soaking up every tasty mouthful until he’d cleaned his plate. Lanny didn’t notice when she sat down at their table and didn’t lift his face from his plate until it was empty. Cerille let them eat in peace, sipping at her ale, eyes roaming over the bloodstained blanket on the edge of the table. The owner of the tavern took pity on them, or perhaps she was simply glad of all the onlookers buying drinks. She put a generous portion of apple pie in front of them both and when Vargus reached for his money she waved it away.
Cerille smiled as Lanny tucked into his pie with vigour, licking his spoon after every mouthful. When they were finished she put down her drink and pointed at the bundle. “Tell me,” was all she said.
Vargus had rehearsed this with Lanny several times as they came down the mountainside. He was supposed to let Vargus tell the whole story, but his excitement meant he couldn’t resist interrupting with over-the-top details. Ultimately it didn’t matter as everyone there was familiar with his child-like enthusiasm. Any peculiar details they simply put down to his imagination, laughing off the idea that the bear had spoken to them. Vargus smiled when Lanny swore it was true, while others smiled at him in a patronising way as if he were a simpleton. He only settled down when Cerille said that she believed him.
When Vargus described the deformed manner of the bear, and its unusual size, he saw Cerille twitch and adjust her sling. It made him wonder how clearly she’d seen the Gralldire before her fall and if the Maker’s ruse would be enough to convince her it was the same beast. Several men from the mill had been killed and others injured by it as well. They would have no reason to doubt his story, unless Cerille gave them one.
More people had squeezed into the tavern during his speech and now the room felt crowded and hot from too many bodies. Cerille glanced at them and he saw a frown briefly mar her features. He guessed she would have preferred a more private location to question him about the beast, but it was too late for that. She had been forced to come to them. With hindsight, Vargus realised he should have gone straight to her home when they had arrived, but they’d both been so hungry.
“Let’s see it then,” said Cerille, gesturing at the bundle. As he started to untie the blanket, all of the villagers crowded around the table, keen to see the creature that had plagued them.
Vargus pulled back the blanket and a collective gasp ran through the crowd. The bear was a grisly sight with viscera hanging from the severed neck and its deformed jaws gaping wide. As Cerille stared at the creature’s head, Vargus found himself holding his breath. Vargus felt Lanny tense up beside him, but he didn’t dare take his eyes off the Elder to see if it was his old friend or the boy who was nervous. Finally, Cerille broke eye contact with the beast’s head and he heaved a long sigh of relief as she drained the rest of her ale in one gulp.
“I’ve never seen anything like that before,” she said.
“Nor have I,” admitted Vargus. “I think something damaged it,” he said, tapping the side of his head with two fingers.
“It was sad,” said Lanny, staring at the beast with sympathy.
“It didn’t give us a choice,” said Vargus, willing the boy to shut up. The more he talked, the more risky it became with so many people watching. Instead of speaking, Lanny yawned and Vargus found himself involuntarily following suit.
“Get some rest, we can talk again in the morning,” said Cerille. “Come by my house for breakfast.”
“What do you want me to do with it?” asked Vargus, gesturing at the beast’s head.
Cerille pursed her lips and he thought she was going to spit. “Bury it,” was all she said before she left in a hurry. He wondered if she’d been having nightmares about her fall into the crevasse.
With that, the crowd began to disperse, finishing off their drinks and ducking out the door in large numbers. After only a few minutes, the room was almost empty apart from a couple of tables occupied by old-timers speaking in loud voices.
Half asleep on his feet, Vargus sought his bed in the bunkhouse and was out almost as soon as his head touched the pillow. He didn’t even hear Lanny’s snores he was so far under, in a place far from dreams or nightmares.
Early the next morning, they visited the bathhouse and put on fresh clothes while their smoke- and bloodstained garments were left to dry in the sun. When they arrived at Cerille’s house, she answered the door before Vargus had a chance to knock.
Her modest home was tidy and bright with the curtains and windows thrown open. The village baker had been absent last night at the tavern, but his early morning work was sat on Cerille’s table, sliced and ready. Lanny smeared a huge dollop of butter on the warm bread and wolfed it down before Vargus had eaten half of his.
“It’s so good,” said Lanny with his mouth full. Vargus could only agree as the bread was still so fresh and tasty. Cerille poured them both a cup of tea which Lanny sniffed before guzzling with as much vigour as the bread. Once they’d eaten their fill of sliced bread and cheese, and the teapot was empty, Vargus helped Cerille tidy up.
“I’m sorry we didn’t come here first last night,” said Vargus after they were settled at the table again. “We were both so hungry.”
“Hungry,” echoed Lanny, eyeing the last slice of bread. Cerille slid the plate across the table, handing him a knife for the butter.
“That’s all right,” she said, surprising Vargus. He’d met other Elders who would have held a grudge at the slight. “It’s good, in a way. It saves me from having to tell the story fifty times over. Now they’ll spread it around by themselves.”
Every person in the village would know the whole story by nightfall. He wanted to be long gone from Morgan’s Creek before then. There was no reason to stay any more.
“We did find some other items,” said Vargus, placing the jewellery and the remaining belongings on the table between them. He’d managed to remove the severed finger and clean the ring of blood. This included the red ribbon and leather bracelet which he guessed had belonged to one of the missing teenagers. Cerille reached out to pick up the bracelet but then stopped, her hand hovering over it. “I thought you could return them to the families.”
“Were there any people?” she finally asked.
“No one was left alive. But there were pieces,” he said, wishing there was another way to describe it. Cerille snatched her hand back and continued to stare at the items on the table. “We thought it was better to burn what we found and say a prayer to the Maker.” One of Lanny eyelids twitched but that was the only outward sign that his old friend was listening. Thankfully, neither he nor the boy said anything about the little lie.
“I’ll see that the families are informed,” said Cerille, leaning back in her chair. Suddenly she didn’t seem quite so young any more. The weight of knowledge and keeping secrets was a terrible burden.
Even though the families wouldn’t be able to say goodbye to their loved ones, at least this would give them a sense of closure.
“What really happened?” asked Cerille, breaking the thoughtful silence that had settled on her kitchen. Lanny’s eyelid flickered again.
“What do you mean?” asked Vargus.
“I remember falling,” she said, rubbing her forehead. “And then I was in a shallow cave. Both of you were there. I could hear you talking, but the words are jumbled. I can almost make them out.” She strained to remember and Vargus tensed, willing her to forget.
“I carried you on my back,” said Lanny, distracting Cerille. She looked up and the strain eased from her face. She smiled at the boy, patting his hand with affection.
“Yes, you did. Thank you.”
“We’ll be moving on this morning,” said Vargus. He was keen to leave Morgan’s Creek and not return for a long time. Hopefully upon his next visit, the villagers would have forgotten all about him and his peculiar nephew.
“Lanny, why don’t you go and fetch the horses from the stables?” suggested Cerille. “I’m sure Finn the stable master will help you saddle them.”
Oblivious to the peculiar air of tension in the room, Lanny grinned and hurried out the door, leaving it swinging wide. He returned a moment later, wringing his hands. “Thank you for the bread. It was very tasty,” he said.
“You’re welcome,” replied Cerille.
With another quick grin he was off, remembering to close the door behind him this time.
“He’s a sweet boy,” said Cerille.
“Yes, he is.”
“When you first arrived, I felt that there was something peculiar about the pair of you. I just didn’t know what it was. Even now, after everything you’ve done for us, my heart is telling me one thing, and my gut something else.” Vargus was reminded again why, despite her age, the villagers had chosen her to be their Elder. “Who are you?” she finally asked.
“I am the Gath,” he said. There was a flicker of recognition behind her eyes which made him smile. “In every village and town in Seveldrom, an Elder is chosen to lead. And in every community, you will normally find an old sage with a long memory of times gone by. But even they do not know everything.”
“And you do?” asked Cerille.
Vargus laughed and shook his head. “No, but I’ve seen more than you can imagine and faced creatures far worse than a man-eating bear. If you ever need help again, if something unexplained happens, send word north via the Elders. One of them will know how to find me.”
It was another seed planted. One that might take root and help sustain him in the future. He had no idea if he would or could be the Gath for a long time, but it was unexpected events like these that gave him the best chance of survival.
Cerille was perfectly capable of solving most problems by herself. But one day, in the years to come, something would happen. Something Cerille couldn’t explain or understand and then she would remember. She’d remember the bear, the strange man-child and his uncle. And she’d remember the Gath.