Chapter X

Vengeance

I haven’t left the house since the funeral. I can’t bear to be around the other villagers. I’ve spent the last two days packing my things together, deciding what I’m going to sell or give away and what items I want to take with me. Now I’m not so sure about my plan.

My basic plan was formulated the moment Oris drove that sword through Blaze’s chest. The instant that happened, I knew I wanted one thing; pure and simple vengeance. So, my plan is to sell all my possessions for as many poisons, weapons and journey-food as possible. Then I head for that castle or ruin or whatever really lies in the southwest. I don’t even know if it really exists and Oris could easily kill me when I get there, but I can’t stay here. I can’t stay with these idiots… these murderers. No. I need to get out of here before I kill them.

But once again the village is rife with the talk of another visitor. He didn’t come here by choice. Instead he was brought here, in the early hours of the morning, by some of the men from the village. This wouldn’t interest me if it weren’t for the fact the boy they found was apparently clutching Blaze’s sword in both hands. I’m hoping that this boy can give me vital information on Oris and possibly even confirm his location.

I need to know what - if anything - transpired between Oris and the boy. It could be that the boy has somehow killed Oris. If that has happened then my plan is redundant. If that’s happened, I can’t get the vengeance I need. And I need this. I need to kill him. It’s all I’ve got left. If I thought for a moment Oris was already dead I’d kill myself right now: He is my purpose.

It seems then that I have no choice but to visit the boy. The villagers are holding him in the alehouse basement – a dank room that’s as close to a prison as we have.

As per usual, wild rumours have been flying around since the men brought him in. The first is that the boy is really Oris and in turn that he’s some sort of shape-shifting witch. Doubtful. The second rumour is that he destroyed Blaze’s sword and only the handle remains and the third is that the boy is the victim of Oris’ evil demonic stare which can paralyse a man indefinitley. It all sounds like nonsense to me.

But there’s one more rumour that I worry has a little more grounding than the others, though: that the boy is to be burned this afternoon. They’ve never done anything like it before, but since no one really seems distressed by the idea, I think it may actually go ahead. If the people want a burning then they’ll make sure they get one.

It’s almost funny to think that this is in the run up to the only religious period they celebrate, The Dyvalay. It’s supposed to be a celebration of goodwill and kindness… then again, I suppose it’s best they get the killing out of the way before they exchange their gifts.

My problem is that I need to speak to the boy before they kill him. He shouldn’t be too difficult to get to. The villagers hold me in some sort of hallowed reverence, now. And since they all seem to think the boy is Oris, they’d probably expect me to go see him. I know in my heart it’s not him, but I’m sure he has an interesting story to tell, nonetheless.

I’d at least like to see what he looks like. There’s even a the remote possibility that the villagers are right and it is Oris. I’ll know. When you look into someone’s eyes, you can see what they are. I’ll know if it’s the murderer or not. It’s probably not, but if it is…

No. I need to stay focused. This anger is swallowing me whole. I can’t let it take me just yet. I need to stay in control just a little longer and then the bloodlust can overwhelm me. I’ll bask in it and when I’ve killed Oris… I don’t even know. I’ll find a new place to stay; a place where I can forget about Oris and forget about Blaze.

The village is quiet at the moment. It’s the perfect time for me to visit the outsider. As I step into the alehouse and people see that it’s me, the murmur dips for a moment then becomes faster and more hushed. I easily ignore the sideways stares and whispers of my name. I step behind the counter, meeting no resistance, and stroll past Seamus, the keeper who’s eyes follow me along the bar. All the while he stands transfixed with a cask in his hands, but he does nothing to stop my passage down into the cellar.

As I step down the damp steps, past barrels of ale I eventually come to the basement. It’s as dirty as the steps and as I turn the alcove at the bottom, I can see a wooden door with a rusty key in the lock. Since it’s the only door down here I assume that the boy is behind it. There are cast iron bars in the upper half of the door so I should be able to see in… and I can.

He sits on a wooden crate with his head in his hands. His possessions, the broken sword, a glittering crystal disc and a plain envelope, sit on a barrel to my right.

“What do you want, now?” he asks.

“Who are you?” I ask him.

“What? Are you here to help me?” he asks pleadingly, “Why are they holding me here?”

“They’re holding you here because they think you some sort of evil wizard. There’s talk of burning you.”

“Burning!?”, he says with obvious alarm.

“Yes,” I say solemnly. I have no sympathy for the boy; he was clearly allowed to survive an encounter with Oris, yet my Blaze was not. Why?

“What makes them think I’m evil?”

“You’ve yet to tell me who you are.”

“Jem! My name’s Jem! What’s gonna happen to me? Why do they want to kill me?”

“They think you’re a man called Oris.”

“Oris? I’m not Oris! I don’t even look anything like him.”

“He was last seen with the sword. How did you come to have it?” I move to pick up the sword, but change my mind at the last minute.

“Oris gave it to me.”

“I have a hard time believing that,” I say dryly. “Listen…Jem. I’m the only person in this village that will listen to you; therefore I’m the only person who you could possibly hope to help you. I suggest you tell me the truth.”

“You wouldn’t believe the truth.”

“I can tell when I’m being lied to,” I reply darkly. “You have nothing to lose. Tell me everything you know about Oris.”

“It’s complicated,” he replies, but goes on to tell me his farfetched story.

Apparently he used to live with Oris who was, seemingly, a good man. But Oris had a dark secret; he was a vampyre – an immortal creature that can transform a human into a vampyre with a single bite. Oris was good up until what must have been five days ago when he suddenly was overtaken by his vicious and murderous alter ego and left Jem, to embark on some unholy pilgrimage.

The boy met up with a girl, an angel and (allegedly) a talking teddy bear, who were bent on stopping Oris from rising some kind of vampyre army. They tracked him down (or rather up) to the top of The Mountain where they fought and lost. Oris cut the wings off the angel and kidnapped the girl. He also hurled Jem down the mountain, but not before handing Jem the remains of the sword.

Although his story is unbelievable, he tells it with a dejected air as though recalling the events pains him in some way. Maybe I am losing my grip, because I do believe his story, as fanciful as it is. I still have my reservations, though. Nothing he’s told me can help me locate or kill the monster and there are still a few things that don’t make sense… some things this boy hasn’t explained.

“Okay. Say I do believe you… How did the sword end up like that?” I know I don’t have to show it to him the sword. A glazed expression falls over him.

“I did it,” he replies. “Gabe… that’s the angel. His wings… they’re wired; you can throw something through one wing and it comes out the other. Oris went to attack Gabe and I… like the sword went in one wing and came out the other, so I bent Gabe’s wing round and brought the sword down on itself… if you get me.”

In all honesty, that could be a complete lie. I have nothing more than a feeling to tell me he’s telling the truth, but that feeling is enough for me. “How did you survive the fall?” I ask.

“It’s the sword. Pick it up and you’ll see.”

I feel as though this is all out of my control. It could be a trick, but my body reaches out and I watch in mystified horror as my digits grasp the handle of the sword. I feel something, like a warmth spread through my body. It’s more than that.

I’m suddenly aware of so much more. I can hear tears drip from the boy’s cheeks onto the damp floor in his cell, I can hear the rumble of conversation in the alehouse above and this is all just punctuation to the severe silence of the cellar. I listen closer and I can hear more… I can hear deeper.

“Am no sain she’s dun anyhin yet, but whit else kin she dae?” says the unmistakable voice of Thomas.

“Ah ken whit ye mean, but aw she did wis try ti stoap that pale fella fae doin in Blaze.”

“That’s a bit ah ma point, though. Nae normal person coulda kent that wis gonnae happen. Bit she did.”

“Aye, well… wits the problem?”

“Am no the only wan that thinks it, Boyd. Ah didni even ken whit a witch wis till a heard Rab talkin aboot it this mornin.”

“She’s been here fir ages, Tam”

“Aye, well she’s alwiz bin a bit…”

“Whit?”

“Weird… Yi must ken whit a mean wi that.”

It doesn’t surprise me to hear any of this. The people have been eyeing me with suspicion since I tried to stop Blaze’s death. I don’t know why, but they seem to almost blame me for it. I think I understand what’s really happening, though. None of them want to admit that they were wrong. No villager wants to acknowledge that they knowingly permitted the death of their hero. It’s so much easier for them to collectively decide that Blaze’s death was an unpredictable tragedy and furthermore, that anyone who seemed to be wise to his imminent demise must be in league with the devil.

At this point, I don’t care what they think of me.

“You feel it?” Jem’s voice pulls my attention from the scrapes and murmurs above, and plunges me back down into the cold depths of the basement.

“I feel it,” I reply and then we sit in silence for a while.

I find that it’s me who breaks the silence. My attention is grabbed by Jem’s other possessions. I pick up the crystal. It seeps through my fingers. I can see it’s shimmering solid surface, but I can only stop it passing through my grasp, by gripping it tightly.

“What about this?” I ask, showing him the crystal through the bars of his cell.

“I dunno… me and Oris- before he…”, he winces, “changed. We both got attacked by a Golem… that’s an Old Creature, quite big-”

“I know what a Golem is.” I tell him.

“Well d’you now what transfusion is?”

My blank stare tells him I don’t.

“I learned about this kinda stuff in history… the crystal transfuses elemental properties onto living things. Someone… no, Oflor made a Marsh-Golem. By sticking this crystal to a normal Golem it was much harder to beat.”

“You’ve never mentioned a Golem before,” I say without disguising the accusing tone in my voice.

It all sounds like deluded fantasy and I don’t want to entertain what’s becoming a mental breakdown, but it’s one thing he’s mentioned that refuses to slip from my mind. I didn’t believe in angels until yesterday; the day of Blaze’s funeral. I didn’t want to see the villagers play at grief while they sent Blaze into the void with an empty ceremony. I didn’t want to see their pretend sobs or unjustified sadness. Most of all, I didn’t want to see the body.

But then I saw something that made me forget about my own tears. Something impossible and beautiful and unnerving: An angel walking through the village as though he belonged. Short, light-brown hair, unshaven with tanned skin. In fact he looked like he did belong here.

The only things that gave him away were his clothes and his wings. Beautiful white sails feathered from his broad shoulders; huge blankets standing firm in a faint breeze. He walked barefoot, only a pair of white linen trousers and a white vest clung to his body. He wandered so peacefully and at the same time so purposefully towards the ceremony.

Although I didn’t want to see Blaze’s body, I wanted to see the angels purpose and that’s why I followed him. It was like I was being controlled by my own morbid curiosity. I stalked after the angel, keeping to the sides of people homes.

At first I was worried that he’d see me, then after a while I came to realise he was here for a reason. I followed with less caution. I realised then how selfish I had been. The ceremony was for Blaze and he deserved at least one genuine person there even if it was only one among a multitude of pretenders.

He beat his wings so quickly I jumped. I saw him glide gracefully and swiftly towards the congregation. They were all watching the ceremony. Thankfully I couldn’t see the body but I could hear them scraping the flint and assumed that they were lighting the pyre. The angel stayed out of view. I could sense the sheer power of his wings, but they made very little sound as he glided surreptitiously closer to where I could only imagine Blaze’s body lay.

I stared for what felt like an eternity but must have been less than a minute before the angel beat his wings so ferociously that even from my hiding place I felt warm air shoot past me and I saw the flames tower as they devoured Blaze’s body. Then the angel simply trod away.

For a moment I worried I was losing grip. I felt so withdrawn… or at least more withdrawn that I already was. A part of me wondered whether this angel was a figment of my imagination. But I knew really; I knew it was real. A part of me knew that the angel was real the same way I know now, that Jem is telling the truth.

He awakes me from my daydream. “Can’t you help me out of here?” he asks.

“No. The villagers… they would know it was me.”

“But why are they keeping me?”

“I told you. They think that you’re Oris. And they think he’s some kind of evil wizard.”

“That’s ridiculous,” he replies.

I raise an eyebrow at his pleading face. “Almost as ridiculous as the story you’ve just told me,” I reply.

“I admit my story’s a bit much, but it’s what happened. I know you believe me,” he says.

“What makes you think that?”

“You’re still here,” he replies and our eyes meet.

I glance at the envelope now, the only remaining possession of Jem’s that I haven’t asked about.

“What’s in the envelope?” I ask him.

“Envelope?” he asks. “What envelope?” He looks at the envelope in my hand with yet more confusion. “Show me the front. Turn it around!”

“It says your name on it.” I tell him and turn it around to show him the neat calligraphy on the back.

“That’s Oris’ writing! Let me read it” he shouts, so loudly that it echoes around the dingy room.

“I’ll read it to you.” I eye him with suspicion.

I open the envelope and remove three pages of handwriting, front and back. I quickly scan through it. “It’s a goodbye letter,” I tell him, “…dated last Wednesday.”

“That’s the day we left… he wouldn’t tell me where he was going. Let me read it!” he shouts again.

“I told you I’d read it to you,” I say firmly. In all honesty, I’m curious about it’s contents as well. “Here we go…”

Dear Jem,

If you’re reading this then I’m gone. I don’t know what I might have told you by the time you read this letter. I don’t know how I might have died but I feel you should know why it happened, so I wrote this letter to tell you about my past. I know we’ve always kept our histories a secret from one another, but it seems my own past has haunted me enough.

I first of all want you to understand that I’ve never lied to you. I could never do that, but I have kept the truth from you, for no other reason than my own comfort. I suppose I’m writing this letter to you in a similar vein. I really should have killed myself years ago – you can’t imagine the danger I put the world in just by being alive. But I’m ashamed to say that I was scared of the beyond. That’s why I’ve hidden from the world rather than done the noble thing. Anyway, this is my past. Some of it will seem like senseless fantasy.

I wish it was.

I was born over four hundred and fifty years ago. I allowed myself to become a vampyre at the age of twenty-three. While my friends and family feared for their lives, I sought out the vampyre – a menace that plagued us all. As I said before, I was afraid of dying and thought that by becoming a vampyre I could evade death. I was young and headstrong, I didn’t know what I was getting into and I became a monster.

I won’t try and sugar coat this for you Jem. I murdered a lot of people… and I did it knowingly. It’s hard for me to explain, but I don’t want you to think I was ‘possessed’ by some other force: I wasn’t. I was myself. I thought the same things I think today, but I felt no remorse. As a vampyre I considered myself superior to humans. I considered them cattle.

At that point I was unaware that I was only one person caught in the tides of revolution. I was turned early in what historians called the ‘Rise of the Vampyre’. Vampyre reigned supreme for many years. Like I said, I considered humans a lesser species and so did the rest of my kind. I won’t say much more about it, but suffice to say, humans didn’t live particularly long or happy lives 400 years ago.

It was a great many years later that I started to notice our dwindling numbers. It transpired that the humans had found a way to fight back at last. Living for so long, I had amassed a great amount of knowledge and I learned of a weapon the humans had developed; a weapon of magick. It was, in short, a vampyre killer. This might seem a trivial anecdote, but it was the catalyst for the greatest change in my life.

This weapon that the humans created simply turned all vampyre within it’s radius to ashes. Any vampyre who came within a mile of the weapon evaporated. It was an effective weapon, but we vampyre were creatures of science and we began study into a way of countering the weapon. Many vampyre gave their lives to the testing of failed devices and I admired them for making a sacrifice I could never have made. It was with heavy hearts that we discovered there was no feasible way of countering the weapon.

Where my companions gave up, I was only spurred on. If there is one trait that I have always had, it is my selfishness. I wanted to live and I was prepared to do anything to save myself. Proud science had deserted us and I turned, instead, to magick.

I delved deep into the vaults of mythology and discovered fleeting references to a device called the Antprime, a device that had been developed to turn a vampyre into a human. I was willing to become human again – anything to avoid nothingness. While one-by-one my kin fell to the humans’ weapon, I travelled further than I think anyone has ever travelled. After years of searching, I found the device.

I kept it secret from my kin, though. If they knew I was considering using it; returning to the empty, sheltered life of a human, they would have branded me a traitor. We vampyre are scientists. While we acknowledge the existence of magick, we despise it’s use because it’s illogical. We probed deeper into science trying to understand the basic laws even more, but it seemed nothing could counter this creation of the humans. It seemed the very fates were against us. The moment we had a breakthrough, the humans’ weapon would grow in power and we would only just avoid it’s onslaught as the humans developed it’s radius to phenomenal distances.

After a while I knew it was over. I pleaded with the other vampyre to use the Antprime, if only to escape death itself, but they refused and, as I knew they would, they scorned me for suggesting such a thing. They exiled me and I left them to die by their own pride.

The humans increased the power of their weapon using even blacker magicks than they had previously employed, so much so that it threatened to kill every vampyre in the world. It was only then that I actually decided to use the Antprime. As the humans tended to their mechanical angel of death, preparing it to wipe and entire race from the world, I caved to desire and fear. I used the Antprime and felt the vampyre leave me. The device you can no doubt recall from my study. I allowed each of it’s spikes to puncture my arm and drain the savagery from me. I am, after all, a selfish man.

Life as a human was an almost intolerable thought for my vampyre self, but I knew it was better than nothing. I can’t explain the feelings I felt as I left the vampyre mindset. It was like waking up from a horrible dream to a mind and a world saturated in purity.

The Antprime sadly does not work.

When a human is turned into a vampyre, he does not know it has happened. The abilities of the vampyre are not passed around like chicken pox. The vampyre abilities are seeded and passed to the human over the course of one week. I am disappointed to tell you that the Antprime simply resets this process, creating in the simplest terms, a biological paradox. I remained a vampyre, but returned to the human mind. Of course I felt the familiar sensation. I could tell the change was upon me and as well as remorse, I felt anger. I refused to become the beast I was. I refused to kill for pleasure again. I contemplated my own life, but as I have already said… I am a selfish man.

I have my own weapon: the same weapon the humans used to kill my kind and I use it every seven days. I am a selfish man, vampyre or not and when locked in a room with only the Antprime or death to choose from, I always choose to be human again. As a vampyre, I always choose the life of a human over The Void.

But he is the truth and I am a lie. Nature wants me to be a vampyre; it is only by science and determination that I can thwart it. The vampyre knows this. He knows that I might not make my study secure enough, next time. The vampyre mind is right, Jem. I am a scientist and I know I cannot keep the vampyre at bay forever.

So I made a choice not too long ago, Jem; that I would take my life before I did slip up. I went out one night with only the intent to take my life and I met you: A young boy in trouble, a boy who, in fourteen years, had been through more than I had in four hundred.

I lived for you Jem. I wanted to repair your life, make you forget about whatever horrible past you hid from me. And I did. I am a selfish man, Jem; never had I helped anyone but myself before and here you were – a stranger to me – and I couldn’t bear to have you unhappy ever again.

You changed me Jem – and I’ll never forget that.

I’ve lived the same life, Jem. It never changes. I never get older. Everyday is the same. I saw myself in you and wanted to see you live a happy life. But recently I’ve come across a startling piece of information: A piece of a prophecy. I’ve suddenly been given a window of hope. The prophecy appears to foretell me changing back into a human. I’ve carried out so much research into this. I tried for years to manufacture some way for me to live the life of a human and I came up with nothing. I discovered long ago that even magic cannot reverse the process. I though it was impossible, but then I never did consider divine intervention.

I think that this is maybe a gift for my change of heart. This is the prophecy.

“The last vampyre left on his journey. His destination was the windswept caves in the deep in the forest. For it had been prophesised that by going on this journey, he could end the half-life he lived. And through his determination, he succeeded. At that moment the last vampyre was no more.”

I’m aware of the risks. I’m sure even you will think that it’s worded strangely. It is and I fear that it could also foretell my death. But I cannot live any longer like this, Jem. I’ve lived too many lives and I want this, the most important one, to be my last. So I’m risking it all. I’d rather die than become that monster again. Following the prophecy may mean I become human and it may mean I die; either way mankind will be safe from the vampyre forever. But I felt I owed this explanation to you.

You will probably feel betrayed, perhaps even angry at me. This will pass. I have watched many good friends die and felt angry with them for leaving me. I suppose the only silver lining to my death is that I won’t have to lose you myself. I guess I’ll never lose my selfishness.

It must be hard for you to read this. To know you knew me for such a tiny fraction of my life, but I assure you Jem - you were the best part of it. You changed me in a way the fall of civilisations could not. I was a selfish man, Jem. I cared only for my own well-being. You changed me and in time you will realise I was thanking you in this act.

I don’t think there’s anything else I can say that you don’t already know except of course that I leave you all my earthly possessions as well as the memory you will always be the brother I never had.

Your friend,

Oris

“Let me see it,” he says in a rough voice.

I hand the letter to him. It certainly was an eye opener and it definitely lends credibility to Jem’s story. It’s strange to think of Oris ever having cared for somebody. I still want to kill the murdering sadist, but it’s almost gratifying to think he was once as weak as I was.

It seems that what I really should do is kill this boy. It seems it would be the right punishment for Oris. He kills the most important person to me; I kill the most important person to him. Maybe I will do that, but I feel there’s an even crueller punishment in here and I want to think it through.

I move to walk away, but he calls on me.

“Wait!” he shouts. “If you believe me. If you know that I’m not dangerous, then help me!”

“Sometimes, innocent people are punished,” I say. The thought emerges from the hollow void of emotions I no longer possess. “My name’s Mary, I might come back for you.”

“No, wait. Mary! Please! Please! Don’t let me burn!” he shouts.

I pause for a moment, but then continue walking, leaving him alone in the dark; the way I feel.

I think about him all night; a boy no older than eighteen being burned alive for my own personal revenge. As pleasing as that thought is, it melts overnight into a more serious tone. Do I want to be responsible for his murder? The death of an innocent on my hands… No I want to kill Oris. Letting him live isn’t an option. It’s only then I realise this vengeance isn’t for me, it’s for Blaze. Blaze obviously can’t avenge his own death, and that means somebody has to do it for him.

So what is the significance of the boy? Why is he here? There must be some way I can use him. I think I know where Oris is headed, at least I hope I do. I get the feeling the fates have brought the boy to me for a reason. I think about it all night until I finally fall into my first proper sleep since Blaze’s death.

I dream as well; a strange dream.

Oris is in it and in the dream I watch him peacefully kill hundreds, a mischievous grin fixed on his pale, otherwise emotionless face. When I wake, I can remember nothing but the bodies from my dream and always the unblinking eyes of Oris.

I visit the boy again. He’s still alive. The burning has been postponed for some reason. Maybe the villagers saw sense or perhaps the rain put them off. They boy looks like he’s already dead. The circles under his eyes glisten with perspiration and he looks so grateful to see me. I can only pity him. He clutches the letter in his fist.

“You’re back,” he says. “Are you going to help me?”

“I would, but I don‘t have the key,” I lie. The rusted key sits in the lock.

Jem lies across the crates with his arms folded. “What the hell’s wrong with you?” he asks. “What do you want from me?”

I feel guilty. I’m putting him through this because I want my revenge. It’s not fair, but a lot of things aren’t fair. “I… I would help you if I could, Jem. Remember I’m the only person here who doesn’t think you’re some kind of monster.”

“But you’re a liar. I know the key’s in the lock. I can see it through the keyhole and I spent all night with my hand through the bars trying to reach it. You don’t want to help me, you’re getting some sick satisfaction out of this.”

“I can’t let you out. The villagers would kill me, They already think I’m some kind of witch.”

“Is my sword still there?” he asks.

“It’s not your sword. It belonged to Blaze; Oris killed him to get it. Blaze was… the only person I cared about.”

Hi eyes widen - “Oh I get it now. I don’t believe this! You’re keeping me here, because Oris killed your boyfriend!? This is more important than you and your feelings. Oris is going to do something worse than murder, he wants to… Oh what’s the point? You need prioritise.”

A silence permeates the room.

“I suppose there is one thing we agree on… that Oris needs to be stopped.” I see his head rise from the side of my eye.

“You did read the letter, didn’t you?” He’s my best friend. I’m not gonna help you kill him.”

“Did you read the letter, Jem? There was a certain part you probably skimmed over. The bit where he says he’d rather be dead than live another day as a monster.”

Jem just looks at me.

“I’ll speak to you later,” I say and head back up the stairs. I hear him kick one of the crates in anger.

When I return to the surface I see that the burning will definitely go ahead. Branches and sticks are stacked in the middle of the town, near the fountain. Even a crudely drawn sign shows a man burning with the words ‘DIE ORIS’ cheerfully written on it.

I don’t care about this vampyre stuff - vampyre or no vampyre, he still murdered Blaze. But Jem seems to hold Oris as two different people. The one he was friends with and the one that murdered Blaze. I don’t see things that way at all. The same body, the same person - maybe I’m wrong, I don’t really care at this point. If I kill one, I kill the other. It’s as simple as that.

But pure anger has given way to practicality: I’ve realised first of all that I probably won’t be able to kill him. He could kill me in an instant. I would think he’d do the same to Jem if the boy hadn’t already survived and encounter with him. So perhaps Jem has some sway over him. I know once thing for sure; he has a better chance of killing him than I do. It’s a shame, because I don’t think there’s anything that would drive Jem to help me.

***

I walk through the bodies with uncertainty. The fire that was supposed to consume Jem has long since died and he’s still downstairs in his cell; oblivious. Everyone looks so peaceful. My curse has finally woven it’s way into Geghis. There are no survivors except Jem and myself.

I see faces I knew so well. When I say that, I mean that I knew the faces, not the people. Maybe that’s why this hasn’t broken me. I feel as though my years of seclusion were preparation for this. I don’t think I could wade through these bodies if I knew them as well as I should have. I believe in fate and I think this is a suitable punishment for what they did, or didn’t do for Blaze.

I can see Horace - he deserved this, I think. The children didn’t though. I suppose there is no such thing as pure justice. Everyone is dead. Geghis is dead. The legendary village is now lost. We’ll see what Jem thinks of his friend now.

I walk down the stairs purposefully and turn the key in Jem’s door. When it opens, he doesn’t move. He just watches me.

“What?” he asks.

“They’re all… dead.”

“Who?”

“Everyone. The whole village.”

“What!? What happened?”

“It was Oris.”

“Oris? What the hell is he doing here?”

“He’s gone now,” I say between sobs. “They’re all dead.” I lead him up the stairs and as we walk through the town centre, his face grows grim.

“Why did he do this? Why?” he asks. His voice is panicky and shakey.

“He said he was… he was saving you.”

“And why did he let you live?” he asks. I’m hurt by the question. Did he want me to die? Did he want to stay locked down there?

“I don’t know. I don’t even know what he did. When I woke up he was just standing outside my house, waiting on me. He said… he said ‘Pass my greetings to Jem’ and then ran off.”

“Which way?” Jem says decisively.

“That way.” I point to the right of the mountain.

“He could be going anywhere,” Jem says in frustration.

“He told me something the last time, though. About a castle or a temple or something. He said that’s where his journey was going to end.”

“Where is it?”

“Look at them all. There’s not a scratch on any of them. How could he kill so many, so quickly?” I say, shaking.

“Where the hell is this castle?” Jem’s voice sound stressed and pained.

“In… in the forest, far in the south west.” I say dragging my gaze away from the lifeless eyes of the bodies - forcing myself to concentrate.

Jem runs back into the alehouse and emerges again with the sword, the crystal, the letter and a resolute expression on his face.

“You… you were right, Mary. He does need to be stopped. This is my fault. These people should be alive… If I’d stopped Oris in the first place, he’d be dead and this wouldn’t have happened. You were right… there’s no good left him. Will you come with me? Will you show me the way?”

“I can’t…” I say.

“I don’t think you should stay here, Mary. Not with these… people.”

“I’ll stay,” I say, defiantly.

After a moments hesitation, he turns and faces away. His eyes focused on the distant southwest. “Have it your way,” Jem says and jogs away.

I look around Geghis: at the bodies of the villagers and sit down at the fountain. I can still see Jem’s legs running along a forest path. There’s cups scattered all around the village square and I pick one up and dust it off. I got my vengeance after all: What better demise for Oris than to be killed by the one person he cares about? I dip the cup into the fountain and lift it to my lips, downing the entire cup. It’s such a release to know it’s done. I let the poison sink in; I can almost feel it snare my veins as I toast myself to the perfect vengeance.