Time and Tide (Solo)

[Tobias Stalt]

Years have not been kind to you, Salvar.

The cold has always been harsh. Do you remember when I first arrived, all those years ago? During your most brutal winter, we wandered into a tomb. I can't remember their faces now, and their voices have faded with time. I'm sure that they still whisper in your winds, but I've lost any desire to listen. I'm not the man I was. This outcropping suits me better than any of the snow-covered benches in the market- I don't want to get any closer to Knife's Edge than I have to. People still remember the heretic who betrayed the church. The man who killed the Archon.

I hoped that our efforts back then would have sparked change. I wanted to see the Ethereal Sway dead. Instead, it seems that ideas truly are harder to kill than men. I confess a certain degree of bitterness. But then, every man who lives in Salvar eventually assimilates some of its bitter nature. I think there's poetry in that.

"Stalt," the man who approaches me is dressed darkly. His face is covered, and his voice muffled. It makes sense: people don't want to be associated with Tobias Stalt. The Church remembers. You were a fool to return here."

"Garrick," I know him by his eyes alone. I won't ever forget them, no matter how hard I try. "So, of all the people in Salvar, they chose you for this."

"I owe it to her," the man's voice didn't falter a bit. I'm impressed. "She would have wanted to be here herself, if she could."

"I'm sure."

"Are you sure you don't want to take the job? You know the one-"

"I know the one," but what you want is a suicide mission. I'm tired of those, Garrick. I've made my peace with what happened. One day, I hope you do, too. "But no. I'm perfectly amicable to the other request, though."

What lurks in the Salvic wilds fascinates me, as a man, as an adventurer, and as a swordsman. We never had the chance before, Salvar, but I've come to make up for it. I want to brave your elements and face your greatest challenge. That's why I've come. Fuck the Sway. It's beneath me. I can see Garrick flinch at my words. His eyes shift, and he lowers his voice. "Stalt, no one has come back alive from that," he tells me.

"If they had, I wouldn't be here now."

With a sigh, he relents. "Aye, I suppose." He pulls a missive from beneath his cloak and passes it to me. The seal of the Church argent, stamped by some faceless holy man. I'd never mistake it. "They know you're here," he advises me.

"Of course they do." It doesn't surprise me. They've always relied on their Hedge Magicks and surveilled even the least of the common folk. Their fear of derision is legendary. "So why didn't they do something about it?" I question, though I'm sure I already have my answer. The paper rips open and I pull the letter out, unfolding it.

With a few subtle twitches of the eye, I've read all I needed to. "They don't tell me these things, Stalt," he says. "I'm just a courier."

"Even though you've lost your faith?"

Garrick tenses, closes his eyes, and then sighs. "They don't give a fuck if you believe or not," he says, "as long as you fake it when everyone's watching." If there was any color in his cheeks before, it would have drained by now. I can hear the emotion leave his voice. After everything, I would blame myself too. I do blame myself.

"Wasn't there another way?" he asks. I look up. How uncharacteristic.

"If there was, Erica would still be alive." It was a simple answer, but not a merciful one. He was there. He saw me do it. He was cheering like a madman. "You could have told them no."

Garrick sinks to his knees. I can't hear them, but I'm sure the uncontrolled sobs are soaking through his mask. "Hurry back home," I tell the man. "If you don't, the cold will reunite the two of you."

[Tobias Stalt]

The crumbled note rests in my fist. Salvar's icy fingers tug at it, pulling the fibers in every direction as I make my way toward the edge of the valley. The greater Testhan region is nestled in a strategically fantastic place- if you're considering military tactics. When you think about living conditions, it's the worst place in all of Salvar. Low lying and close to the frigid river system, the winter breath of Knife's Edge cuts through its people indiscriminately. There is no place more cruel or sadistic in all of Althanas. I'd hoped never to return.

But the pay is just too good. A man can't survive without work in this world. Salvar knows that better than anywhere else. That's how this place keeps people coming back. The coin flows generously, and humanity is masochistic. I can barely feel my fingers as the city road yields to the basin's edge and snakes back upward to the Highroad. A carriage ambles past, and the kindly old driver doesn't even look my way. That's pretty standard, though. If someone smiles at you, they probably want to rob you blind.

I can see the mountains in the distance, moreso with every few steps. This country is beautiful in a morose way. The peaks that overlook it promise death. If you can see them, you're close to something that wants you dead. If you can't, it's because the snow has whited out the world. If you're standing on them and you're not dead, you soon will be. That was the knowledge that they gave me while we traveled north to Archen. No wonder it's returning to me now, when I'm walking those same steps.

"Thayne's blood," I can hear the frost in my voice. My veins are already slogging, turgid with the icy crystals that Salvar has breathed into them. The paper in my hand catches on the wind as I lose my grip on it. I struggle to reach out, but my hand won't obey. It dances, shivers, and flees from me with a recklessness I can't conjure.

Another hand snaps up, some twenty paces ahead. It snatches the missive from the air and pries it to waiting eyes, which lazily tread across the words. When that gaze moves to me, I can feel my skin crawling. "Tobias Stalt," her voice is slow, measured, a far cry from the unnatural speed I'd witnessed only moments before. Everything about this woman is a lie. "I've been waiting for you," She says.

There was a time when I heard a woman say that and I would be overjoyed. There is nothing joyous in her words. Her eyes are like jade fire, burning me up. "There are many in this nation who would sooner see you hang than do this duty of yours," she wags the paper in front of me like some kind of carrot. "You're lucky that your friend Anton is more forgiving."

Brother Anton. Of course it was. Who else would have thought to use me than one of the men who watched idly while the Sway pushed me toward madness. Who else but the man who took the title of Archon after I robbed the last of life. "I'm afraid my neck's too pretty for a noose," I sound genuinely repentant. The Sway has a way of making you a great liar. "But if you're looking to wrap yourself around my cock-"

"Charming as ever, I see," she steps toward her carriage, drawn by two mighty clydesdales. They are stoic, unflinching. Whiter manes than the snow on the ground, and even as steam roils out of their noses, they don't so much as shiver. Some of the Kingdom's mightiest mares. "Come, join me in the carriage. As much as I would prefer it, we can't have you freezing to death."

What a wonderful woman. I clamber forward and step into the coach behind her, and the door slams shut behind me. I don't like this. But then, cold receptions are this land's specialty. "You haven't been in this country for some years now," she explains as her delicate fingers peel away layers of clothing. She sheds them like refuse, discarded carelessly. They piled on the floor and a servant hastily collected them, then set them out to dry. "It must be nice to come and go as you please, without a care in the world for those people who's lives you've trampled."

"A cunt from the Ethereal Sway wants to gesture me about empathy?" I ask plainly. There's no reason to be formal or even kind. It's clear that we hate each other. "Fuck you. What do you want?"

"The Archon wishes you safe passage to Archen," she tells me. When she begins to pry the cloth from her face, I'm more aware of her alabaster flesh. Golden tresses of hair spill out and fall around her shoulders. Her beauty is unnatural, even here in the frigid north. Is she even Salvic by birth? "And so, you will have safe passage. I guaranteed Anton as much."

"You're too pretty to be fucking a Witch Hunter," I sneer. "Who are you?" It's no secret who she looks like. My scowl never changes, even when she smiles at me.

"Why Tobias, you spent all that time looking at my dear sister, thinking about bedding her, and you even took her life. You can't even guess? You truly are an animal." She knows things that no one should. High ranking in the Church? Or someone who they trust, perhaps. Her sister? Was it a spiritual relation, or...

"Erica's sister," there was no other explanation. Erica had been the eldest in her household, and a virgin. She was chosen as a sacrifice and martyred for the cause as a heretic. I can't imagine this girl buying so heavily into the dogma. Not if they were related. "And you're working for the Church? Gods, there's no loyalty in your family at all."

She reaches out and I feel her icy fingers dance across my face. It wasn't painful. the contrast in her gaze is hot, her face without a smile, but her fingers steal warmth from my cheeks. I can feel her violating me with her eyes. "She wanted you," her voice is without contempt, "and I wanted everything she had. For years, they only saw her. Men of the village, my parents, and finally the Sway. You were the only thing she could never have, and that alone makes me want you, Stalt," she spoke plainly, "but you took the life of the only person I've ever cared about. I was so jealous, but Erica was kind. She paid attention to me when no one else did, and she was there when I was all alone. You took that from me, Stalt. I hate you so much. And yet, Anton tells me that I can't even have my bittersweet vengance."

"You hate me, you want me, which is it?" I ask. "Every word you say is a lie."

"You learn quickly, Tobias Stalt. So let us waste no more time on words."

"Archen is a long journey to stay silent," I tell her.

"I am quite familiar with silence."

Her pouty lips spread in the sweetest of smiles, and I can see Erica's face overlap hers for a moment. She is clad in vestments that swath her person and mask her curves, but she makes a show of her legs as she crosses them. She rests her cheek in a palm and watches me, like a child fascinated with a new pet. "Would you like to fuck me?" she asks.

"Is that how you planned on passing the time?" I have to laugh. She does have a vicious sense of humor. When I do, she smiles even more vividly. All the gods in all the worlds can't make my heart stop aching at the sight. "Not even a little."

I will never erase the guilt I feel over Erica's death. I imagine that would only be worse if I did fuck her sister. The little sadist knows that.

I can see it sparkling in her eyes.

[Tobias Stalt]

Hours bled together into days. The carriage ride took several stops, but each time I got out to stretch my legs, everything looked the same. Salvar is a liar that way. Everything has the same dull gray, white, and black tones. Cities, towns, long stretches of road: the only thing that sets any of them apart are random smatterings of life, the occasional home or children playing carefree, ambivalent to the struggles of the world around them. If I strained, I might see the fires burning inside, and perhaps a smith hard at work. Otherwise, the snow was blinding.

While inside the carriage, a strange warmth coats my bones. I can taste the foul flavor of magic at work- this land taught me that. It's a grim reminder and turns my stomach. "You look unwell," she tells me. "Shall I give you a tincture to soothe your gut?"

"Piss off," I wince. She'd poison me and blame it on bad food. The hurt in her face stings. This woman is a phenomenal actress. "What's your name, wench?"

She appears startled at that. It almost feels like she didn't think I was human. "Charlene," she tells me. "My sister called me Char, if you'd prefer." She loves to remind me about her sister. In many ways, this is worse than walking alone. I would rather have frozen to death.

"Charlene." I test the name, weighing it. I almost would prefer to just call her wench, or bitch, or cunt. There's a trace of displeasure in her gaze for just a moment before I speak up again. "How far are we from Archen?"

"You've been before," she says. "You would know better than I do."

There's some truth in that. I can't claim that the single trip I'd taken two and from the Northern fringes of the continent made me an authority, but I would know more than someone who had never made the journey. With a slight shrug, my boots crunch in the snow. "Where are you going?" she demands.

"The town," I gesture toward the small grouping of homes and the inn that stands just a bit taller. They all smoke fiercely, and the distinct aroma of burning pine wafts through the air. They're burning whatever wood they can find. I see that they've gone through much of the nearby wood at a glance, and there are woodsmen chopping away in the distance. "I've got to take a piss."

"I'll go with you," she tells me.

"To hold it for me?" I stare at her for a moment. Her cheeks stain red suddenly. "I'm a big boy, I can assure you that I won't wet myself, lass." She turns away, clearly flustered.

"Fine!" she crosses her arms. What is her game? When we met she was far more hostile. She's acting like a school age girl with a crush. "Just hurry back, and don't get any ideas about running away." So that's it. She wants to make sure I don't try to break away from the carriage. The Sway wants to keep eyes on me.

"You think I'm going to walk to Archen when the Church is perfectly willing to drive me there?" There's a smirk on her face now. If nothing else, this journey has been full of mirth.

"I... suppose that is true," she concedes.

I trudge through calf-deep snow toward the inn, and when the door swings open, snow spills onto the floor. Every step I take prompts a splash, small puddles blazing a trail to the bar. "What's the story on the timber?" I ask in a low voice. The winters in Salvar were bad, and other seasons weren't much better, but something was amiss. "They've been overcutting, I can see it from half a league out."

"Winter's no more brutal than normal, aye," he leans forward and continues to polish a mug. It's shinier than normal, and a second glance reveals that this bar is barren despite the late afternoon. These were prime hours for the old drunks to haunt an inn. "There's been strange goings on of late. People go out into the woods, they don't come back. We've been hacking back the tree line so that nothing lurks what we don't see."

Ill tidings.

"And nary a Witch Hunter's appeared to make an inquiry?" By now the Church should have responded. These sorts of things shake the faith.

"Not a breath from the Sway," he shakes his head. His eyes move toward the door as it swings open behind me. I look, and Charlene is there, wringing out her dress. She's clearly not dressed for a journey. He gestures toward her. "Friend of yours?" he asks.

"Not a word of what we've just discussed," I whisper. He slowly nods and moves to wipe down the counter.

"Strange place for a piss, Stalt," she announces as she takes a seat at the bar. "I'll have sweetwine." She looks down her nose at the man. This woman is nothing like Erica. She is temperamental and demanding, even sadistic. "Or were you trying to have the barkeep hold it for you? I never took you as the sort to keep the company of men."

"I was just asking where it was," I look over at the man, and he gestures off toward the left. "Now, I'll be on my way."

[Tobias Stalt]

I don't like it.

The Sway has a mutually beneficial relationship with the people, despite how crooked it is. They would never overlook disappearances. It would shake the collective faith and sow dissension. But I can't ask Charlene about it. I can't trust her to tell me the truth. When the door opens in front of me, it creaks loudly. "Stalt," she calls out to me before I even step from the privy. "You didn't need to hold back on my account, I had offered-"

A siren. You're a siren, Charlene, and would eat me alive if I let you. "Piss off," I look to the barkeep, who's gaze is vacant as he stares far beyond me, through me. "While we're in, I'll have an ale."

"One ale," he says as he begins filling up the mug he'd been polishing intently.

Charlene stares at me, eyes glossy. How many drinks had she had? "Thayne, woman, I wasn't a quarter bell. Are you a lush?" She takes a sip of her sweetwine and continues to watch me over the rim of the glass. The way she looks at me has always been so intimate. I feel chills whenever I meet her gaze.

"You told her you'd save her," she slurred her words, but that did nothing to stop my heart from skipping a beat. No one was there when I told Erica those words. No one but the two of us. "You promised that she'd see freedom before the end."

I can't stop myself from staring at her now. There's no hiding anything on my face, nothing to stop her from knowing my mind. There's no small degree of satisfaction in her smile now. "You weren't there," I hiss. My hands are on her throat now, I can see the sudden terror in her eyes, the way she tenses up when she can't breathe- and the man isn't even bothered by us. He doesn't even look our way. "How do you know that?" I question her. For the first time, I can feel her fear. It's no different from when I was murdering for the Sway. Everything is as it was back then for just a moment.

Her fingers coil around my wrists. She resists, finally, nails biting into flesh and blood pooling until it overflows down the backs of my hands. She only just manages to wrest a breath away from me. It was enough. "Have you always had that temper?" she manages to smile.

One of us won't survive this journey. I think that's what she's hoping for, too. I take back my hands, still bleeding, and take hold of my ale. The froth is disproportionate and the smell is nearly intolerable. "Must be all they had to spare," I mutter as the amber fluid slides down my gullet. It tastes fouler than piss, if that's even possible. My face betrays nothing of my disgust as I look back at the woman.

Charlene smiles sweetly.

"You told her you loved her," she said, closing her eyes. Fuck you, Charlene. Fuck you to the deepest hell. "Did you want to take her far away from Salvar?"

"I don't see how that has anything to do with you."

"It has everything to do with me, Stalt." She is burning me with that gaze again. Was she truly so jealous of her sister? Which of her words has truth? Do any of them? "You can at least tell me. She's dead now. Were you lying to her? Did you say it just to make yourself feel better?"

"I fucking hate you." I could have responded honestly, or ignored her, but the rage blinded me. My feelings took over in that instant, for the very first time in... as long as I can remember. "I would rather watch you hang from the Cathedral of Saint Denebriel than ride in that carriage with you for one more second. Is that what you want me to say?"

"I want to know how you really felt." If my rage surprised her, I can't tell. She doesn't change her expression at all. As she leans closer, I'm forced a step back, off my stool. She follows, and I can't make any distance at all. "All you have is bitter anger, and when faced with the consequences of your actions, all you know how to do is throw a fit and run away. I'm glad she's dead, because she would be so disappointed at what you really are."

"You don't know a fucking thing about me." The urge to draw any one of my blades and drive it through her throat burns. I've felt as though I was on fire all this time. She hasn't let me cool off at all.

"You think being strong and silent makes you difficult to read? Everything you do is a story, Stalt." Those words are the first she's said to give me pause. For an instant, I see wisdom in those eyes, not hate. "If you want to write a good one, you'll have to do better."

"I'm going back to the carriage," I'm already out the door before she can protest. Surprisingly, she was not far behind. "You're not going to finish your wine?" I ask.

"We've got to try to keep a schedule," she chides. She's acting as though she didn't follow me and indulge the same as I did. "I'm so glad you've come to your senses."

I stare long at the barren woods, stumps as far as I can see. Curiously, there's no sign of the woodsmen working. I glance back toward the inn, and I wonder about the old man. When I'd gone in, there were people working at the wood. Less than half of an hour had passed. "I wonder if they've all gone home?" I ask absently.

"Into the carriage now," Charlene hurries me. "We've got a lot more ground to cover."

[Tobias Stalt]

The driver is moving less cautiously than before. Before, he took pains to avoid ruts in the road and rocky terrain that the snow did nothing for. Every time we hit something, I nearly hit the roof of the cab. With our new traveling speed, the luxurious seats do nothing to make the ride enjoyable. Charlene won't look at me, either. Since we put the town behind us, she's watched the door religiously. "Is something wrong?"

Finally, she regards me. "Everything is fine," she lies. She told me not two hours ago, everything I do is a story. That's just as true of her. "We lost several hours while you were pissing, so I've informed the driver that we need to make up for lost time."

"What you're saying is that we need to be out of that village before nightfall," I can read between the lines too, you know. "Or did you think I wasn't paying attention."

"As expected of Tobias Stalt," I can't say I'm happy with being praised by her. It almost feels like she's mocking me, and perhaps she is. "You read the missive, yes? Or would you like it back?" She holds it neatly between two fingers, still mangled from the outburst I'd had upon reading Anton's signature. "I'm sure things will become more clear if-"

"I read it." Everything about her tests me. Is this another one of the Church's insidious games? "Strange forces to the North. Are you saying that they're much closer than Archen?" It makes no sense. Why travel all the way to Archen when the threat is so close to home? "Then why are we wasting our time?"

"The threat spreads over a vast area of Salvar," she explains, not opening her eyes. "You've only seen things you can't explain. Things that beggar belief, or that are so small that if you blink, you'd miss them. We're not interested in whispers of the Occult, Stalt. Witch Hunters deal with that sort of thing."

"No Witch Hunters have been dispatched to that village."

She looks at me warily when I say that. This woman is extremely careful with everything she says, and for some reason I get the sense that she thinks she's already said too much. Finally, she sighs. "No," she shakes her head. "They were dispatched. They never made it."

"What?"

"Do you think that we'd neglect to send Brothers of the All-Seeing Eye when people are dying in droves?" Her eyes bore into me again, judging me. It feels like I've forgotten something important. "We don't know what happened. There were no traces of them, and any attempts the soothsayers made at divination ended fruitlessly. Their essence was completely erased. The magic feels exactly like-"

"Like mine," he said without missing a beat. He knew those powers intimately, the ability to erase magic and all life tied to it. He rejected them. Tobias refused to ever tap into that vile font of power again. "So there's probable cause to believe that I was involved, and the Church brought me on to investigate that avenue?"

"They know you haven't been in Salvar," she shakes her head again. "And that you're not involved. But, if these powers are indeed like your own, then you're the only one qualified to deal with them. There are no other Witch Hunters who are anathema to magic itself." The howl of a wolf from outside tears her attention away from me, and I see the same fear in her eyes she had when I'd strangled her.

So, there were times where even this woman drew a line.

"We're going to get off the road for the night," she snapped. With that, she slid open the divider that separated the driver from the cab and gave him orders. The horses were more than capable of taking care of themselves against most beasts, and a fire would be enough to keep wolves at bay; but something did not sit right with me. When Charlene turns back to me, I fold my arms.

"Are you going to sleep, Stalt?" She steps toward me and closes the distance between us. When she leans in close to my face, I manage not to flinch. From this close, she feels so familiar. Her warmth, her voice, the way she smells remind me of her sister. For a moment, I don't even see Charlene there. For a moment, I'm a Brother of the All-Seeing Eye, and she's the woman I love with everything that I am. My heart wrenches in my chest as she lingers close, too close to me.

Her eyelashes flutter once, slowly.

"If you touch me, I'll gut you like a fish," she says in a sweet voice, like honeyed venom. "What did you think I was going to say?

"I wish you were a man," my voice is cold, but my rage smolders. "I'd punch your nose into your brain."

"You still could," she volunteered.

"Eat shit."

[Tobias Stalt]

Of course I can't sleep.

Charlene is swathed in blankets and curled in a ball on the seat opposite me, but the driver is outside with the horses. If I left her alone and opened the door, the cold might interrupt the woman's sleep anyway. Other than the occasional sound of nature, there is nothing to make me believe I'm needed. So now, I'm trapped, watching a woman I hate sleep soundly. I don't think I've ever watched a woman sleep. Not even a woman who I've loved. There's something intimate about it that just goes against the grain of who I am.

With Charlene, I feel more like a sentry. The Church is paying me, so keeping one of their agents alive is the least I can do. There's nothing emotional about it.

I just need to make sure she's breathing. That's why I cross the distance between us, and why I lean close. It's why I listen to her intake of air, and watch her chest rise and fall. There's a space on the floor next to her, so I sit there and close my eyes. I can hear her, and know she's alive. I think that knowledge helps me to rest easier. "Tobias...?" her voice is weary, restless. She's sleeptalking. "No, Tobias," she shivers- but how did I know that?

I'm not even looking at...

Her fingers clutch my arm tight. She's pulling, and suddenly, Charlene is hugging me close to her. "No, please, I told you..." she sounds so afraid. But why is she dreaming about me? What is she talking about? I feel her arms wreathe me in an embrace unlike any I've felt. She holds me so close I could let go of everything and she'd hold me up. In those arms, I would never fall.

Who are you, Charlene?

"...I won't let you..." her words are broken by a loud snore, something so obnoxious it shatters the illusion of majesty that she'd woven over me in moments before. I stifle a laugh, but I want to know. What was she saying? What words were stolen away in that dream world just beyond my reach?

"I told you not to call me Sister."

What?

I can feel the warmth as it drains from my face. I don't care now. I need to know. The fabric of her dress in harsh in my grasp, but I pry it upward. Her undergarments are clean, laboriously so. Bleached until they were pure, like a virgin's dress in the church. The same that Erica wore when the clergy first stole her dignity away. Nothing will stop me, because unless I know, I won't ever have peace again.

And there, beneath the robes, an ancient wound. Healed twice over, perhaps more, but the scar was clear as day. I could see where the blade's sinister magic sapped her essence and left her numb. Her hair dyed, her eyes changed, but this woman was-

"You really should be more gentle with a woman, Tobias Stalt." She is looking at me. That fiery gaze burns, but not with the animosity I expected. She is full of the fire she had before they robbed her of it. The passion in her voice is conviction. She leans forward, into me, and takes my face in her hand. When she blinks, her eyes flicker that same, warm, ocean blue I remember. It was Sway magic.

I pull her upright and stand. We're eye to eye now, her knees in the cushion as I stare in disbelief. She doesn't so much as blink. "Don't fuck with me," I utter defensively. There's horror in my voice, fear that they've found a way into my head again. The Sway always finds a way. The Church always lies. "Don't you dare-"

"Tobias," she says my name, not Stalt, not some harsh, emotionless dismissal, but my name. It's stern, but direct. With that single word, she shatters every last one of my defenses. It couldn't be anyone else.

Erica.

[Tobias Stalt]

A thousand questions mangle together in a single word. "How?" The woman I held close as she took her last breath, with my blade plunged deep into her bowels now held my face lovingly. The way she looked at me was still warm, but her fingers were colder than the breath of Winter outside. There was something in her smile that seemed sad, though I could find no hint of its true nature. There is a gentleness in her movements, even in her words as she holds me, bewitched. "I watched you die."

"What is done can be undone," she whispers. A cryptic answer. Not helpful. "But let us speak on more pressing things."

What could be more pressing than this? Every scar on my heart is opened anew, ruptured by something beyond belief. My fingers trace her flesh, surreal but soft. Erica would be more happy to see me than this, wouldn't she? Or would she be angry? I am the man who betrayed her, who left her to die. Who could blame her?

"In the deep north, something stirs." She holds my gaze, but her expression is grave. She's serious. "Salvar was home to civilizations lost to memory, and the ancient people did not worship the Sway. The religion here is new, compared to the enigmas that lurk in the wastes."

She is referring to some ancient faith, something not unlike the gods kept in the East. Something Ancient, older than recorded history. "Old gods," the words leave my mouth, a low growl. This is the second time I have seen surprise in her eyes.

"You mustn't name them," she hisses, a hushed sound. The fear is evident in her eyes as they snap once more to the door. "You know-"

I place a finger to her lips. Erica never indoctrinated into the All-Seeing Eye. She can't feel what I do. She was right.

I shouldn't have said that.

With a hand slid beneath my cloak, I survey the door carefully. The wind is howling; if there was a sound from outside, we would never hear it. The wilds were wailing. I press Erica to the floor quickly, shake my head. She watches my eyes dart quickly across the floor, the walls, and the ceiling. "Tobias?" she whispers.

There.

I never look down toward her, because I never have the chance. The far wall of the carriage splinters inward. The icy scream of the outdoors floods in and I scrape Erica across the floor, tossing her limp behind me. She slams into the wall as the coach topples, and lays prone as my blade flashes. The candlelight illuminating our small quarters flickered out an instant, and I could not see the assailant.

Just it's ragged, erratic breath. The smell of nickel, and razor digits that caught the moonlight just in time for a long knife to obstruct their path. A lycanthrope? No. Its eyes lack that feral glint, they aren't lambent. The creature leans close, the source of blood scent now apparent. At this distance, I can see its eyes.

So black that they absorbed all light.

"Give her to me," it demands. The voice is hideous, devoid of all life and emotion. Its unbelievable strength bears down and forces me to give ground. The beast pulls back and thrusts forward again. Blood sloshes outward from my face, but also from the massive palm mere inches from me. The dull blue light of my knife chills the creature's wound, and the crystalized viscera smashes into the overturned carriage, shattered. "You stole her," it yowls.

"Gods don't bleed," I bite back, and it reels away from me. Like a spider, it creeps along the side of the carriage seeking purchase with its claws. "And you won't touch her."

It hesitates.

I watch it sink backward and crawl over the side of the cart, where it watches me for a long moment. The blades on its hand dig into the wood, and it screams. The sound is inhuman, full of agony. Its blood spews down and stains the floor before it bounds out of view. I remain above Erica standing vigil, but only the wind reaches my ears.

I swear it whispered to me.

[Tobias Stalt]

"What was that?" Her eyes are wide, haunted. The steam billowing from her lips is broken into a staccato by chattering teeth. With the coach overturned and utterly ruined, any hope for shelter from the elements dissolved. "Where did it go?" Her gaze darts to me, hopeful for an answer. My head shakes slowly. "Is it coming back?"

I don't blame her for being anxious. Whatever we just saw, it beggars belief even for me. I have seen much of the world, but things like that are an oddity even in my homeland. "Darkness swallowing darkness," the words escape me before I can catch myself, but the N'jalan proverb reaches the woman before I have a chance to compose a thought. If there were warmth left in her cheeks, it has fled.

"You don't think-"

"No, the Thayne have nothing to do with this," I explain quickly, dispelling the horrific thought before it could sink deep into her. "This is something older. While the N'jalan faith has similarities, this is a manifestation. N'jal does not create."

"N'jal only takes," she whispers. She knows the words surprisingly well for a girl who grew up in the grip of the Sway. I suppose she would be well-educated on blasphemies, though.

"Check the horses," I tell her as my first instinct takes over, and I peer over the side of the cab before jumping headlong into the snow drift. There is no light, but the stink of death looms heavy. Fresh powder has covered the tracks of whatever assailed us after only minutes, but it has yet to preserve or hide the cabby's mangled corpse. This was not a good death.

"Sylvester!" Erica gasped. Her hands fly over her mouth and nose as she gags. She forces herself to look away and void the contents of her stomach respectfully at a distance from her comrade's fallen form.

Those claws were more massive than I remembered. Upon closer inspection, the man was flayed open in four distinct places. Markedly, the anomalous beast lacked an opposable thumb. Whatever it was, it was not a werewolf.

The situation has become infinitely more complex. I cannot leave Erika with the carriage. Whatever came here came for her. I glance over my shoulder toward the woman, clearly shaken. "Can you walk?" I ask. She nods, but that seems to be the only response she can manage. Shock? Post traumatic stress is likely. If I have to fight the thing again, she will be a liability.

Tracks from the horses are barely present, but they lead further down the trail, deeper into the woods. It seemed the creature had left them unmolested, but robbed us of any chance to escape cleanly. It was hunting us.

"We're still several days ride from Archen," I state, eyes on the snow. It's accumulating at an alarming rate. Without a fire or shelter, we won't last the night. What strikes me though are the words that the creature spoke.

You stole her.

"Did you ever keep the Old Gods?" I question her. "Before the Sway, I mean."

She looks up at me, flabbergasted. "What?" There is mania in her gaze. Confusion, veiled anger perhaps? Have I offended her? "No," she shakes her head, "the Church is the only faith in Salvar," she said almost reverently, "it has been since Denebriel cleansed the land generations ago."

"No," I turn to glance out into the darkness. "That's what they tell you, but the Sway is an invader. The Old Gods were here first," the stench of blood and innards is dulling. In a minute or two more, the cabby will be all but erased by Salvar's snow. I have to wonder if that same fate awaits us. "They never left," I tell her, "and they are tired of staying quiet about it."

"Are we going to die?" She is staring at me, scathing me with that gaze again; but this time, it is sorrowful, not filled with scorn. "Tobias, what's going to happen?"

"We can't stay here." I pull Erica back to her feet and start to coax her along behind me. "If the cold doesn't kill us, that thing will wait until we're weak enough that the struggle will end quickly. We need to move."