Deeds of Their Past - 16. Chapter Sixteen

With the end of their long journey in sight, both men were eager to get moving and departed well before sunrise. As daybreak arrived, the gorgeous weather returned, with fluffy little clouds floating lazily in the blue sky. The path continued to go easy on the horses, allowing them to push hard and fast.

While riding through a lightly wooded area, Brohm abruptly signalled to stop. Without looking back, the big man practically jumped off his horse, and forced Nathan to dodge off the path and duck under a low branch aimed for his head.

Dismounting and assuming the worst, he pulled a dagger and made his way toward Brohm who’d dashed into the trees. He found him not too far in, gazing around with a grin on his face.

“Brohm, what is it?”

“Apples!” he said, pointing at the trees.

He was right. They were surrounded by an apple orchard growing in the wild.

“Gods, I thought it was something serious. I damn near killed myself dodging your horse,” Nathan said, sheathing his dagger.

Brohm looked back at him sheepishly after picking two apples. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, tossing one to Nathan. “I’m just hungry for something different than jerky and bread, yuh?”

Brohm took a large bite, juices flowing down his chin, but after chewing once, he puckered his lips.

“A little sour?” Nathan asked with a grin.

Brohm nodded, wiping the juice from his chin. “Still good though,” he said with a mouthful.

They decided to stop for an early lunch, enjoying the new addition to their menu. After gathering as much as they could into bags, they continued west.

The hours passed, and Nathan found the mountains began pulling away, widening the valley. The narrow river they’d been travelling alongside also expanded considerably, flowing away from the path. Toward their destination on the northwest horizon, dark clouds filled the valley. Oddly, as they approached them, the looming clouds seemed trapped, unmoving. Slowly, the ground underfoot changed from dense tundra to marshland. What few trees remained were dead, mostly fallen, and the smell of damp rot assailed his nose. The path soon became lost, forcing them to stop and survey the area.

“This wasn’t here when I was a kid,” Brohm said.

Nathan felt a tinge of annoyance.

“I was sure this path continued north until we hit the main road,” Brohm continued. “I reckon we took a wrong turn?”

“I don’t think so. These mountains set our way. Was there a hidden pass on the northern side of the valley?”

“No, I don’t remember anything like that.”

Nathan dismounted. “Come on, we just need to keep heading north. We’ll hit the road sooner or later.”

Brohm did the same, scouting the best route and leading their horses deeper into the swamp.

* * *

A fog settled onto the wetland as evening approached. The cloying dampness chilled Nathan to the bone, throwing him into a foul mood.

“Keep your eyes open for somewhere relatively dry,” he called out.

“What do you think I’m doing?” Brohm yelled back.

They spotted a large tree hiding in the mist, black and leafless, yet still standing. Slogging their way through the muck, they found it on slightly elevated ground. The loam was moist, but not soggy like the rest of the swamp, and they decided to set up camp. Despite the bounty of wood in their surroundings, all was wet and rotten.

Nathan sighed. “No fire tonight.”

“Obviously.”

He gave the big man an icy glare, not appreciating his sarcastic tone. In return, Brohm simply rolled his eyes. Nathan stormed off toward the horses to retrieve his woollen clothes, donning them in an attempt to stave off the damp, but it did little to help. Gingerly removing his muddy boots, he lay down on layered blankets, facing away from Brohm, and covered himself with the last one.

“Not gonna eat?”

“I’m not hungry,” Nathan muttered.

“Fine.”

A burning anger filled his chest that he couldn’t explain. It felt good to give in to it, so he did, allowing his mind to fill with dark thoughts as he dozed off.

Throughout the night, he woke to recall bizarre images of violence. He stood among the ranks of men-at-arms, fighting alongside them in a brutal pitched battle, relishing the glorious triumph of sinking a blade into his foe. However, at the same time he experienced that attack firsthand, writhing in agony as the blade pierced his flesh.

His final memory was laying face down in the dirt, lifeblood seeping from his wounds, surrounded by his dying comrades and their enemy. The ring of battle was distant, overpowered by the groans of the men around him.

Opening his eyes, the din of the swamp suddenly returned. Unseen bugs clicked and buzzed, interspersed with the odd bird call. The fog had grown thicker, and he was unable to see beyond a couple of metres. He turned to find Brohm lying nearby with his back toward him. Anger welled up in his chest again, bringing with it a hatred toward the man he couldn’t explain, but it was clearly there. He just wanted to be away from him.

“Get up!” he grumbled, roughly shoving Brohm awake. “Let’s get out of this damn swamp.”

The big man snorted and lifted his head up to look back at him, murder written on his face. Nathan flinched back in fear, feeling as though he was waking from a dream. The anger was gone for the briefest moment, replaced by the aching love he had for him. But it was smothered by hatred and loathing so quickly that Nathan was empathetic to the short-lived flash of caring.

He still wasn’t hungry, but knew he had to eat. Taking a bite of bread was like torture, and he retched at the thought of swallowing it. Rather die than take another bite, he left Brohm to eat on his own.

Neither man spoke as they continued their trek through the swamp. Instead, they exchanged glances of malice and contempt. As the day wore on, those feelings intensified, and Nathan fantasized sinking his dagger into Brohm’s back.

The thick fog remained, and the boggy landscape seemed endless. It was impossible to travel in a straight line, and having to dodge murky pools of sludge water slowed their progress even more. Nathan’s legs ached from trudging through the mud, and he felt light-headed. The thought of eating still made his stomach turn, but deep in the back of his mind, he knew he’d have to eat soon. In the distance, he saw something that filled him with rage. It was the tree. The same tree they camped at the night before.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me?” Nathan cried.

Only then did Brohm notice what Nathan was complaining about. “What do you expect? I can’t see a metre in front of my nose,” he yelled back, waving his arms in the air.

“I expect the guy who’s leading us through this gods-damned swamp not to run us around in circles all day.”

“I’ve done fine up ’til now!”

“A child could’ve led us through the pass up to this point. It’s been a single path through the mountains,” Nathan said, stomping through the mud to stand up to Brohm.

“I don’t know why the fuck I ever decided to stick together with you,” Brohm said. “My life is over, and we’ll be hunted until the day we die.”

“That might be sooner than you think,” Nathan said under his breath.

“Empty threats . . .”

Nathan had heard enough. Despite the height difference, he managed a solid punch across the big man’s jaw, yet Brohm remained standing, unfazed.

“I’ve been waiting all day for this,” Brohm said through gritted teeth.

Fear unclouded Nathan’s mind again. Before him was a man intent on killing him, and he raised his hands up in pleading. “No, wait. Brohm!”

A hefty uppercut sent him sprawling into the air. Stars filled his vision and he felt weightless for a moment until finally landing in the mud. Regaining his senses, he found Brohm looming over him with the same deadly intent in his eyes. The same unnerving smile.

Nathan tried to backpedal through the muck, but Brohm simply lumbered over his prone body and sat on his chest to hold him down, the impact knocking his breath out. A meaty fist smashed across his face, forcing his head deeper into the mud.

“Die!” Brohm spat, wrapping his fingers around Nathan’s neck.

He tried to pry them away, but the grip was steel. “P-lease . . . Brohm, please,” he gasped, his sight narrowing and growing dark.

A tear ran down his cheek in despair, not knowing how to get through to his friend. His last friend. The grip around his throat tightened as Brohm re-doubled his efforts. Energy spent, he felt everything go numb.

A figure in white robes appeared behind the big man. Nathan found it difficult to focus and thought it must’ve been an angel to take him. He found it curious to know that there was indeed something after death.

“Boys! Enough fighting now. Someone’s going to get hurt.”

Nathan blinked slowly in confusion. The voice didn’t sound heavenly in the least. It was more like that of an old woman. Suddenly the pressure around his neck was gone, and he heard a strange low wailing. There were words, yet he found himself unable to decipher them. He knew he was forgetting to do something important, but couldn’t pinpoint what it was. His body jostled as though someone was trying to rouse him from sleep. The words continued forceful and unabated, and finally one word came through that made sense.

“Breathe!”

Nathan gasped for air, coughing and wheezing, and found Brohm kneeling beside him. His face filled his vision, tears streaming down his cheek and mouth agape, sobbing like a baby. “I’m so sorry, so sorry,” he blubbered.

The old woman’s voice rose above Brohm’s wailing. “Dry your tears and wipe that nose, you big ox. Your friend will be fine.”

Regaining his senses, Nathan turned to look back at the mysterious woman. She wore a long silken white dress that, despite being in the middle of a bog, remained perfectly pristine. Her face was radiant, young. Painfully beautiful.

An attempt to lift himself up resulted in an embarrassing faceplant into the mud, only then realizing he had no strength left to perform such a simple task. Brohm pulled him into his arms and held on tightly, continuing to weep.

“Come with me. You both need rest,” the woman said. “And stop that infernal racket.”

“B-but . . . where are we going?” Brohm managed to ask through racking sobs.

The woman glided toward the horses, taking their reins. The dress was long enough that her feet remained unseen, but her graceful movement seemed impossible given the terrain. She gestured toward the fog, and it melted away to reveal a small cottage nestled in towering evergreens.

“My humble abode, of course.”

Nathan blinked in disbelief, finding it inconceivable the small house had been hiding the entire time, yet there it stood. A gentle, warm light emanated from small windows and smoke rose from the chimney. After everything they’d been through, it was a welcome sight.

Brohm managed to compose himself, stood up, and carried Nathan in his arms. Still sapped of strength, Nathan tried his best to stop his head from lolling back and forth while Brohm slogged through the mud. Reaching the line of evergreens, the stink of the fetid swamp vanished, replaced by soothing exotic incense.

“Look at the two of you,” the woman chided. “Like naughty children playing in the mud. This won’t do at all.”

Brohm stopped to glance down at Nathan and himself. She was right. They were almost completely covered.

“Not to worry,” she continued, tying the horses to a nearby hitching post.

Gliding over and raising a hand, she snapped a finger, and then nodded in approval. The mud had completely vanished.

“Much better,” she said, stepping toward the entrance.

“Magick?” Brohm asked in astonishment.

She tilted her head just enough to offer a wink and subtle smile. They stepped inside, welcomed by the warmth from the hearth and the aroma of stew bubbling in a pot.

“I’m afraid I’m not prepared for guests. All I can offer you is the floor to rest on,” she said, gesturing to a rug near the hearth.

“That’s okay,” Brohm said, laying Nathan down and settling himself beside him.

“Thank you for your help,” Nathan managed.

“I can’t remember the last time I saw travellers coming this way. Good reason too,” she said, sitting in a small chair nearby. “That curse got the best of you two.”

Brohm whipped his head in her direction. “What?”

“I suppose you don’t know about the curse of Knavesmire Bog? Nobody in their right mind would come through here willingly.”

Brohm shrugged. “I travelled this pass with my pa when I was a kid, but I don’t remember this place.”

“Ah, that’s a good thing. If your father knew best, he would’ve taken the other route.”

“There’s another way?”

“Well, not anymore. A landslide made the northern pass impossible to cross.”

“But what about this curse?”

“You experienced it firsthand just now. Hatred of all things.”

The big man glanced down at Nathan with sad eyes, and swallowed hard. “Oh . . . right.”

“A vicious battle ended on these grounds and many men died. It’s not known why it happened, but this bog held the anger and death of those men. If you roam here too long, death will find you as well.”

“But you live here? How’re you not affected?” Brohm asked.

She laughed again and gave him a passive wave. “You think a little curse could harm me? Silly ox.”

“My name’s Brohm, and this is Nathan.”

“Brohm the ox? It fits.”

Despite his weariness, Nathan couldn’t help but chuckle. Brohm didn’t seem to appreciate the title.

“Oh, come now. I’m just teasing,” she said.

“May we ask your name?” Nathan enquired.

“Of course you may. My name is Morgana.” She stood up and glided over to the pot bubbling in the hearth. “Now, enough talk. You should eat and rest. Regain your strength.”

At the mention of food, Nathan realized he was ravenous.

“That stew does smell awful good,” Brohm said.

Morgana served them a healthy portion in large wooden bowls, and both men ate as quickly as possible without being rude. She ate her own fill at a tiny table nearby, apologizing again for having them sit on the floor, but neither man cared. They were warm, clean, and their bellies were full with something else besides hardbread and jerky. Upon finishing, Morgana gathered their bowls and went to wash them.

“Let me do that,” Brohm insisted, standing up. “It’s the least I can do for helping us.”

“Absolutely not,” she said. “You’re my guests. Sit down.”

Brohm stood sheepishly a moment, but then did as she requested. While cleaning, she began humming a happy tune, her voice wavering during the longer notes.

“Uhm, Morgana?” Brohm called out.

“Yes, dear.”

“I was wondering something. It’s, uhh . . . I don’t reckon I know how to say this.”

Finished her task, she glided back to the two men lounging on the rug, staring Brohm down with a sly grin.

“Well, spit it out then. You’re full of questions. Don’t stop now.”

“Well, you’re very beautiful, but—”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, my big ox.”

Brohm laughed nervously. “But you’re voice sounds like you could be my grandma.”

Brohm was right. Her voice didn’t match her appearance. Regardless, Nathan swatted his arm for saying something so inappropriate. But much to their surprise, Morgana found his comment hilarious, openly laughing out loud and sounding very much like someone’s grandmother.

“You’re very blunt,” she said. “I like that.”

Brohm’s face was beet red and he avoided her gaze, clearly regretting his statement.

“Well now, I suppose I can reveal a little secret. I’ve lived well over one hundred years. This,” she gestured to her face and body, “is indeed a façade. A trick of magick.”

In a blink of an eye, her appearance changed. Wrinkles and liver spots replaced soft, smooth skin. The immaculate dress became a threadbare linen smock with a simple belt. Both men jumped in surprise at the sudden change.

“That’s the only problem with the spell,” she continued. “If there’s any mention of it to someone who doesn’t know of its existence, it’ll break. However nothing stops me from casting the spell again.”

She snapped a finger. Nothing happened.

“Uhm . . .” Brohm uttered.

“Oh, of course,” she tittered. “To be in the vicinity of casting the spell makes you immune to its magick, however it does still work.”

Stepping over to a looking glass, her reflection revealed she was indeed young and beautiful again. “It’s all very complicated, but there’s no need to understand how it works. You can see the results yourself.”

Brohm seemed genuinely interested, yet confused and at a loss for words. Meanwhile, Nathan found it difficult to keep his eyes open. Seeing this, she crouched down beside him.

“I think the poor dear has had enough for one day. You really had your way with him, didn’t you?” she asked Brohm.

He looked down at Nathan, noticing the bruises around his neck for the first time. “I can’t believe I did that to you,” he said morosely.

“Don’t fret, my big ox. He’ll be fine.”

She touched Nathan’s forehead with the back of her hand, but quickly pulled away.

“What’s wrong? Does he have a fever?” Brohm asked, touching Nathan’s forehead. “He doesn’t feel hot.”

“No, not a fever.” She looked sternly at Nathan. “Tell me, have you been in contact with any magickal artifacts?”

Nathan was perplexed. “Artifacts? No—”

“What about that alchemist,” Brohm said. “You mentioned something about magick.”

“The ring. Of course!” Nathan said.

“Where did this ring come from?” she demanded.

“An alchemist created it, allowing him to see my actions from afar.”

“That would explain it then,” she said, nodding.

“Explain what?”

She tentatively touched Nathan again. “You’re holding the remnants of its magick. It must’ve seeped into your being while you wore it. It’s a sign of shoddy workmanship. Amateurs.”

“Does that mean they can still watch me?” Nathan tried to rise, but Morgana laid a hand on his chest.

“While it’s possible, it’s very unlikely, dear. There wouldn’t be much energy to latch onto, so they’d need to be close.”

“I don’t reckon anyone’s going to find us here, yuh?” Brohm said.

Morgana nodded. “It can cause strange side-effects though, such as strangely persistent dreams.”

“Maybe that explains why you’ve been having so many bad dreams,” Brohm said.

“You’ve been plagued by nightmares?” Morgana asked carefully.

Nathan nodded. “I rather not talk about them.”

“If the spelled ring was farsight, your dreams could be offering you a window to another place in another time.”

Nathan thought back, and shivered at the memory of Brohm’s torture, and the daemon in the dark.

“How can I tell if the dreams were just that: dreams?”

Morgana shook her head slowly. “I’m sorry, my dear. There isn’t. But you should know that what you see isn’t set in stone. It’s just one possible future. The residue will disappear over time, so don’t fret about that.”

Nathan covered his face with his hands, letting out an exasperated sigh. “There’s only so much bad news I can take right now.”

“I’ll leave you two. Try to rest now.” She rose to her feet and stepped into a far room, closing the door behind her.

Brohm, still sitting beside Nathan, put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “It’ll be okay. We’ve made it this far, and we’ll reach Morringstone in a few days.”

“The tankard’s always half-full with you, isn’t it?”

Brohm’s hand moved to Nathan’s neck, gently touching the bruises. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

Nathan took his hand and gently pulled him down to lie beside him. “It wasn’t your fault. I was the idiot who started the fight, remember?”

The big man pulled him closer, embracing him, and without warning kissed him on the lips. It was brief and innocent, but in doing so, Nathan couldn’t hold back any longer. Moving in, he kissed him again, holding onto the moment. Brohm climbed atop him, slipping his tongue between his lips, stealing his breath. Nathan allowed himself to give in to his lust, heightening the spark between them, and a groan escaped him.

Brohm broke the bond and pulled back. “Shhh. She’ll hear us,” he said, glancing toward the closed door. “I reckon this isn’t the right place to do this. Maybe we should stop.”

“No, no, don’t do this to me,” Nathan pleaded, panting.

“Come on, we’re guests here. Did you really expect to whip it out and make a mess on the rug?”

As much as he wanted to do exactly that, he knew Brohm was right.

“Another time, another place, l’il buddy.”

“It better be soon,” Nathan said. “I can’t take much more of this.”