Rokah opened his eyes. It was the moonlight that lit the road preceding him. Dismal and silent, the path of the cemetery was at this early hour. He raised his head to the dark sky in anticipation. Maybe the god will hear his prayer. The rounded moon was mystical and beautiful, shining as ever, not caring about the fire that burns inside his weak soul.
These last days, he thought multiple times about giving up on killing that Aractanthrope. But his heart was indecisive. The hate and abhor filled his mind and made him rush for an early walk. The memory of that day was fresh as a bright moment in vivid history. Its effects still chattering his dreams.
The way Mr. Hendrickson handled the issue, as well as the crimson lord’s passive reaction. It was like they were performing a play in front of him.
He conjured the scene that stuck in his memory another time:
“I think that there is some misunderstanding here,” Mr. Hendrickson said as he spoke to the Count and his butler, who was standing behind him in the main hall. “It’s just that happened that we had met by chance when I took a stroll in the village that day.” He paused and glanced at Rokah. It was a quick and incomplete glance but it held a deeper meaning, Rokah still pondering on its signification.
“He showed me some of his elaborated drawings, and they were to my liking. Thus I asked him to draw for me,” Nicolai added, his lips were slightly curved to form what appeared to Rokah a buried smirk.
The butler cried: “That’s just a pretext.” And Nicolai followed, not caring about the interruption: “I invited him to give him the necessary materials, no more, no less. You can even send someone to confirm it.”
The Count asked without looking at his butler: ” Seaben, do you have any material evidence to prove the charges you are accusing Mr. Hendrickson?”
The butler stayed silent, and the Count added: ” Then you better start writing your apology.”
“Sir, Don’t you think it is strange that he knows the identity of the one who attacked the villagers?” Seaben insisted. Then the Count gave Mr. Hendrickson the same glance that Mr. Hendrickson gave to Rokah, quick and meaningful before he said: “Are you blind Seaben? Look at him. He barely escaped the death…” The Count covered his face with his palm. Nevertheless, Rokah picked up an annotation of the oppressed half-smirk, it was addressed to Mr. Hendrickson.
No matter how much Rokah repeated this scene in his head; he arrived at the same conclusion. This play wasn’t performed for him; this play was performed for the sake of that magus and Mr. Hendrickson’s quick glance was a trial to gauge out Rokah’s level of understanding concerning what was going on. As for the crimson lord’s behavior, it indicated the cooperation and amusement over Mr. Hendrickson whatever ploy. While that magus likely caught up these subtle signs for he was burning in the fire of his anger.
What kind of chess play, occurring there, and for what purpose? Maybe he should give up on killing the Aractanthrope for the time being.
The weak shining light illuminated his path and guided him to the cemetery, to Chewa’s grave… He stood there… veiled by darkness.
“I am sorry, I can’t fulfill my promise to your mother… ¨ His voice was barely audible when he spoke.
He thought that he was arrogant; he really believed for an instant the lies he told himself that he could be a savior, a herald to this young woman and her mother, perhaps to all the people that lived here.
In the end, there is no salvation for those who are not favored by the world, and fate always prefers those who advance while the dead shall perish in forgetfulness.
As he walked between the graves, he glimpsed a blooming flower. It was an enchanting view of his ruptured heart.
A pulling force made him stop and gaze at the enchanting blooming flower that emerged from between the gravestones. Making its way to the surface in arrogant pride, mocking all his attempts to feel alive.
It was an alert; the end of the winter is approaching… and the black stars will be here.
His heart ash when he thought about Madam Linda, he had immense respect for her, for her power to withstand the harsh beats of life. How resilient she was when it came to the loss and death…
Not just madam Linda, all the people that he met in this village have this invisible power that made them survive no matter what their conditions, no matter what they face…
Soon, this village will become a battlefield; there will be a slim chance for survival. Perhaps the people whom he met here will have a horrible death. Perhaps they will survive by a miracle, yet he won’t be here to witness it.
Death didn’t frighten him, since no one can escape it. What frightened him was the suffering, the pain, the distress someone could experience before he actually dies.
When he first arrived here, he truly hated himself, his weakness, his body, everything about his life. But now, he started to like his existence, at least for a bit.
Some of the wounds inside him were still wide open, yet the bleeding started to run dry.
He wondered from where a person had the courage to live. From where did such a miserable life come from?
” Life gives us choices. ¨ That was what he said before… But the truth is, life is what you choose it to be…
Right?
He clenched his fist and walked away under the dancing moonlight. On his way to the tavern where he pictured the silhouette of Madam Linda as she was waiting for him with the warm food.
He saw Mr. Hendrickson’s maid. Walking as if she was in a fight. He stopped at the sight of her bad condition. Her perfectly measured black and white dress was torn apart as she limped toward the direction of the entrance of the main house. His eyes followed her until she disappeared from his line of sight.
He remembered he didn’t see her by Mr. Hendrickson’s side this time. It must be that he sent her for an important issue. Maybe to deliver a message to someone. Had he not used her to deliver his message to him before?
If he was right, who could it be?
He narrowed his eyes in suspicion, then he lifted his shoulder in indifference. These matters do not concern him anymore.
***
At the tavern, it was as he expected. Madam Linda was wearing her scarf and waiting for him impatiently.
His lips faintly curved against his will before he announced his presence.
Madam Linda ran to him, her nose and cheeks were red from the cold and worries She asked while urging him to enter: “Where were you?”
Yet this moment of family warmness hasn’t lasted for long when he deciphered the identity of the man that was standing behind her.
Rokah gulped the warm milk as he observed the big man who was looking at the paper. When their eyes met, he spoke first, taking the initiative: “This is what you want, a detailed map of the main house.”
The big man remained silent, frowning at the speaker, attempting to intimidate him. Once he understood that his action was useless, he said: “It is incomplete… how about the number of workers, the weapon storage, and some details about the abilities of the magus?”
The doctor responded with a firm tone: “Of course, but I can’t be confident enough, it’s only just observations and a few estimations concerning the workers…”. He rested his right cheek on his hand and continued: “I will give you the complete details after you agree to my condition.”
Rokah was confident, he concluded after what had happened with the Lycanthrope, that this man and for some unknown reason, he won’t hurt him. The earlier contact between them was merely to intimidate him. He began questioning and deeply analyzing this odd behavior; he had witnessed and aimed to link it to the other bizarre reflections he had already made about this peculiar individual.
Working as a woodcutter, trying difficultly to preserve his image around the villagers, making an enormous effort to get a map for the main house… Weren’t they playing the same role?
Adding the fact that this Aractanthrope tolerated him when he should have already killed him.
There were two possibilities Rokah could think of to explain his remarks. The first one: there was a third party that got itself involved in the fight over this village. The second one: Lady Savannah didn’t tell him the whole truth about what was actually occurring here.
“I am fed up with your conditions. I was way lenient with you. Do you have a death wish?” Isidore was tone clearly angry. He seemed to the viewers that he was going to turn the table down, but the look on the doctor’s face reminded him of someone he knew in the past? And that someone always had this gaze when he was sure that he was getting what he wanted. And certainly, Isidore won’t give him what he wanted.
“Whatever you are going to do, I want to help you.” The doctor declared.
Isidore mastered his growing shock. This way of talking, those mannerisms. He didn’t believe his eyes and his ears. A burst of deep, loud, hearty laughter emerged from his large chest.
Madam Linda returned to their table to find what has happened to Mr. Isidore, the man who hardly showed any emotion. What marvel caused him to laugh?
When she approached, she got a hand signal to bring him another beer.
She obeyed his order with a big smile on her face; it never crossed her mind that what truly was happening between the two of them wasn’t really a good and friendly thing.
Isidore asked in a sarcastic tone that he couldn’t conceal: “And what can you do?”
