PREFACE: This one is a bit personal. When my brother (that’s him in the vignette picture below) passed away in 2018, I decided to write stories based on characters he had created and played at Renaissance Fairs. I wished I’d thought of doing so sooner though, while he still was alive. That regret was the basis for this particular story.
Dark clouds gathered in the sky, mirroring my mood. A storm was coming and I welcomed it. The only sound I could hear was that of the splashing waves against the hull. The salt of the sea tickled my nostrils.
Leaning against the railing, I watched as our ship came closer to the shore. It had been years since I’d gone home. I should have felt joy, but I did not. Instead, apprehension filled my heart.
Last time I’d left, my brother had wanted to come with me. But he was too young to go on a life of adventure. Our mother had made quite clear what she thought of his misplaced aspirations.
I had been glad not having to be the one to crush his dreams, and a little sad that I could not take him. I had promised to come back someday, and that we would have an adventure together. He, in turn, had promised to practice the sword. There were so many things I would have liked to tell him and to do with him. I’d often thought about those, and about him, in the years that went by since last we’d spoken. Even more so during this journey.
The message had come two weeks ago, informing me that Stéphane had fallen ill. No matter what they tried, the healers could not heal him. His disease remained unidentified. I had promptly booked a ticket on the next ship to Gaulia.
Though I attempted to be hopeful, a voice inside me kept whispering I was too late...
***
I stood at the door, staring at him.
It was almost like looking at a stranger. He was older, of course, but the virus had also done its work. If I looked long enough, I could spot familiar features—the high cheekbones, the little scar under his left eye, the two pimples on his chin... He looked so peaceful with his eyes closed, lying on the slab, hands crossed over his chest.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” whispered the mortician as she walked past me, squeezing my arm as she went by.
I had nothing to say, so I said nothing. I just stood there as she left, staring, and remembering the boy I had so often played with in our childhood.
He had been dead for two days. His heart had stopped before I’d even boarded the ship that brought me back to Gaulia.
I would never hear his voice again.
I would never see him smile again.
I would never...
It was too much to bear, so I turned and walked away.
***
“How did he catch this thing?” I asked.
The four healers who had treated my brother now sat across the table from me. At my sides were my mother and a dark-haired man I’d never met before.
If you’re wondering why my father wasn’t there, well, he had been dead for twenty years when I left for Britony. Killed in the war against the Frankish invaders. I only had blurry memories of him. I wondered if my brother would join him now in that blurry part of my mind and it made me angry.
“We don’t know,” said one of the physicians—a gray-haired man with a chiseled chin and sad eyes whose name was Anastase.
“What was it anyway?”
“We don’t know,” he repeated.
I frowned. “What do you know?”
The healers threw embarrassed glances at each other.
Another one of them cleared his throat.
“Only that the first symptoms were spotted two months ago and that it slowly affected him as the virus spread through his body. Until he could work no more. He has been bedridden for three weeks, sir.”
I could hear my mother weeping next to me and it only fed my anger.
How could this have happened?
“That was when I wrote you,” she managed to say through her tears. “A week before he took to the bed. When things got worse.”
The man who sat to my left had been introduced to me as Roland Laufray, my brother’s best friend.
“He fell in the middle of an arrest,” he said somberly. “One minute he was fine, the next he was lying on the ground, huffing. Luckily, we’d already disarmed our prisoners. Though I had to kill one when he attempted to flee.”
I stared at him. “Stéphane was a lawman?”
He blinked. “You didn’t know?”
My mother grabbed my arm, pulled on it. I looked at her as she wiped her already red eyes.
“He didn’t want to tell you. Wanted to surprise you when you’d return.”
I closed my eyes and clenched my fists, trying to stay calm, to convince myself that none of this was my fault.
My gaze went back to the healers.
“Could it have been poison?”
“Of course,” said Anastase, “when a maréchal is concerned, we always check for such things. But we found nothing.”
“Nothing that you knew,” I clarified.
“Well, yes, that is true.”
I glanced at Roland, who grimaced.
“It’s always a possibility, but it’s doubtful. He’s had this for a long time. If anyone had wanted him dead...” He paused. Frowned. “All who want him dead would have wanted him dead as soon as possible. Having it last like this makes little sense.”
I could see no fault in his thinking. Except, of course, if it had not been about removing him as much as making him suffer. It might have been revenge.
Setting that thought aside, we made preparations for the burial.
***
After the meeting, I took a moment to speak with Roland. We stood outside the mortuary, where they had taken my brother’s body when he had died, two days ago.
The rain had stopped and the sun was starting to pierce through the dark clouds above us. The air was damp, but the fresh breeze on my face was soothing.
“How long have you known my brother?”
He looked into the sky, squinting at the clouds as if he could will them to go away.
“Five years,” he said. “Since he enrolled. We didn’t work together right away, but... Well, it’s a small team, so we saw each other often.”
I remained quiet for a moment, trying to find the words to voice my question.
He glanced at me. “You want to know who could have done it.”
I stared at him. “How—”
Roland chuckled. “You’re just like your brother, you know. But I don’t think I believe it.”
“Which part?”
“That someone did this.”
“You have to be wondering, though.”
“Sure. Still. Unless someone was looking to settle a score...”
“My thought exactly.”
He nodded. “There are two who might have fit into that category, but one’s in a cell and the other’s dead.”
“Stéphane’s death must be convenient for others, though.”
“Of course.”
“Any recent cases you’d been working on?”
He gave me a look. “Recent now or two months ago?”
“Fair point.”
“Although...”
“Yes?”
He looked back at the sky, thoughtful.
“There’s de Venac. We’ve been trying to pin him for months. But I don’t see him doing something like this.”
“Who’s that?”
“Alaric de Venac. Local nobility. A baron. Lives in a castle a few miles from here. Got his hands in all sorts of criminal activities—smuggling, banditry, fraud... Though we’ve never been able to prove any of it.”
“Why wouldn’t he do something like this?”
“I’ve never heard of him dabbling in murder, let alone of the poisonous sort. Not his style.”
“Alright. Thank you.”
He grabbed my arm as I started to walk away.
“I know you’re probably not going to listen, but I have to say it anyway. You should leave the baron alone. Nothing good can come of this path you’re taking.”
I looked at him, trying to keep my face neutral.
“Is this the maréchal speaking or my brother’s friend?”
He hesitated a moment, then let go of my arm.
“I’d hate it if anything happened to you,” he muttered. “And your mother would never forgive me.”
I smiled. “I’ll be fine.”
With that, I turned and walked away.
***
The castle was not difficult to find. Everyone in the village, and the farms around, knew of the baron.
His home loomed in the countryside, above a vast garden surrounded by woods and hills.
I rented a horse and rode to the place alone, because why not? If no proof had ever been found against him, it meant he was smart—smart enough not to kill the brother of an enemy on a social visit. And if Roland was right, it wouldn’t be the kind of thing he’d do anyway.
Then again, if Roland was right, I shouldn’t even be bothering with this guy.
I introduced myself to the butler, who announced me to the baron. Shortly after, he returned and walked me to the library.
The castle was not the biggest I’d seen, but it was big enough. What surprised me more was the lack of decoration. There was no sign of wealth here. Just bare stone and occasional tapestries. I thought this was odd for such a criminal mind. Or was it just to fool the authorities? But then, what did he do with his wealth?
The library, much like the halls, lacked in the decoration department. It only had a small table with four chairs and four bookshelves. These had few volumes on them.
“The baron shall be with you shortly,” said the butler as he left the room and closed the door behind him.
I walked around the library and looked at the books while I waited.
When I heard the footsteps, I turned and saw another door open, on the opposite wall. A small man with a mustache and short brown hair walked in. I could not read the expression on his face.
He held out his hand as he approached.
“Sir Laroch! Well met. I am Alaric de Venac. I’ve heard about your brother. My condolences.”
I shook the offered hand.
“You have my thanks, My Lord.”
“Please, have a seat.” He gestured toward the chairs at the table. “I must admit my curiosity as to the reason for your visit.”
I’d had time to think about that on the way there, but I hadn’t come up with a good explanation. Even assuming the man was guilty, he would never admit to it. What was I expecting from this?
The truth was, I needed to do something. There still were a few hours before nightfall, so I thought I’d visit the man who might have masterminded Stéphane’s elaborate murder...
Brilliant plan, I know.
“I believe you knew my brother?” I asked as I sat.
He took the chair across from me and pursed his lips. He leaned back and considered me, tapping his fingers against the surface of the table.
“Your presence here,” he started slowly, “suggests you have some knowledge of my hypothetical activities and of my run-ins with maréchal Laroch. Still, I fail to see the reason for your visit.”
Well, fine then. Maybe it was better this way.
I took a deep breath.
“Did you kill my brother?”
His fingers stopped thumping the wooden surface. He stared at me for a long moment without saying a word.
Then he chuckled and shook his head.
I frowned. “What’s so funny?”
“I’m sorry, Sir Laroch, but... From what I’ve heard, he fell ill, non? He has been sick for months. How could you possibly—”
“Poison.”
“Ah. Of course. Poison.” He sighed. “No, Sir Laroch, I did not kill your brother. And if I had, it would have been much quicker. But, you see, I do not kill. I do not believe in violence. Even less in making people suffer. What would be the point of that? I like to make money. And there is no money to make with suffering. But I’m glad your brother is dead.” He must have noticed my expression, because he lifted a hand to stop me. “Look, it’s nothing personal, but your brother was a pain in my ass. I’m truly sorry for your loss, but I’ll admit he did us a great favor when he contracted this disease.”
I clenched my fists. “That is not a polite thing to say in polite company.”
He sighed. “You are right. My apologies, Sir Laroch.”
I looked again around the room. “And for one who likes money so much, I find your palace quite lacking.”
He smiled. “You are kind to notice.”
“What do you do with your money?”
He tsked. “That is not a polite question to ask in polite company, Sir Laroch. You should know better. Now, if there is nothing else...”
I stood, gave him a slight bow, and walked out.
***
My mother had expected me to spend the night at her place, but I decided instead to sleep at my brother’s house. The servants had been sent away after Stéphane died, but I didn’t mind the solitude.
I walked around the empty rooms, trying to capture something of my brother’s spirit—if there was such a thing. He had lived here. He had touched all these things. He built memories in this house... memories that had gone with him.
There were comfortable chairs in the living room, with a brown carpet on the floor and a painting of our father hanging on the wall. I walked to the chimney and threw logs into the foyer. It took me a few minutes to start the fire.
I stood and rested my hands against the mantel, staring into the crackling flames.
Maybe Roland was right. Who would have gone to so much trouble to kill a maréchal? Sure, it would have been a good way to make it look like a natural cause of death, but could a criminal truly wait that long? They risked getting caught at any time before the victim died.
It was a sound argument.
And yet, I had trouble accepting this. That he could have just been killed by some stupid virus. It felt so... meaningless.
Why was I so obsessed with this?
Because I didn’t want to dwell on the obvious.
That I had failed my brother.
I should have come back sooner. I had promised him I would, and I had not kept that promise. Not on purpose, but I had assumed we had time—our whole lives in front of us. I would see him again. Soon. Or so I thought.
And now he was gone.
I cursed.
And he had been in the same line of work, too. Oh, it was not exactly the same thing. I was a bodyguard and a rented hand, not a lawman per se, but still...
We could have worked together.
He would have loved that.
I would have loved that.
But I never knew...
I sighed and looked up.
Frowned.
Straightened.
Stared at the mantel.
There were things there—trinkets.
But what was missing was far more interesting.
***
The following morning, I asked Stéphane’s housekeeper to come over and showed her the chimney.
“What was here?” I asked.
“My Lord?”
“Look.”
I pointed at the spot.
It was a marble mantel where small tissues had been placed under each trinket to protect the surface. But there was one piece of tissue that sat there with nothing on top of it.
“Oh,” she said softly. “Yes. I remember. The statuette.” She turned a quizzical look at me. “Where is it?”
“That’s what I’d like to know. When was the last time you saw it?”
She frowned as she looked back at the mantel.
“Not long ago, My Lord. A few days, for sure. I wonder...”
“Yes?”
The woman seemed troubled. “Well, there was an incident some time ago.”
“An incident?”
“A thief, My Lord. He was caught, but then he escaped before he could be questioned.”
I frowned. “When was this?”
“Oh, I couldn’t say, My Lord. A long while, though not quite a year. Perhaps four or six months ago?”
I pondered this for a moment. “Do you know how my brother acquired this statuette?”
“I couldn’t say, My Lord.”
“Could you check with the other servants if any of them know?”
“Of course, My Lord.”
She left me with my thoughts.
***
Later that day, I talked to my mother about the statuette. She remembered seeing it and asking about it, but couldn’t remember Stéphane’s answer. She thought Roland might know—whom I had planned to ask next anyway.
“Oh, yeah,” he said, “I remember that. We were together when he found it. Was two years ago. We were chasing these crooks who holed up in a cave. While we were there, part of the floor collapsed into a tunnel underneath. That’s where it was.”
“Just sitting there?”
“Well, no. It was in a metal box.”
“Why did he keep it?”
Roland shrugged. “He thought it looked cool.”
“You didn’t?”
He gave me a look. “I hope you’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking?”
That startled me for a moment until I realized how my words might have sounded. I grimaced and shook my head.
“Sorry, no, I’m just trying to understand what this means—assuming it means anything.”
He remained quiet for a moment, then nodded. “I understand. It is puzzling. It’s not like your brother didn’t have anything more valuable in his home. And you say nothing else was stolen?”
“Nothing else. Just the statuette.”
“Maybe one of the servants took it?”
“It’s possible, I suppose.”
From the look on his face, I saw he was as skeptical about the theory as I felt.
“You know about the burglary attempt?” I asked.
“Of course.”
“I’m surprised the thief got away. It’s a small village. Didn’t you get a look at his face?”
“We did. But he was obviously not from around here.” A pause. “You know, it could only have been stolen after Stéphane died.”
“How do you figure?”
“His house... There was always someone there. All the time. That’s why that attempt failed and probably why there never was another. Well, until now. After the body was moved to the mortuary and the servants were dismissed...” He trailed off.
“Ah. Of course. I see your point.”
He nodded.
***
There was some excitement that afternoon when the baron himself rode into town. He came in a carriage to visit friends while servants bought groceries.
I watched from across the street as de Venac stepped into a three-story building, wondering what he really was doing there. Friends? More likely criminal associates—or henchmen. Giving orders.
Still, I had made my peace with it. I didn’t really believe he had killed my brother.
Which brought me back to the mysterious statuette. Could Stéphane have been poisoned just so the item could be stolen? That seemed rather extreme and preposterous. There would have been better ways to force people out of the house. This was not the most efficient way to achieve it.
And yet, the coincidence was troubling. It had to mean something.
I walked away, lost in my thoughts.
The sky was darkening, it would soon be night. There wasn’t much else I could do without more information, so I might as well head back to the house.
Maybe I’d go to the cave tomorrow—the one where my brother had found the statuette. And what about the metal box? What had happened to it? I had not found it anywhere—and yes, I had looked.
As I walked, I noticed a group of villagers who spoke in hushed tones, casting worried glances toward the north.
I approached them and they all went quiet as they looked at me.
“What seems to be the problem, gentlemen?” I asked.
One of them squinted at me. “You’re the brother, aren’t you?” In a small village like this, news traveled fast, so I only nodded. “He was a good man, your brother.” A pause. “You look like him. Around the eyes.”
“Thanks.”
Another one motioned for me to move closer. I did.
“We saw someone,” he confided.
“Someone?”
“A stranger. Has no business being here when it’s so late in the day. He thought we hadn’t seen him, but we saw him alright.”
I frowned. “A stranger? Where?”
They all pointed toward the north.
“We were about to go get the maréchaussée, but you’re one of them, aren’t you?”
Not quite, but close enough.
Though I chose not to correct them.
“I will take care of it. Thank you.”
They nodded and watched me as I headed in the direction they had shown.
There was a building there. One of the older ones in the village. It had been a school for a long time, then it became a gathering place for special events—weddings, parties, and general festivities.
It was empty at the moment, and dark.
I saw no one as I approached.
But I heard something.
The shuffling of feet.
I put a hand on the pommel of my sword and looked through the window.
A shape moved within, scurrying about as if looking for something.
I went to the door and stepped in, ready to draw.
“May I inquire, mon sieur, as to what you may be searching for at such a late hour?”
The man—for it was a man—spun around and hissed. I do not jest. The hiss was a real hiss, like that of a snake.
“Go away!” he said.
“Sir, I would bring to your attention a few facts. First, you are not a resident of this village. While there is no fault in this, it is impolite to break into buildings in the middle of the night—or at all—not to mention tell residents to go away when you should not be there to begin with. Second, that you have come with the night and have tried to be quiet in your activities tells me that you did not wish to be noticed; which in turn hints at possibly nefarious motivations. Third, this building is empty, which makes me wonder what a stranger might be hoping to find within its walls.”
“That is none of your business,” he said, his eyes staring at my sword.
“To which I would reply that the presence of a stranger in my hometown, under such inauspicious and suspicious conditions, makes it very much my business. Certainly, more than your presence here would be deemed your business by any in a position to make such a ruling.”
He hissed again, then lunged at me.
I drew my sword, but not fast enough. Razor-sharp nails tore through my skin and, for a moment, I thought I saw the man’s features change. I rolled to the ground, away from him, and jumped back to my feet.
Though he had no weapon, he did not seem deterred by my own. He came at me again, swinging his arm. I lifted my blade to block him, cringing at the thought of how it would slice right through his skin and bones.
Incredibly, he ducked so fast the metal did not touch him, and dove under my sword to slash at my legs.
I yelped as I stumbled backward. I lost my balance and fell to the ground. He was about to leap at me when a silhouette came behind him. The stranger screamed, twisted, turned. I saw blood dripping from his back, through his once white shirt—now shredded and stained red.
He fought an opponent I could not see, then managed to jump out of the way and run out the door before I could get back to my feet.
A hand reached out to help me.
I grabbed it and looked up as I stood.
“Baron,” I said in a startled voice.
De Venac smiled as he sheathed his sword. “I thought I’d heard a commotion. Are you alright, Sir Laroch?”
“I still seem to be in one piece, so I would argue that I am.”
“Good!”
He turned and headed toward the door.
I called out. “Baron!”
He paused and looked back over his shoulder with a quizzical look.
Many questions ran through my head, and while I was tempted to ask why he had helped me, those were not the words that came out of my mouth.
“Thank you.”
He nodded and stepped out.
***
I did not sleep that night. Or, if I did, not long enough. Too many unanswered questions kept me awake. Who was the stranger? What had he come looking for? What was the statuette? Had my brother been killed? Were any of these somehow connected?
The next day, I resolved to go back to the empty building. Except, it no longer was so empty.
There would be a big funeral for my brother. Everyone here had known and loved him. As was customary in my country, there would be a ceremony after the burial to talk about Stéphane.
The ceremony was to be held here.
I talked to some people and learned only a few of them had heard of the previous night’s incident. No one knew what the man might have been looking for.
It might have been the way the stranger had behaved, how desperate he had seemed, but I became convinced he had returned in the middle of the night, while all were asleep—except me.
I cursed at myself. I should have come to watch over the place.
Still, if he had returned, and if he had—as I suspected—found what he was looking for, then there had to be clues.
While the villagers made plans for the coming ceremony, I explored all of the rooms in the building.
What caught my eye was a carpet in one of the smaller rooms in the back. It was not lying flat on the floor—one of its corners turned over. Of course, it didn’t mean anything. Someone could have come here and tripped over it.
Still...
I leaned down, grabbed the edge, and pulled it up.
Underneath was a trapdoor with a large metal ring as a handle. The wooden surface had been hollowed out to allow the ring to fit in without creating a bulge under the carpet.
I grabbed it and pulled.
It was dark in there, though I could see stone steps going down.
I went to the room next door, where I’d seen some candles on a table. I took one, lit it, went back to the trapdoor, and started down the steps.
It was a narrow passage that went on for a dozen feet. It ended at the entrance of what I could only describe as a cavern. Right under the village!
What was this?
I thought I heard distant sounds—the shuffling of feet, again, but also the chipping of stone.
So the stranger was here. Was this what he had sought? How had he known about this place when none of the villagers had?
All those questions required answers, and I was resolved to obtain them.
I followed the sound, as quickly and quietly as I could.
It did not take long to reach the place.
I had to go down tunnels and walk through small caves, until I finally saw a flickering light ahead of me.
He stood in another one of those small caves, his back turned to me, using a pickaxe to dig through the wall. It must not have been a thick one, because he had already pierced a large hole and I could see there was something on the other side. It was too dark to see clearly, but there seemed to be walls—and by that, I don’t mean rock walls like in the tunnels and caves all around me. They might have been made of stone as well, but they looked smooth, as if man-made.
Considering how our previous encounter had gone, I decided to wait and see what would happen once he’d dug enough to go through—which would not take much longer. He must have been at this all night.
The man let out a little cry of joy as another block of rock crumbled and the hole widened. He dropped the pickaxe and slipped one foot through the opening, then his head, then his other foot went.
I waited until his footsteps stopped and crept up to the hole. Kneeling in front of it, I drew my sword—I’d be ready this time—and peered through.
The stranger stood in the middle of a small room, in front of a fountain. Water poured from an opening in the wall and fell into a basin underneath. He went to his knees, cupped his hands, and dipped them into the water. He brought them to his lips and drank.
For a moment, his shape blurred and shifted. I thought I saw a snake there, where he had stood. Then it was gone and the man was back. I blinked and shook my head. It couldn’t be good if I was seeing things now.
I glanced around the room, making sure there were no other openings—there weren’t—held up my sword so that the blade would point through the opening, then cleared my throat.
“Excuse me, mon sieur, but I think it is time you and I had a conversation.”
He jumped to his feet, swung around, and hissed.
His skin seemed less pale than it had last time we’d met... It had been dark, that is true, but it was dark enough here as well that I thought the comparison had some value.
“Go away!” he said.
“I do not think so, mon sieur. I would also like to point out that you have less of a say on that matter now than you had before.”
He looked around him, then back at me, likely having come to the same conclusion as I had a couple of minutes prior.
“This is the only way out,” I said helpfully. “And, as you can see, I am blocking it quite efficiently. You could try to pass, but I fear you would find yourself skewered on my blade. For which I apologize in advance.”
The man took a step forward, then stopped. Squinted.
“What do you want?” he hissed.
“Merely to understand, I assure you. So how about you start by telling me who you are?”
He grunted. “My name is Gurglesh, if you must know.”
I frowned. “That does not sound like a Gaulian name. In fact, I cannot make its origin.” He said nothing. “Very well.” I made a slight motion with my blade toward the basin behind him. “How about you explain to me what that is?”
“A fountain.”
“Ah. Yes. I thank you for this most astute remark. However, I’m afraid I had pieced that part together. What I would like to know is why it is so important to you that you had to break into this building and risk your own life to reach it?”
“I was dying anyway,” he grumbled.
“Excuse me?”
He glared at me. “Go ahead, then. Kill me.”
“Why would I do that?”
The man pointed at my sword. “That’s what you humans always do to us, isn’t it?”
I glanced at the blade, then back at him.
That was a very puzzling statement he had just made.
Was he not human?
I hesitated, then sheathed my sword.
“Very well,” I said. “You are free to go.”
I stood, stepped back, leaned against the wall across from the opening, crossed my arms, and waited.
There was a moment of silence, then footsteps. His head appeared in the opening as he leaned to peer through. He stared at me. Frowned.
“You really mean it?” I nodded. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why are you letting me go?”
“Because,” I said, “you have a clearly distorted interpretation of my intents, and I do not like that. Furthermore, you have not harmed any villager—though there might be some concerns voiced regarding damage done to private property.” I jerked my chin toward the hole in the wall. “So, unless you had anything to do with my brother’s death, I see no reason to restrain you. And, to be fair, I am no maréchal, so it would not be my duty anyway.”
He slowly slipped through the opening, never looking away from me. Once out, he straightened and watched me without moving.
“You are the dead man’s brother?” he asked.
It was my turn to squint. “He had a name. Stéphane Laroch.”
He nodded. “I am sorry.” The words sounded genuine, and it troubled me. “It was not my doing, though I benefitted from his death.”
“How do you mean?”
He hesitated. Looked toward the exit—which he could have reached easily—then back at me.
“Your brother owned something that blocked me.”
I straightened. “The statuette!”
“You knew of it?”
“Not until yesterday. So it was you who stole it?”
“Yes and no. I’ve been trying to retrieve it for over a year, but I couldn’t get near, so I hired someone to do it. He failed repeatedly and—”
“There was more than one attempt?”
He nodded. “He was only caught once, but all others failed as well, though in different ways. There always were too many people there—servants. And at night, enchantments protected the house. They were reinforced after my man got caught, which made things worse.”
“But why did you need that statuette?”
“I didn’t. I needed it out of the picture. As far from the village as possible. It keeps my people away.”
“Your people?”
For a moment, his shape blurred, and I saw the snake again, then the stranger stood in front of me, nodding.
“We were animals once... until we drank from the fountain.” He pointed over his shoulder. “It turned us into morphlings.”
I’d heard of these shapeshifting creatures but had always assumed they were a myth.
“You said you were dying?”
“We all are. From a virus. The same one that killed your brother. I’m not sure why, it’s only supposed to affect my kin. He must have been in contact with one of us. In any event, I thought maybe drinking from the fountain again could heal us, so I tried it myself.”
“Oh. Did it work?”
He smiled as he lifted his arms and looked at them. “I believe it has. I hadn’t felt so whole in years.”
“So, what are you going to do now?”
His hands dropped and he looked back at me.
“If you let me go—”
“I said you could.”
“—I will tell my people so they can come here and drink and heal as well.”
I nodded. “You realize if many of you come, it will be a problem. You can’t do this without talking to the villagers. It wouldn’t work.”
He remained quiet for a moment. “Would you speak to them for us?”
I smiled as I pushed away from the wall and started toward the exit.
“Come. I happen to know a maréchal...”
***
Roland had talked to the village elders and, together, they had agreed to give the morphlings safe passage.
Me, I had finally come to grips with the truth.
There had been no foul play, despite how much I had wanted Stéphane’s death to have... well, some meaning. But there just wasn’t. He had caught a virus and he had died.
That was all there was to it.
I felt so powerless as I looked at the casket.
My mother stood next to me, weeping.
“We are gathered here today,” started the magister.
He went on, but I paid little attention to his words. They all blurred out in my mind as I stared at the coffin.
My hand reached out and pressed against the wooden frame. Others did as well—my mother and Roland, among many.
I wish I had known you better, my brother.
I wish we’d had more time together.
I wish I had come back sooner, as I had promised.
That we would have found those things within us that we had in common. That we could recognize them, cherish them, turn them into something special...
But it is too late now.
Goodbye, brother.
And may you rest in peace.
If you like my writing, please consider buying a copy of my novel, upgrading to a paid subscription, or making a Paypal or Ko-fi donation. As an independent author, any of these would help a lot!
Did you miss Jean-Jack’s previous adventures? No problem! You can read them here:
If you enjoyed this story, please feel free to forward it to your friends or to share it on social media.
And don’t forget to like by clicking the little heart below this post ;)
Thank you!
—
Text (c) 2023 by Alex S. Garcia.
Header: royalty-free stock images, edited by me.
—
Want to read more free stuff?
Sign up to The Sample for a large selection of nonfiction (and some fiction.)