Chapter 64. Uncollected Relic.

  Walking past strangers Abram locked eyes with one. A short woman. Time tested with chestnut hair and a leaky belly wound. It didn’t look serious, but enough to stain that blouse through with new color.

  She too found his stare. The both walked right past one another. No words. Only a dragging, head-turning stare of recognition. Had his sense of smell not been altered in the exchange for his desire, Abram might have been close enough to smell the oils she used.

  Same goes for the woman—nope actually she could smell him. He was gamey smelling. Not stale sweat like most.

  The two strolled right on by, before continuing through. Both of them hurrying on their way. Each had more important matters to deal with. The thought though implicated itself within. A thought that washed through with each blurry face of the passerby. A thought that lingered so dense the weight was real. A thought without a doubt was in every other head who swiveled at the squeak of the wagon wheel. ‘Who do you play for?’

  His thoughts were beaten away by the trader they met earlier—Kye.

  Trader Kye was shouting for him. “Hello again.” He started. “I see your friend talked with Scarlett. Those were some interesting articles of clothing he had on.”

  Kye looked into the woods speaking again before Abram had time to. “The big guy seemed rather mad about something. Can only make me wonder what she’s got him doing… Either way my offer still stands. When you return if you bring me some lumber I’ll give you the robes and gunny.”

  “Ye didn happen to see where Sid be walkins did yas?”

  “He followed that path there.” Kye pointed. “Hope he’s careful out there, those Backward-Woods can be confusing. Dangerous too. Nasty monsters out there.”

  “Backward-Woods?” Blue swirls of gray flashed, while Abram muttered at the distant tree-line.

  “Don’t look like much but it’s a playing field for the Seven.” Kye said interrupting the voyager’s thought.

  “All Seven have a hand in the territory?” Abram questioned.

  Kye nodded. “Yep. Only from there.” He pointed. “To right about there.” Kye spun in a full rotation pointing the entirety surrounding the castle then back to the spot he pointed originally. Abram was not amused. “Others play out there too. Not here though. We’re protected here. There’s some kind of, …oh I don’t know, I suppose there’s an ancient force here inside the gates.” Kye finished.

  “Ye gotta be shittin me.” Abram whispered. “That spell still be working? But what about the war. Me thought the Seven played here? At the castle. Which of the Seven be in control here?”

  “I’ve heard talk about a few. None of the Siblings though. A powerful magical by the name of Garrion. Also heard rumors it’s a ancient artificer named Vegan.” The trader thought about it for a beat. “Truthfully though I don’t care who it is. I’ve come to appreciate the calm of it all. Honestly, I believe its only because of the Backward-Woods. The reasoning for why.”

  Abram lifted an eyebrow. Kye must of loved the tenseness, why else would he let the conversation hang on such a beat.

  “Why what?”

  “Folks don’t leave here.”

  That last part caught Abram. “What’d ye means by that?”

  “Well folks from here just cant seem to find there way away anymore. You can walk straight that way. Or that way. Or that way out there.” Kye pointed at three very beaten paths forking out beyond the perimeter. “You can walk for what feels like a mountains reaching, but before you know it your looking at the towers again.”

  One path found its way just straight from the gates. The other trailed off to the left—west if you were suspicious. The other branched away from western trail and wrapped behind the castle leading into the forest climbing the mountain.

  “So…. So when’s was the last times anybody be leavin.” Abram had a slight bubble of paranoia inflating in his guts.

  “Suppose we’ll see if your friend comes back. Then again, you two managed to find your way in….. But I bet he’s back before the rain lets up.” Kye nodded at his words. Noticing that Abram was not satisfied with the response. He added to it. “There are a couple adventures who try to find a way out. Perhaps they can help you find a way.”

  The bubble popped.

  “So if me starts that-a-way me and Arieo ‘ere are gonna be turned around.”

  “Yep. Some point in your travel you’ll be set backwards and find yourself talking with me just before I settle for the night.”

  Abram scratched the back of his ear. The rain had been dripping from his lobe. It was ticklely. He sucked on his teeth. Rubbed the back of his neck smearing the cool wet over. Meeting eyes with Arieo. Well shit. Now what the hell?

  Gods Abram was tired of chasing Sid. He really wasn’t even sure if he could find him. Three days ago Abram thought he could see a beacon of light after the bell. But now. Even with the dust, there was no more glow. Abram would have to delve into skill. Stars he wasn’t even sure he had anymore.

  “That path there?” Abram pointed.

  “Yep.” Kye confirmed again. “You’re going out there too? With your donkey?” The traders voice was sharp with concern. No sense in letting a good work animal go to waste like that.

  “Oh don’t ye worry bout Arieo.” Abram said while him and his first mate walked away. “He can be a real hard ass when it counts.”

  Abram and Arieo strolled along the path. Everything seemed fine enough. Didn’t feel backwards. He was sure if he just continued on he would catch up with Sid eventually. They walked until the sky parted and the remains warmth of the day greeted them.

  “Waits right here a moment buddy. Me sees something out there.” Abram patted Arieo on the neck.

  Hurry up. He wanted to run already. He wanted to rip at the gravel and curl the bark of trees with speed. He wanted to—Oh lookie there. That looks like some juicy grass. Arieo supposes he could wait for a moment while his master checked something out. Wow he’s really walking out there. Its fine. Arieo will just follow the path and eat the grass.

  “Sid!” Abram called out taking two steps, bending down to pick up an elven pouch. A pouch that looked just like the one Sid kept around his sword. He wondered if this was his doing then. He shouted again. “Sid is ye out ‘ere!”

  Abram walked slowly. Looking at the aftermath of a massive Venocoil. Investigating the carnage. Shredded gore there, vile black shit here, odd little white mushrooms growing in places—just look at this mess, did Sid shift?

  He pondered while he continued to examine. His only theory about it all: He needed to get back to Arieo. He need to find Sid. He knew the man was definitely around here somewhere.

  The grass was soft. Not allowing the dramatic sensory he was wanting. He could run fast but the grass never crunched. His boots never ripped into the dirt. Abram was a quiet runner—yeah it was kind of odd, maybe it was a star in Silent-Strides. Maybe he had one in Speedy-Sneaks it’s a mystery. There was a sound showing his speed and urgency though. The beautiful royal blue coat of his—well once was beautiful, now it’s a little filthy.

  Yup. The tails of his coat whipped and flapped in his trailing. There was even a few times he activated the Quick-Dash ability. Abram was rather skilled with the Quick-Dash of his boots, and when running he was able to—well dash with a blur, instantly appearing many strides ahead.

  Gods Sid must have had a thick girthy star in Wandering. How the hell did such a man stay so far from the path. Where the hell was he even going. Honestly Abram was getting rather sick of looking for him. Searching your whole life without ever seeing the man is one thing—there is a certain mystery that drives the soul.

  But now. Now that he has found him and the man is a dolt who understands nothing and continues to run away refusing to accept the facts—Sid was… oh how can I put this without killing all that amazing momentum he’s built for him self, Sid was fucking annoying, the man was a big bawl baby, and he was irritated with chasing him through the forests. It was dangerous. He and Arieo have certain routes they like to follow, and up here in the mountains was not on their map of easy trails.

  For example: He had to leave Arieo back on the path because the trees were just to dense to pull a wagon with a broken shaft around. Another example? Uhhh, how about that massive snake, is that example enough that these just woods aren’t safe for a leaky faced moron. Sid would surely die out here.

  Then what? Would Abram just continue to seek relics for the Seven. Would he cower for eternity? Not in fear, but in pressure. Would the addiction ever let him reach a point of sound rest. Could this addiction bring him to the long dark. Could it ever? Please allow such a request. This torment isn’t fair.

  Abram has seen many, many seasons, more than any should be allowed. He was cursed. Not through addiction, but ever longing mortality—that’s a story for later, but yes Abram was immortal…. To a degree—like I said a story for another time, I promise we’ll come back around to it—anyways.

  Abram hated leaving Arieo behind, but sometimes he can’t pull the wagon through certain thickets of trees. It wasn’t just leaving the familiar behind that bothered him though.

  It was that chest. That wonderful little box of driftwood. The spell over it was powerful, allowing it to hold centuries of plunder. His mind panicked at the thought of somebody finding his box of mystics, as only the key around his neck will keep its contents available. If someone were to smash the enchanted chest, the charm will break and everything will be lost.

  This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Then the thought of some wanderer finding Arieo. The fear and notion of ‘what if’ molested his mind in the worst ways. Touching him there with a what if someone found his pal. What if they attacked Arieo, the donkey was ill fit to battle when hitched. Rubbing him here in secret with the what if the finder was a trader. What if they stole his first mate. What if Arieo was sold to some hairy bellybutton named Clint. The fingers of what if they were hungry. What if by the time he made it back to, they were already eating Arieo. The assault of ‘what if’ was raw. Filthy. Unforgiving. Then was the thought of his cart…. Well actually he could get a new cart. Same was true for the relics, he could always find those again—it ties in with that curse I was telling you about.

  It was Arieo though. It was more then just the seasons they spent together. More then the adventures they would journey forth with. There was a kinship there that couldn’t be found. The bond those two built was something he couldn’t collect. Friendship was rare. True friendship. Not a ‘duh we’re on da same team’ kind of relationship. This was a correlation that is layered through experiences. They weren’t just on the same team, they were one for each other. The team just couldn’t be without the other, and it killed Abram anytime he had to tell Arieo to stay or run.

  Abram came flailing through some branches and bushy trees, just a short distance from where he left Arieo and the wagon. There was two slow passing inspectors.

  “Oye! That’s my cart! Get the fuck away from it!” It was the saltiest command to date. He barely gave the strangers a glance. Abram only noticed one thing. One thing missing from this picture.

  “Where be the fucking donkey!” Spit flew from his mouth with each word.

  One of the two grabbed the box with a very surprised and unsuspecting expression. That small chest nearly pulled him to the ground. The other stayed with the cart while his friend slowly waddled an escaping walk, clutching the small box. Readjusting his grip every few steps.

  The one who stayed. He pulled a decent blade from his side. Letting the dim breaking light catch the blade. Trying his darnedest to taunt the voyager. Reaching with a flat hand, palm side up. Fingers crooked three times, inviting Abram to a challenge. Unaware of just how skilled the voyager really was.

  Now Abram didn’t typically like confrontations, but he also wasn’t one to bend over and just take it.

  Abram was not backing down. There was more magic in that box, then most magical races even possessed. He was not going to just let that slip from his fingers—trust me you wouldn’t either.

  “Maybel, do ye cares for a dance.” He asked coolly, coming to a walk as he approached the man.

  A bright green emerald on the end of the pommel shimmered as if it approved of the mans request. All while he slowly caressed the handle like it was foreplay.

  “Me must be warnins ya mate, me is rather good, and me be playin fer keeps.” The tension between the two was thickening with each closing step.

  “So me’d advise ye be callins yer friend back, because ye be gonna be needin his assistance.” Abram gave the man a second to hear his words. The stranger paid no mind to the horribly spoken warning—honestly who can take anyone seriously when they talk like that.

  That man waited too, giving the impressions of thinking the warning over. Really though, he was letting his partner make a good start away.

  Abram smiled a tricky, patchy grin. A stubbly smile with chapped lips. Fuzzy teeth that hold the tint of tobacco smoke. Only when he smiled big like that did we see the dark window where a tooth should have been. It was a cheeky grin. The kind that was only fit for a sailor.

  A soft blue gleam followed the edge of a blade. Reaching above head the stranger attempt to out power the old voyager with a single and strong chop. Only to be countered.

  Abram lifted his blade. The precious showgirl, Maybel. The ring was sharp while the edges crashed. Maybel had a voice that could carry. She was very verbal, and shouted her point for all to hear. The type of girl who could argue about nothing. And she loved to debate.

  The blades clashed repeatedly. Metal sang. Clinging with dragged out grinding. Iron crashed and yelped. Gravel screamed underfoot. Both were now heaving with deep breaths.

  Abram followed through pushing the blue steel away. The soft curve of the Maybel, seamed to bend and coil around the sword it countered. Abram yanked the weapon from the strangers hand.

  The sabre quickly took shape again and the blue steel sword hit the dirt. The stranger looked at his weapon laying with the gravel. Mouth and eyes wide. He was completely astonished. Then being reminded of Abrams presence, a cold hard fist collided with an opened mouth jaw.

  Abram watched the stranger drop all his thoughts. Hands out reaching and grabbing for him and the wagon anything really. Desperately looking for balance while he stumbled and fell more dramatically then was necessary.

  An old boney finger pointed at the man hobbling down the path. “Calls him back! Me’s in a hurry.”

  The man rubbed his jaw and shook the pain from his head while the vision sharpened. “Jacob!”

  The man named Jacob casually looked over his shoulder attempting to waddle down the path. Stopping in his tracks he looked at his brother. Then at Abram holding the blade at his brother’s face, then down at the box.

  “It wont be opening without the key boy!” Abram called out.

  Jacob looked over the box witnessing the old rusty lock. “I think I can open it!”

  “Bring it back you son of a—” He never finished. A gross pain in his knee forced him to buckle.

  That stranger took advantage of this brief conversation of distraction. He had kicked the side of Abram’s knee, and when he fell, the stranger jumped on top. That man beat down with a flurry of fists. Then grabbed the string around Abrams neck.

  Abram watched with swollen eyes. Raking his fingernails into the mans arms. Clawing for his throat. Anything he could do to fight back. Clutching the mans neck until blood flow over his fingers.

  A fist gripped the key tighter, while the other battered the sailor. He managed a knee over a arm. Fist clapping and cracking against the side of that lovely color Abrams cheek produced. Swinging and swinging until there was a release.

  The stranger came to a stand, and began kicking repeatedly. Once he felt accomplished he reached for the sabre. He had always wanted an enchanted weapon. And once he had seen what this blade had done, well he just knew it was charmed. However, upon grabbing the handle, the blade seared his grip and wouldn’t let go.

  The stranger screamed with agony. Trying to pull his fingers open. The handle was so fucking cold. It was a burning chill. A chill that melted the skin. The man could only scream with bugging eyes. A death grip over his wrist with his free hand until his skin sizzled away. While such things were happening and the fleshy bond had been broken. Maybel would only then let go—everyone knows you can’t just be grabbing girls without permission—he kicked the sabre, watching it flip into the bushes with angry eyes. Then he lifted the key, showing his brother Jacob, who started back.

  “Lets open it.” Jacob suggested with a heaving chest after straining to get it into the wagon

  “Lets go somewhere else first.” Said the other.

  “This thing is heavy Jasper I’m not going to carry it somewhere else.”

  “Lets take the whole cart then.” Jasper said while he grabbed the shaft of the wagon.

  “This damn thing only has one handle.” Jacob said coming around the other side.

  “Who cares, lets go before he wakes up.” His brother said already tugging on the single shaft.

  “Me still awake.”

  The voice was so sour both those men had licked their lips with a dry swallow before they turned around.

  “Be that the hardest ye can hit boy.” Abram said pushing to his feet. “Me only going to ask ye once more.” Cold swirly eyes pierced both of the men trying to take his things.

  “Where me fucking donkey!” Those hurricane eyes bugged.

  He didn’t care about the chest anymore, fucking take it. He would find it and its things in time. That’s the funny thing about that chest, its part of Abram—he belongs to it. Only he can hold the box—yeah, yeah, yeah I hear you ‘duh but Jacob was just carrying da box.’ Shush and just listen, there’s more to it. It’s a special charm. The further away he is, the heavier it gets. Its part of that curse. That damnation. That unsigned contract he was bound to. One of the reasons why he hated leaving Areio alone with it. One of the reasons he placed it in the wagon rather than a saddle. It wasn’t a large chest. It has to be something Abram can carry. But it can get damn heavy.

  Jasper grabbed the handle of his sword. It sang upon release.

  “It ran off that way” Jasper pointed the opposite direction. “Go find it. I don’t want to kill you but I will.” The threat carried across the length of the blade directed at the voyager.

  Abram stared at the two. “We be seeing each other again mate. At the castle. Me knows these woods is cursed.” He never broke his stare down.

  “Only if you can’t feel the vibrations.” Jasper called back. “We know the way. Do you?” He waved a hand behind back, instructing his brother to carry on.

  The wagon wheel squeaked while Jacob tugged away.

  “Walk that way voyager.” Jasper said directing Abram away with the point of his sword. “Go!” He yelled.

  Abram only approached. He could see the tension of panic pulling the nerves in that scared face.

  Jasper gripped the handle for a two handed swing. His steps too picked up pace, while he prepared for the attack. The air swooshed, but not because of the blade.

  Those beautiful boots of Abrams. To the untrained eye it was nothing. To those who know, there was a shimmer that activated.

  Abram ducked. Triggering the Quick-Dash ability. Appearing behind the man just as he finished what would have been an amazing torso halving blow. Abram drove a hard elbow into back of a very crunchy neck.

  “Oh-ho-ho yeah!” Abram laughed watching him collapse. “Like kickins em when they down ay?” He shadowed over the man.

  Jasper quickly rolled over and pulled something from behind his vest.

  “Pandora’s wrath.” Abrams voice cracked and he took a few steps back staring at it. “Be that a?”

  “It is.” Jasper smiled darkly. Coming to a stand still pointing it at Abram. “What’s the matter. Don’t want to fight anymore?”

  Abram couldn’t understand. He thought he already collected the relic. How was it that this man was holding one? Now he could only wonder what church was producing the item—yeah duh its obviously Pandora, but what church? She has a fierce hold over Guulatikore. And controls much of the playing board.

  Abram was staring right at the business end of a Barking-Iron. A single handed item. An absolute game changer in this contest of swords and hammers. It only has one ability, and absolutely no stars were involved in using such things—others would argue that statement—depending on how one uses such item it can rip at the soul similar to that of addiction.

  “Where did ye get ones of thems?” Abram asked looking only at the Barking-Iron.

  The handle was wooden. Curved for comfort. The iron was reinforced. It had to be right? Because within something happens. A special thing. When that thumb releases that spring loaded iron. The thing will bark.

  Not a woof-woof bark either—gods could you imagine if these things barked more than once. Horrid.

  It was a bark that could pierce the area. One loud bark that would carry through the valley. Echoing from the mountain walls with a spine tingling crack that ruptures the air.

  Abram was thinking about it. He had to take that item. That relic. That weapon. He might be able to Quick-Dash behind him. He had to try—right? How nasty could the bite actually be? Bad enough for him to think about taking the entire relic away from the world before situations like this became a thing.

  He pushed for a Quick-Dash. In the moment of a blue coat starting to blur a thumb lifted. Letting the iron hammer snap closed.

  -BANG-

  Smoke and fading ember and a chunk of rounded silver spit from the negotiating end of such thing. It barked only once. A vicious sound that forced his brother Jacob to jump and turn around.

  Jacob watched the blue coat slam to the ground. Motionless.

  Jasper shook wildly. That single action had his hand vibrating. He looked down at the man. A new soaking stain and hole in the royal blue threads. Then at the smoke curling from the blooming end of the barrel.

  Abram coughed. Scaring the shit out of Jasper. Who jumped back before meeting eyes with the man.

  “Destroy it.” It was a wet request, and Abram took a gurgled breath. “Me warning ye. That thing ain’t healthy. Destroy it.” Abram reached out for Jasper.

  Jasper only looked at the man. Looking back at his wide eyed brother. Both unaware Jasper had fallen just that much more into a different addiction—the gods were tricky with manipulation like that.

  “Jasper!” Jacob shouted pointing in the distance.

  Someone in bright polished armor was approaching. Neither could determine the sigil, but the way the armor held itself it was quite apparent. They were a Crusader—the Crusader was the closest thing to law the lands had, ….depending on their attitude towards the game that is.

  “Hurry up! Let’s just go, leave him!”

  Jasper looked between the distant figure. Then Abram bleeding on the dirt. Then at his brother. He holstered his Barking-Iron behind his vest. Hand still trembling. He ran for his brother. Pushing the wagon from behind. The two made a quick escape while the newcomer approached Abram with slow caution. Then the realization of the situation became clear.