“There is a monster in your woods.” Gillion said. “And I’ll kill it for you.”

  The crowd behind him gasped at the arm-sized finger Gillion had thrown on the floor. And who was this stranger? This filthy, ragged man who strode through the town and proclaimed himself ‘monster-killer’ in front of their elders? Whispers went through the procession, every man, woman, and child gawking at Gillion as he pulled back his hood to reveal his unkempt, shaggy, dark hair and scruffy beard. He was obviously an easterner, with angular features and a small brow, but there was so much dirt caked onto his skin that it was difficult to see exactly what the man looked like.

  “And who are you?” One of the elders, a short, bald old man said, leaning forward in his large wooden chair. A name plaque at the front of his podium read ‘Alquin.’ “Who is this stranger in our midst?”

  “I am a traveler from the east.” He said, stepping forward and turning to face the crowd. “And this monster in the forest has stolen my mule. I will slay the creature and get him back.”

  “A monster?” A man from the crowd yelled. “Has this monster taken our children?”

  “I don’t know for certain.” Gillion looked the one who spoke dead in the eyes. “But I’m sure the taking of my mule and the taking of your children are related. Your children have been having dreams of late, haven’t they?”

  The crowd murmured in agreement.

  “Aye!” A woman said, stepping forward. “Of a woman in the woods!”

  “Holding our children!” Another finished.

  “Indeed. I’ve heard as much from the mouths of your children myself. The entire thing reeks of Old Song sorceries.”

  At the mention of the Old Song the townsfolk went silent. Alquin leaned forward and hissed, “We do not speak of such things here!”

  “Why?” Gillion asked, turning back to face the man. “If it truly is what’s been taking your children, you would rather ignore it?”

  “To speak of it is to summon it into our homes! Into our minds! You play a dangerous game, traveler!” The elder was standing now, red in the face and trembling with anger. He was a puffy man, too large for the bright clothes he was wearing and too angry now to resemble anything but a plump apple. He kept his hands on the table in front of him and leaned so far over it that all Gillion could see were the folds of fat hanging down from under his chin.

  “It’s already in your homes.” Gillion said, causing the crowd to gasp. “Ignoring it will not fix the issue, old man.”

  “Old man?!” The elder screamed, slamming his fists on the table. “I’m barely forty-three!”

  “Your extra weight may have given your face a few extra years.” Gillion said between gritted teeth. This made the old man go pale, and the crowd behind him snickered. Seemingly at a loss for words, the elder shut his mouth and sat down. “Now, we can either ignore the issue, ignore the stench of the Old Song, or you can allow me to try and stop it. I will not inquire about your missing children if you do not want me to, but know that if you aid me, I might be able to save them. I will be taking back my mule either way.”

  The crowd immediately began murmuring to each other, turning to their neighbors and families and speaking in hushed tones about the stranger that had blown into town and disrespected one of their elders. At the moment, nobody was coming to help them. They had sent a number of envoys to the capital in an attempt to gain any kind of support from the new regime, but nobody had come. Were they so desperate as to turn to a complete stranger for help?

  “Aye.” One of the townsfolk said, stepping forward. This was a middle-aged woman in her forties, older than Gillion but younger in demeanor and appearance. Years in the wild had turned Gillion from what would have been a handsome thirty-four year old to a ragged, sun-worn man with greying hairs. She stepped out from the crowd in her head scarf and long skirt, clutching a newborn infant in her arms. “I’ll take it. Better than nobody, right?”

  She turned to the crowd and received both nods of approval and disdain. The crowd was seemingly still mixed about his arrival.

  “What do you need from us?”

  Gillion looked the crowd over. They were a group of rowdy, unruly, obstinate individuals hellbent on screaming their elders to death, but they were also parents desperate to keep their children safe. He could see the stress on their faces, the furrowed brows and tired eyes, and so he groaned and rubbed his forehead. If he was truly going to help these people, then Gillion would be here much longer than he intended.

  With the sun setting outside the Meethouse windows and the shadows growing longer and longer, Gillion knew what he had to do. He gripped Amorada’s handle tightly and twisted her around on his waist.

  “I need to sleep.” Gillion said, starting down the path he had carved through the middle of the crowd. “And tomorrow, I need answers.”

  ~~~

  Dreams had haunted Gillion since that fateful day on the battlefield. Dreams of salvation and damnation, dreams where the world knew he existed and dreams where it had no knowledge of him at all. Oftentimes in these dreams he would face down that great beast they called the Immortal King, and oftentimes he would be killed by that greatest of his family’s enemies. There was no peace for Gillion, son of Haldon, not even in sleep, and that night he dreamt of a monster in the woods that took the face of his father.

  He chased the vile creature down, Amorada in hand, screaming in rage the whole time. It wove through the forest as if it knew exactly what its path was, and Gillion stumbled amongst the roots and thick brush as he tried and failed to keep up. Where was his sword’s voice? Where was Amorada’s distinct guidance? Step after step he fell farther and farther behind the monster bearing his father’s face, and before long, the large man was lost in woods wholly unfamiliar to him.

  “Amorada. Speak to me.” Gillion said between exhausted breaths. The sword made no answer.

  He continued his way through the woods, though much slower than before. He used his sword to push or cut plants from his path, he swore and grumbled and complained with every inch that passed by, until finally he broke through the trees and into a clearing with a wooden cabin at its center. Flickering candlelight shone through the open windows, and a large pillar of smoke billowed out from the stone chimney at its top. Something savory was cooking in the house, and despite the danger, Gillion’s stomach growled.

  He approached the front door of the house, sword drawn. He reached his hand forward and grasped the brass doorknob, slowly turning it to avoid making any noise, and, taking a deep, drawn-out breath and holding it, he pushed his way inside.

  And woke up.

  Gillion started awake, drenched in sweat. His time sleeping on the forest floor did not feel entirely restful, and only bits and pieces of the dream came back to him. He remembered never actually getting to see the creature he was chasing, he remembered just knowing that there was one. He wiped the sweat from his brow, taking some of the caked-on dirt with it, and he looked to the east. The sun was rising over his homeland, and a slight breeze drifted through the air as if it were too lazy to get a move on. The forest was peaceful around him, quiet with the absence of animal life. A far cry from the sinister nature the nights before had taken on.

  Gillion rose with the rising sun, donning his raggedy tunic and cloak and strapping Amorada to his belt. The sword was still asleep, if such a thing could be applied to blades, and so she said nothing as the man unsheathed her and began to oil and sharpen her. If there was one lesson he remembered from his time as a prince, one lesson he had kept through the decade and a half since his exile, it was to keep your weapon sharp and happy. The difference between life and Blackened Death could come down to just who had the better weapon, and Gillion wouldn’t be caught with a lackluster sword.

  His stomach growled, which reminded him of the savory aroma he had dreamt of. How long had it been since he had a proper meal? Not just foraged plants and whatever animals he could find, a real proper meal, with meat and bread and wine? A month at least. Maybe two or three. His time on the road had taught him to ignore the cravings of the flesh, but the dream had annoyingly woken up the desires he had worked so hard to suppress. He craved the salty juices of a rabbit stew, he craved the crunchy exterior of the Granar bread from back east, he craved even the sweet taste of honey mead distilled in the breweries of his homeland. Fifteen years without it almost made him forget the tastes of such luxuries. Gillion often thought it better if he did forget, but some part of him lingered on those memories. It was his only real link to his life before… everything.

  He swallowed a few handfuls of grass to quiet the rumbling of his stomach, then made his way into town. The trek from his preferred sleeping spot in the woods back into Pondfall was somewhat long, but it allowed him to think of what questions he needed to ask the townsfolk, especially the children, about the strange occurrences and disappearances. Neither he nor Amorada were particularly knowledgeable on the workings of Old Song trickery, but they had encountered enough on their travels to know it when they saw it. Something told Gillion that the creature could only operate at night. His solo search for the creature had failed tremendously during the day, and every encounter he had heard of till now had occurred when the sun was down. And what of the dreams? What of the nightly terrors that faced the children of Pondfall while they slept? What was he to make of this mystery dream woman and the house in the woods, were they merely the nightmares of frightened children, or were they the workings of dark magic? Right now, Gillion had more questions than answers, and he needed to remedy that quickly.

  Amorada woke when the forest had started to make its change into the plains of Aglamand. The tall golden grasses of the western frontier were famous the world over, and despite Pondfall having settled so close by, the grass continued to creep its way back into civilization. This summer the reeds grew up to Gillion’s thigh, and though it made it difficult to traverse the path back into town, Gillion appreciated the beauty more than he hated the hike. The rising sun reflected off the golden reeds at just the right angle, making them glitter and glisten as the cool morning breeze blew through them. Nowhere in the East could Gillion see sights like this.

  Gillion. Amorada said, causing Gillion to wince as her voice dug into his skull. You didn’t say good morning to me. It’s rude.

  Gillion groaned and placed his hand over the sword’s pommel. “Must I say it every morning?”

  As long as you wear me on your waist. Amorada glowed slightly brighter, shining through the black cloth he kept over the handle. So? Where is it?

  “Good morning, Amorada.” Gillion said reluctantly.

  Content with this, Amorada buzzed with happiness.

  The two finally made their way into town. Unlike the emptiness of Pondfall the previous day, this morning was busy. People pushed here and there, moving about the streets while pulling large carts filled with grain and tools. Children ran back and forth, some even playing tag while others clung to their mother’s skirts as if their lives were in danger. Folks sat on their wooden porches and watched in contentment as life continued on in Pondfall.

  “Why do you suppose everyone is so happy?” Gillion said, frowning. “Their children are gone and life just continues?”

  Your kingdom is gone, and your life continues. Amorada said. The comment stung. Tragedy does not mean a stop to life, Gillion. If such were the case, everyone would starve.

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  Seeing the truth in her words, Gillion stopped where he was and watched as a group of young kids pushed a large bale of hay down the center of the street. Whatever game they were playing with it made their parents furious, which just spurred them on to continue their mischief. He chuckled to himself, remembering the times when he and his young friends used to roam about, avoiding their lessons and getting into all kinds of troubles. He wondered if any of them were still alive.

  The sight of a woman waving him over shook him out of his memory-induced trance. Putting his hand on Amorada’s handle, Gillion strode over to where the woman stood and looked her up and down. She was a woman in her late thirties, maybe early forties, with ginger hair tied back in a bandana and an infant clutched in her arms. He recognized her from the day before, as one of the parents in the crowd screaming at the elders.

  “Welcome into town, Vagrant.” The woman said, clutching her infant tighter. Her demeanor betrayed her friendly greeting. She was obviously still wary of the stranger in her town, even if he had agreed to help, and so she tried her hardest to hide the infant against her chest.

  “Vagrant?” Gillion asked, squinting his eyes.

  “It’s what we’ve taken to calling you.” She said. “Since you never gave us your name.”

  “I suppose it will do.” Gillion said.

  Gillion stared into the woman’s eyes as if nothing else existed. The two remained silent for some time, the woman sweating as Gillion continued to stare her down, and Gillion waiting for any cue so he could end the conversation and leave. Years in the wild had turned his social skills to mush, and so the two stood silently until finally, the woman spoke.

  “So… you wanted to ask questions? Investigate?” The woman asked, forcing a smile.

  “Yes. Take me to the families of the missing children, if you would.”

  Relieved to get away from the awkward tension, the woman turned and started down the cobblestone streets of Pondfall, flinching when he started to follow her. The roads on this day were crowded with children and adults alike, but they parted when the large traveler was seen making his way toward them. They silently stared as he made his way past, and he made no action to regard their presence.

  Have you forgotten how to speak with people? Amorada asked, buzzing in his grip.

  “I haven’t spoken to anyone in a long time.” Gillion responded, drawing a curious gaze from the woman who led him forward.

  Ask her name, imbecile.

  Gillion furrowed his brow at the insult and scratched the back of his head. “Er, what’s your name, miss?”

  “Marda.” She responded, still looking back at him. “How long have you been on the road?”

  “A decade and a half, give or take a few months or years.” Gillion scratched his head and tried to remember, but the more he thought the more lost he became in his mind. Just how long was he on his own? Just how long had it been since the fall of his kingdom, the death of his father? “Though I cannot remember fully.”

  “That’s a long time to be on your own.” Marda said. “Don’t take offense to this, Vagrant, but me and some of the others were wondering… how long has it been since you last washed?”

  Gillion thought for a long while. “Not since the last time it rained, I suppose. Me and my mule don’t find a lot of opportunities.”

  “Well, there are public bath houses in town.” Marda said, smiling and turning back toward the road. “After we speak to the families, perhaps it might be nice for you to wash.”

  With the tension eased and the journey underway, Gillion dove back into his thoughts and continued in silence until at last they arrived in front of a large brick and stone townhouse. The building was two-stories tall and wider than most of the buildings around it, and the sloped roof gave it a rounded top that seemed perfect for washing off the rain or snow. It was in good condition, even if the street around it wasn’t, and it seemed to Gillion to be a home for many tenants instead of just one family.

  “This is it.” Marda said, gesturing to the building. “Family’s in there. I’ll be waiting outside for you, Vagrant.”

  Gillion nodded and stepped toward the door. He raised his fist and knocked twice, waited a second, then knocked a third time. He heard rustling from within, a few quiet voices and the sound of boots upon a wooden floor, then watched as the door cracked open slightly. He could see a green eye look out from within, widening as it focused on Gillion’s face.

  “I’m here to speak to the parents of… the missing children.” Gillion only now realized that he was still ignorant of the victims’ names. He cursed himself for not asking Marda sooner. “I’m here to help.”

  The door opened wider, revealing a woman in a disheveled tunic and skirt, a headscarf hurriedly placed over her hair. Behind her stood a man only about five-foot-six, and clinging to him was a child no older than four. Gillion’s eyes immediately shot about the room, noticing the neglect that the family had allowed to accumulate throughout the space. Rotten fruit cores were scattered about, kitchen utensils and plates were filthy and unwashed, and a layer of dust had collected on the floor that indicated that it hadn’t been swept for a few weeks. Both the man and the woman had deep bags under their eyes, and a deep sadness in their posture that Gillion only imagined came from the tragedy of losing a child.

  “I am sorry.” He said, bowing his head.

  The woman waved him inside of the dimly lit room and slouched down in a chair, unresponsive to anything around her. The man, someone he could only assume was her husband, pulled out a chair for Gillion and then sat down across from him. The inside of the two-story townhouse was cold and clammy, and the air was thick with a type of salty humidity that only collected through closed windows and shut doors. They had no candles burning, and the shadows coming from up the stairs seemed deep and long, as if nighttime had made the townhouse its dwelling. This was not a place for a family to live.

  “Who was your child?” Gillion asked.

  The man looked up at him slowly. “The boy’s name was Raleau.”

  “A name for one of the great kings of old.” Gillion said, bowing his head. “It was a good name.”

  The father looked away, obvious tears forming in his eyes. The mother of Raleau continued to stare off into space, seemingly unwilling to even think of her missing son. Gillion assumed that at the beginning these two had been frantic, they had been desperate to find their missing child, but after a month had passed with no sign of him they were forced to accept the fact that their offspring was gone. He furrowed his brow and turned when he heard one of the upstairs steps creak, and saw a small blonde girl poking her head out from between the railing. Once she saw she was spotted, she rushed back into her hiding place upstairs.

  “I can help you.” Gillion started again, turning once more to the man sitting across from him. “If I can’t help you find your child, then at least I can help you get revenge. But you must speak to me. I have such little information that I might as well be blindfolded when I search the forest.”

  “There is not much we know.” The man said, tracing words absentmindedly into the wooden top of the table. “We put him to bed and when we woke up he was gone.”

  “No sign of a break-in?”

  “None.”

  “And before his disappearance?” Gillion asked, leaning forward. “Did he mention any dreams? Did he have any strange behavior?”

  “None.” The father said again, sighing and leaning back in his chair. “We already said everything in a letter to the capital. Must we speak of the matter again?”

  “The capital is not here to help you.” Gillion stood from his seated position. He turned to the woman sitting apathetically next to her husband. “Mother, have you anything to say on the matter? Any strange actions from your boy?”

  She shook her head no. Gillion grumbled and leaned forward, almost snarling at the pair.

  “Your grief consumes you, fools! If there’s any chance for you to save your boy, it’s me! So speak!”

  Too much, Gillion, Son of Lord Haldon.

  Gillion snapped out of his anger and stepped back, aghast at what he’d said. The father now furrowed his brow, glaring daggers at the stranger while the mother just sat as emotionless as ever. He glanced down at Amorada, who glowed just a bit too bright for the black cloth to cover all the way. He turned that side of his body away from the parents.

  “I apologize.” Gillion said, rubbing his forehead. “But the capital has abandoned you, your neighbors and friends have failed you, and so your town has turned to me for aid. It would only benefit you to give me information.”

  “We tell you the truth, Vagrant.” The man said between gritted teeth. “We are keeping nothing from you. Leave, and take your misplaced anger with you.”

  Gillion frowned and turned toward the door, then heard another creak from upstairs. He once again turned his face toward the girl who hid at its summit, and this time she didn’t flee. She had the same bags under her eyes that her parents had, and the same countenance of the boy he had spoken to on the previous day.

  “May I speak to your daughter?” Gillion asked, still looking at the girl. The father waved his hand dismissively.

  Gillion’s first step toward the stairs sent the girl running back up into whatever room she had come from. He clomped up the stairs as gently as he could, taking care not to knock Amorada into any of the decorations hung on the walls. The stairs opened up into a long hallway dotted with open doors, and sunlight streamed through the openings and onto the wooden flooring. The second story of the townhouse was much cleaner than the first, with picture frames having been dusted and the floors swept, though it seemed to Gillion that the job had been done rather clumsily. There was still dust in the corners of the room, and though the stuffiness of the interior was washed away by open windows, the smell of rotting fruit and food was still present.

  Only one door upstairs was closed. Gillion assumed that this was the room the child had run off to, and so he strode down the hallway until he stood right in front of it. It looked more like a wooden board than a real door, at least to Gillion, and the doorknob was just a leather strap tied in a loop. He knocked twice, waited a second, then knocked a third time, waiting to hear any sound from the other side. Silence.

  “Child, may I come in?” Gillion asked through the door.

  “No! Go away!” The girl’s voice called out. “You smell!”

  The child was obviously frightened. Her trembling voice told Gillion that she feared him. Whether it was because of his demeanor or appearance, or simply the fact that he was an outsider, he didn’t know. But it didn’t feel good to scare children.

  He slumped down, his back against the door, and sighed. “I’m here to speak about your brother, Raleau.”

  More silence from behind the door.

  “I’m just trying to–”

  “It’s always about Raleau!” The girl yelled. “Raleau Raleau Raleau! That’s all my parents care about!”

  He heard stifled sobs through the wooden door and fiddled with Amorada’s handle nervously. Crying children weren’t his area of expertise.

  “Don’t they know I’m up here?” The girl said softly.

  Gillion didn’t have any siblings. He remembered that at one time his father had wanted another child, a daughter to complete his collection, and Gillion would have done anything to have a baby sister. But his mother had died when he was still young, and Lord Haldon had never remarried. What would it be like now, he wondered, if he did have a sister? Would anything change?

  “Alright.” Gillion said, sighing. “We don’t have to speak about Raleau. Let’s talk about you instead. What’s your name?”

  “Camola.” She said, sniffling. He heard her slowly make her way over to the door.

  “How old are you, Camola?”

  “Six this coming autumn.”

  A five year old girl with a missing brother and grieving parents, in a town where children vanished in the night and a monster roamed the woods. No wonder she was upset. Any sane child would be.

  “Any dreams of late, Camola?” Gillion asked. “Any visions of a woman in the woods?”

  “Yes.” The girl said. “Every night.”

  “And do you like these dreams?”

  “No.” He heard the girl cross the room and sit on the opposite side of the door. It shifted as he felt her lean back against it. “The woman says scary things. She’s always trying to get me to go into the woods with her, to her cabin. She says we’ll be safe there.”

  “And do you ever say anything back?” Gillion asked, fiddling more now with his sword. The entire situation made him uneasy. “Have you told her anything?”

  “I… I asked where Raleau was. She didn’t answer me.”

  “Anything else?”

  “She asked me my name, so I told it to her. That’s all.”

  Gillion sighed heavily and leaned forward. It was definitely Old Song. The dream he had last night must be related in one way or another, either spurred on by dark magics or influenced by the children’s tales of their own dreams, and now he had a new task. He needed to figure out who this woman was, where her house was, and in doing so figure out her connection to all this. Sorcerers. He hated the lot of them.

  “Don’t tell her anything else, Camola. It may be dangerous.” Gillion thought for a moment, stroking his long, dirty beard. “In these dreams, did you go into the woods, or did you start there?”

  “I’m always walking.” She said. “I go into the forest from the west and follow the stones until I get to her house. It always smells there. A different smell than you.”

  “And what do I smell like?” Gillion asked, smirking.

  “Unwashed man.”

  “And what does the woman’s house smell like?”

  “Cow shit.”

  Gillion let out a hearty laugh. He wasn’t expecting a girl so young to cuss, and it warmed his heart to hear the word leave her mouth.

  “Is there anything else you think you should tell me?” Gillion asked, starting to get up from his spot on the floor. The girl remained silent. “If there is nothing, I will be on my way. Worry not, young Camola, your parents still care for you. They’re just grieving poor Raleau. When the skies clear and the day is done, they will remember their love for you.”

  Gillion started back down the hallway to the edge of the stairs, but stopped when he heard the sound of the door creaking and the girl looking out into the hallway. Still frightened, she peeked out the door with her blue eyes and stared at Gillion.

  “Will you find him?” Camola asked, opening it a little wider so her whole face poked through. “Will you bring back Raleau?”

  Gillion sucked in air and held it, racking his mind for a proper response, for anything he could say that wouldn’t be a lie. He glanced down at Amorada, then to the paintings and decorations that hung on the walls. Lastly he met the child’s gaze, staring his own deep brown eyes into her blue ones.

  “I will.”