Wolf Moon Part 3
Most of the tavern's tables were empty. Heero took his preferred place against the wall, laid his belongings on a neighboring chair and motioned to the sweaty, heavyset man with a ruddy complexion standing behind the bar.
The breakfast menu was limited to oat porridge, flat bread, (hopefully without wheat grubs) and salted bacon. "Ain't no eggs."the barkeep stated as he wiped his greasy hands with a dingy cloth. "Ever since the spirits got stirred up the hens quit layin'."
"Porridge and water." Heero ordered. "Do you have butter?"
"Nope."
"Sugar?" Heero inquired, hoping for any flavoring that would make the meal more palatable.
"Nope." the man replied with another single syllable, "I might have honey."
While the Tracker waited for his food he studied the three other patrons sharing the room. A grubby man with stringy gray hair and bloodshot eyes sat to Heero's left. He was slumped sideways in his chair with a large tankard of ale cupped between his trembling hands.
With great effort the tankard was guided to the man's mouth but, in his state of extreme inebriation, for each fermented drop that successfully navigated over his lips, many more drizzled down his chin and joined the stinking stain on his shirt.
With each slosh and spill his reaction would alternate between loud curses mostly aimed at some woman named Abigail and muttering incoherently. Then he would miss his mouth again and the ranting would begin anew.
Normally Heero ignored such slobbery behavior but early in the morning, with his stomach grumbling to be fed, he didn't know how much of the drunken nonsense he could abide. If the fool wished to drink himself into oblivion he should quietly ease into a stupor without vulgar commentary and vaguely mumbled complaints.
On the opposite side two younger males matched the Tracker's posture as they also sat with their backs to the wall. From Heero's vantage point he could see the taller man had golden skin and raven hair secured in a short ponytail. It was hard to see clearly in the limited light but he also got the impression the man's eyes were slanted indicating he was probably an Oriental.
His plum shirt was loose fitting with a high collar and his trousers were slate gray. Knee-high black leather boots told Heero that the man was at least middle class. A sheathed sword hung from his leather belt. There was a serious air about the foreigner and an underlying strength in his confident attitude.
The second male wore a peculiar outfit of dark green and softer boots. A green and gold tartan that draped over his left shoulder, angled across his chest and back and knotted on his right side at his waist. His shirt and trousers were formfitting and accentuated a trim physique and toned muscles. His hair color was a fusion of ginger and cinnamon, woven into an unusually long braid.
Heero couldn't see the man's eyes for the tousled bangs and stray stands framing his creamier face. No form of weaponry was seen but Heero knew from experience that he wasn't the only person who could conceal his mode of protection.
The strangers seemed to take no specific notice of the Tracker but he was certain they were fully aware of the slightest variations in sight or sound or atmosphere.
The barkeep brought the porridge and a large cup of cold water. Fortunately two spoonfuls of honey made the taste less bland but did nothing to improve the lumps and sticky texture. Still, Heero reminded himself again, that even the least tantalizing meal was far better than going hungry.
Heero chewed, stared at nothing in particular and recalled when he feasted on roast pork, fresh vegetables, fluffy biscuits and ruby wine of the finest vintage. There was a time, not so long ago, when he enjoyed the social graces of art and music and dance, the company of friends and sexual favors from quite a few beautiful women.
Now the Demon Tracker dined alone. Sadness touched Heero's eyes as he remembered carefree days and nights of passion. Then he had a home and family, kith and kin. Then he had a peaceful mind and a kinder heart.
Then...before the Legions of the Damned wrought their wrath on the world. Before the sun turned red, the moon lost her glow and the heavens wept over the horrendous death and destruction.
But that was Heero Yuy's former life, a past so far removed from his present circumstances that brief flashes of memory and dark dreaming were his only connections to what once was a ordinary existence.
Now he was in voluntary exile, his heart hardened and his only quest was to seek out and destroy every fallen angel until he faced Satan's Lord of Darkness in the final battle that would have only one winner.
The lumps in the porridge were not nearly as large as the lump in Heero's throat. "Stop it." he ordered as he braced against the tears brimming in his eyes. "The past is dead, you can't go back."
A long drink of water washed down the last bite of porridge but Heero decided that something stronger was needed to drown his resurfacing emotions. "Ale!"
Heero had no intension of copying the fool who had collapsed on the tabletop and whose face was currently lying in a puddle of smelly drool. He wasn't going to befuddle his senses or muddled his mind to the point of becoming vulnerable to beguiling spirits. All he wanted was to dull the heartache and fuel the fire blazing in his gut.
Three gulps finished the tankard. The ale burned all the way down but the pain was preferred to the hurt in his heart. Now numb around the edges, Heero leaned back, took a deep breath and mentally prepared for his journey that he knew would be complicated by many perverted foes.
One last time he glanced around the tavern. The unconscious drunk was still content in his stuporous oblivion but the youthful males were nowhere to be seen. Had Heero's instincts slipped so badly that the odd pair had left unnoticed? Had they simply vanished or were they never there at all?
Still Heero detected the essence of two residual presences, one human...the second... more primitive as if man and animal had merged.
*Interesting.* Heero's inner voice commented as he gathered his belongings. He paid for the meal then wrapped his cloak around his body that shivered not from the cold but from the ale thinning his blood.
The Demon Tracker squinted in the mid-morning sun then took the eastern road toward Aragon, perhaps to find this mysterious Priest of Twilight.
Twin silhouettes stepped from the shadows and followed at a discreet distance.
*********
The road rapidly left the village behind as it wound throughout the countryside. For the most part the rustic thoroughfare was dirt rutted by cart and carriage wheels and marred by horse's hooves. Occasionally planks had been buried in low areas that were inclined to flooding but their uneven surface was still rough and hazardous to one's footing.
On either side the forest created a woody border of stout oak, chestnut and popular trees. Intermingled amongst the hardwoods, green pines and blue spruces added a feathery texture and refreshing fragrance to the scent of decomposing leaves and damp humus.
Spring wildflowers thrust through the black soil. Sheltered by exposed roots, snarled undergrowth and rotten stumps that had been shredded by woodpeckers and hard-shelled beetles, the awakening flora provided splashes of color to the otherwise dank environment.
Heero's journey kept to a moderate pace. Although the Abby's riddle and his latest dream compelled him to discover the secrets of Twilight, he saw no reason to travel at such a hurried pace as to become exhausted in body and mind. His instincts had to be sharp, his physical fortitude at its peak if his quest was to end in triumphant, not defeat.
Ever since he left the village, Heero felt "eyes on his back" but his six sense told him that the phantom surveillance wasn't threatening but more akin to interested observation. Perhaps a game of "Follow the Leader" would make the trek less monotonous.
Morning gave way to midday. The furrowed road narrowed, the forest became denser and encroached further until its leafy canopy partially blocked the sun and afforded more places for the shadow dwellers, whether real or imagined, to conceal their spying.
Heero adjusted his crossbow's strap on his right shoulder and rearranged the weight of his bag, bedroll and quiver on his left shoulder. His back was beginning to ache and his stomach was rumbling for food but something more demanding now competed for his attention.
Ahead the road forked presenting the Tracker with a choice of direction and no marker to declare a destination. Heero stopped and stared at the division with an expression alternating between inquisitive and annoyed.
As he stood at the confusing crossroads he studied his options and discovered that both trails had identical features that gave no hint to aide in his decision.
"Damn." he mumbled under his breath, letting the crossbow slide off his shoulder to rest against his hip.
Neither side pointed strictly east. The Tracker looked right then left before centering his sight on a stand of assorted conifers that set squarely at the parting point.
With a sigh he closed his eyes and tried to visualize the right way to go. Behind his tightly closed eyelids swirls of blue and pinpoints of diffused light were all he could see. He cleared his mind, pushed aside the indecisiveness and concentrated on his inborn bearings.
Slowly an outline materialized in the swimming patterns of dim light and cobalt blue. A glint of silver spiked, elongated vertically then a second line of light flowed out horizontally to form a....
Heero eyes pressed against the lids to better see the emerging shape. "A cross?" he whispered out loud.
*Your cross.* his inner voice clarified his question.
Without hesitation he opened his eyes and fished the recently acquired treasure out of his trouser pocket. Wrapping the chain around his finger, he lifted the vine and rose embellished cross to eye level then extended his hand so it dangled freely.
For a moment nothing happened but Heero had learned that channeling energy could not be rushed. By degrees the chain became taunt then moved of its own accord until it quivered towards the left. Then just as quickly both cross and chain went slack.
"Left." Heero confirmed the course. He slipped the cross around his neck, tucked it inside his shirt and started down the now certain path.
*********
A rivulet joined Heero on his journey and invited him to pause on its banks for midmeal. Like silken threads embroidering a natural tapestry, shiny slips of water stitched through a stony maze and slithered over a sandy bed on their way to the sea.
Content to rest beside the bubbling brook, Heero piled the sum of his possessions next to a moss-covered tree trunk with the crossbow on top for easy access. He removed his cloak and retrieved a cloth pouch holding several slices of dried venison and a biscuit leftover from breakfast.
Before partaking of his meager rations, he squatted on the bank to wash his hands in a deep pool of cool, azure water that mirrored the overhead branches and the cloud-speckled sky.
He settled back against the tree, tore off a mouthful of spicy meat with his teeth and chewed in contemplative silence. Only two clues to solving the riddle had been discovered, each one in a quite extraordinary fashion.
"Five." Heero recalled the individual parts that would make up the whole. "The demon hunter, that has to be me."
"A cleric who rules a tri-ringed rod." He repeated between chews then smiled wistfully as he remembered his mother's scolding for talking with his mouth full. "In my dream the Priest of Twilight carried a staff topped by three rings."
A bite of stale biscuit and the riddle recollection continued. "Duel spirit of earth and sky. Duel in Latin can mean two but spirit is singular so is the spirit in two forms or one combined?
The fair manipulator of seasons. Winter, spring, summer, autumn... manipulator...controller...can he or she command the tides or weather?
The perpetual beast that fools the eye." Heero swallowed the mushy bread and paused to consider the implications of a possible shape-shifter or maybe a wizard that veils himself in magic or.... The weary Tracker rubbed his temples where a dull ache had begun to grow.
The puzzle was still unclear and if that wasn't enough to totally perplex the senses, there was a river that runs in reverse, a Keeper of a Temple in somewhere called Deep World. Lastly there was the warning concerning the rose, no doubt the rose on his cross, that was shrouded in secrecy.
A frustrated puff of air feathered Heero's bangs and redirected them from shading his vision. He wasn't any closer to finding the answers and the troublesome importance of shrinking time until something terrible happened was weighting heavily on his mind.
"What am I meant to know!" he hissed through gritted teeth as anxiousness crept over him like a soul-snatcher stalking its prey.
Accepting the fact that no solutions would be immediately forthcoming but content in the knowledge that all things have a conclusion Heero, for the time being, would set his sights on Aragon then direct his search for this place called Twilight.
Once more he bent over the calm, clear pool and cupped his hands for a drink to wash away the aftertaste of venison and the residue of biscuit crumbs. He finished the first handful before the water slipped through his fingers then leaned over for another thirst-quenching gulp.
As the ripples evened out and were replaced by a glassy reflection, Heero caught a glimpse of motion behind him along the tree line. There was a darting, blurry movement that seemed transitory in nature but it was hard to tell if the source was the result of flickering sunlight or some other form either spectral or solid.
But when Heero spun quickly around nothing was there except a single tawny feather floating lazily on the breeze.
TBC...
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