Chapter 3
True Stories
Once we finally reached the top we had to what each other's hope drain...the bridge to Oakfield is destroyed and now guarded by three bandits.
"Let me kill them." I beg as he nods and pull back the string on my bow. I tilt myself back and let the arrow fly, the whirl is musical and the sound of my kill even more satisfying.
"Shot." Jack smiles pulling out his rifle and sending the last bandit running.
"Nice shot." I compliment back as we take a closer look at the scene.
"Jump." Jack and I mimic taking a few steps back.
"One,"
"Two," hand in hand we ready ourselves.
"Three!" We cheer free falling and diving into the water. The water is freezing and the swim to shore agonizing.
"My son Joey's in there, he needs help, but I'm a little scared to go in on my own." A peasant worries not even wielding a weapon.
"We'll help you find him. But is this, if I'm not mistaken, a cave and what lurks in caves?" Jack says and we both think the same thing: hobbes. We walk inside, the smell of blood like a slap across the face. I lift my soaked, neck bandana up to my nose and breath in the salty fumes rather than the deathly ones. On we walk through the caverns kicking every box to be sure nothing lurks inside.
"Wait." I whisper as we're about to turn into a room filled with blood and bones. The man lurches at the sight and the rest of us aren't far off either. Hobbes were once children, children that simply venturing into the wrong cave. I pace ahead dancing lightly to muffle any noise and hear the hobbes ahead. I fly back and warn Jack. "You stay until one of us calls you. Take this." I order handing the man a dagger. "Use it if necessary and only if necessary." I warn as Jack, Max and I race ahead and ready ourselves for the attack. I roll out onto the railway track and wait. One lifts its chubby head and sniffs the air until it spots me over the far side. It calls out in a fat child's voice and the other two leap into action. They definitely aren't fast and barely know left from right so its easy to dispatch of them but not easy if they were in hundreds or so. I call the man back to us and we walk up the rickety walkway to the top.
"Um, are you sure this is safe?" The man questioned cringing at even the slightest noise.
"If safety were an issue Im sure your son would have reconsidered his visit inside." I say back as we reach the top. A hobbe calls out dadda! and the man runs into action.
"That's Joey, I can hear him, I'm coming son!" As jack and I begin our chase hobbes leap from boxes around us in a small to back Jack and I slash and sing at the little biters. One runs at us with dynamite but Jack pulls out his rifle and it dies without taking a step or getting the chance to light the dynamite. Once they're dead we bolt to the man at a wooden door. "You try to find another way in while I get this door open!" He grunts. Max leads us down a ledge and around the rocky corner to a door blocked by wooden beams. I kick them down and we meet what remains of Joey...a hobbe. He runs at us flabby white bouncing everywhere. Jack lifts his gun and fires. Just as the sound echoes the man breaks through and stares, he falls to his knees at the sight of his son's body. "They...they turned my son into a hobbe." He sniffs meeting my eyes. "And I always told him those stories were made up, they were true..." He whimpers and his heart stops dead, he flops to the ground. I snatch my dagger from his belt and we run out into the open room with a single path leading up and out...filled with hobbes. Jack does the long range attacks while I take the melee. I slash my sword and ignore the sight of their blood as it paints the room. They screech and cry like fat children with bad skin. A tear would form in the eyes of the weak hearted or the unwise but nothing like that can be said for me when the only liquid burning my cheeks is sweat. Victory is ours when we reach the ladder up and out.
"I never thought I would miss the rain so much." I hum raising my arms and opening my mouth to welcome the cooling drops. Jack takes my elbow and practically carries me to the arrow post pointing us to Oakfield and explaining how long it will take on foot and how long with a carriage.
Oakfield's weather is bright and sunny with no hungry or bandits creeping about. It's rich with farm land and monks. The grass is green and juicy like the apple I recently picked from a tree. Jack leads me along the paths until we reach the monastery on a small slope a little further from the pub.
