CHAPTER 4
The western sea dashes against rocks in a ceaseless attack. The resulting spray cascades into the sky, blanketing the region with a fulsome, salty aroma that buries itself in the memories of home for those who live here.
The sea and its tributaries are the fount of prosperity for the village and the surrounding region. The villagers catch their daily bounty from the nearby river and the sea. A family of merchants travels to market their wares to neighboring villages, a half-day's journey away and back.
Such travels account for much of the activity on the road. Emil's face was simple for the protector to recollect, because he often saw the boy traveling with his father. Children like Emil help with what they can in the village, but mostly they observe the tracks worn into the earth by the pacing of man and woman with an alien curiosity and a healthy amount of boredom.
What fascinated Emil, like many before him, were the wild forests and the mountain, which provided their own education. That foreign world was all their own, separate from the stolid struggle for survival that so enraptured their grown counterparts.
The protector considered the possibilities for Emil's trajectory of escape. It wasn't a long list. It was made shorter still by keeping only ways of leaving that left no trace. The road was too visible. And wherever he ended up, word of a displaced youth would have returned eventually, confirming a runaway. But according to the mayor, children like Emil had vanished. It's possible he escaped in some other way—a boat, perhaps. But, he didn't think it was likely. Fishing boats made return trips. And all other vessels were precious to the villagers and thus accounted for. Finally, if there were a predator in these woods or the mountain capable of devouring children whole, he would know about it. He would have smelled the blood and found the bones.
After exhausting his own ideas, the protector made his way into the village. The mayor had asked him to be discreet, but his options were slim. The villagers knew of his existence in the forest, but few had seen him in daylight.
As he walked down the village's only road, he heard the women calling for their children, one after the other, echoed down the path. One brave young one clutched the edge of their home, peering around the corner as their eyes danced with fear and delight at the sight of the unnaturally huge man, his hair blowing behind him. His fist shook twice on the door of Emil's home, then a third time. He heard nothing but the creaking of floorboards inside. So he entreated them.
"Jorek?"
The door opened slightly, and the face of a balding man appeared in its crevice, covered in sweat. His moustache curved from his nose to wrap itself around his cheeks. He gave no greeting, just lips pursed tight and nodding awkwardly in the door frame.
"You must be Dean."
"Thas right."
"I need to speak with Jorek. It's about Emil."
"Now's not a good time for the family."
It was plain to see how standing up to the protector was wearing on Dean. The silent exertion produced even more sweat. Some buried instinct within the protector flickered to life, and suddenly he became aware of the heady stench of fear wafting from the man, as intoxicating as flesh cracking over a spit. He pushed the image away and leaned on the door slightly, the frame creaking until it pushed beyond the comfort of Dean's leg and gave way fully. The protector ducked inside, and the women screamed as he came into view.
Another man entered, the light shone through his bedclothes to his thin frame beneath. The protector recognized him as Emil's father.
"Emil is gone. I've already looked. There's no trace."
"People don't vanish."
"Call it what you want. One night he was here, and in the morning, he wasn't."
"Let's walk."
They shuffled through the street toward the river. The man's pace was ragged as he absentmindedly paused to look at minutia of the village that bore no meaning for the protector.
"How many days has he been missing, exactly?"
"Yesterday makes it a week."
"I know Emil traveled with you. Any chance he stowed away in your wagon on one of the trips outbound?"
"No. You've seen the loads I haul to Triskele and back. Not much more than a barrel or two of pickled hake and sundries from the smoker. There's no covering—nothing to hide under. No one in Triskele has heard a whisper of a boy like Emil. They've got their own problems now, of course. Light knows I've made myself a nuisance there, for it's also the first thought I had as well."
"Ever venture beyond Triskele?"
"No, not since the war. Well—not since the war crossed over north of Triskele, anyway. Not worth the risk."
They stopped on a bridge over the river. The water's endless, repetitive song masked their conversation to prying ears. Neither spoke for a time, watching the formless water as it flowed over and around rocks along its natural course.
"Berg put you up to this, I suppose? He came knocking just like you, yesterday. Asking what he could do. As if there was anything to do. What I don't follow is what you care about it."
"It's like you said. The mayor involved me."
"So? You're an outsider. You live in the woods. Berg doesn't give you food or money, right?"
"No."
"Then why bother?"
"Others have gone missing. If there's something else roaming out here that I'm not aware of, I'd like to know."
"Something else? Like a predator?"
"Something like that, yes."
"You mean something like you?"
The question was like a pinprick in the protector's mind, stabbing toward a mystery he couldn't solve himself. He had never encountered anyone like himself. The humans had their world together in the light, and he had his world alone in the darkness.
The clouds parted, casting a column of light down upon the pair on the bridge. The sudden warmth caused the protector to squint up at the sun. In that blinding light he saw a sword, wreathed in flames, spinning as it descended. Sunlight glinted from the blade, revealing writhing shapes along the edge. The sword struck the mountain, causing an eruption. The protector faltered a step backwards, as if struck himself.
"You okay…?"
"Fine. Headache."
The falling sword reminded him of the mountain, and his eyes fell on the small path trailing up to the temple. Perhaps there were other factors the villagers weren't considering, the protector mused.
"Are your family believers?"
"Religion? No more than others. Such stuff certainly never left a mark on Emil."
The priest had been here even longer than the mayor. It may be worth enduring a sermon to hear his insight into what's happening with these children.