Black Water Rises

Chapter Five

After fighting his way through the remnants of a fitful sleep, Aramis slowly cracked open his eyes to see a man-sized shadow looming above him. Claws, fangs and piercing red eyes flashed through his mind with lightning speed, and his hand flew to his hip where he carried his pistol. But he found only the waistband of his braies.

"Calm down, Aramis."

A familiar voice.

He blinked to clear his vision, rubbed his eyes, and the shadow grew arms and legs. A moment later, a face framed by dark hair came into focus. "D'Artagnan. Thank god it's you."

"It's me. How are you feeling? You're awfully pale."

Aramis swallowed, drew in a deep breath that bruised ribs angrily protested. "What happened?"

"You tell me."

Dim light from a sun obscured by fog filtered through the window above Aramis' bed. Everything in the room appeared grey, yet peaceful. Aramis set his jaw, braced his midsection and sat upright, pulling the blanket with him to drape his shoulders. "Was it a dream?"

"If you're asking if Thunderbird attacked you last night, the answer is yes. Yes he did."

Aramis' hands curled into fists around the soft fabric of the blanket. Not a dream? But Porthos…

He threw his legs over the bed. "How is Porthos? I must see him."

D'Artagnan held him down. "He's sleeping. Which is what you should be doing. You're ribs are bruised, and you've been coughing all night."

Aramis peered around d'Artagnan to where Porthos slept across the room. He watched the rise and fall of his friend's bare chest, content that his breathing seemed smooth and effortless. His gaze then shifted to the bandage covering Porthos' right shoulder, held in place by a scarf tied around his mid-section. "Tell me. Is he alright?"

"Athos and I got to him in time." D'Artagnan sat on the edge of the bed, looked at the broken table where Thunderbird had thrown Porthos. "All things considered, he's quite lucky. Only some scrapes and bruises, and a decent sized bump on his head. Probably why he's still sleeping." He paused, and looked at Aramis with a raised eyebrow. "But there's these strange puncture wounds on his shoulders. They're not deep, but we don't know how he got them."

Snarling and gnashing teeth grated in Aramis' mind, raising the hair on the back of his neck. "Where is Thunderbird now?"

"Athos and I apprehended him last night. He's locked up in the cold cellar beneath the inn. Athos is with him now."

Aramis' eyes widened. "You have him?"

"Yes."

Aramis threw the blanket off his shoulders. "I must see him."

"It's alright, Aramis. Everything is under control. When Athos and I pulled him off you, he came willingly. I guess with being caught red-handed, he didn't have much of a choice."

Aramis pushed to his feet. Pain spiked in his chest, and he remembered Thunderbird's strong arm smashing into his body. He reached for the bedside table for support as he slid an arm around his torso. "Willingly? I don't believe that."

D'Artagnan stood next to him with hands hovering as if waiting to catch something. Or someone, mused Aramis. It probably wasn't a bad idea. He felt tremendously tired.

"He did come willingly," replied d'Artagnan. "Though, I'm wondering… What exactly happened last night? How did he take you both by surprise? I know you and Porthos are a force to be reckoned with, and he was only one man."

Aramis shook his head. "You don't understand."

"Then explain, Aramis." D'Artagnan crossed his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow. "I'm a quick learner."

Aramis wanted to tell d'Artagnan, tell everyone, how cold Jeanette's touch had been on his arm, and how no one ate, and how everyone seemed to have memory problems… how everything in this village seemed off in some macabre way.

But no one else seemed to be noticing any of this. Or at least, no one had said anything to him.

"Aramis. Aramis?"

D'Artagnan is a good man, he thought. Has a good head on his shoulder. But could he handle the truth? And what was the truth? Aramis wasn't convinced that what he remembered seeing last night wasn't just a trick of the shadows or his overactive mind. Sure, the attack was real, but was everything else he saw real?

As tempting as it was to unburden himself, Aramis decided that he needed absolute certainty before taking that step with anyone. The thought of his friends thinking him insane was almost a worse fate than death itself.

"Are you listening to me?"

D'Artagnan was frowning at him. Aramis decided his friend's curiosity would have to wait. He needed answers before divulging any of his secrets and suspicions. "I must speak with Thunderbird first," he replied.

Despite the metaphorical knife stabbing into his side, and the exhaustion urging him to sit, Aramis started toward the door. With his first footfall, vertigo caught hold of him and pitched him forward.

D'Artagnan grasped his elbow. "Take it easy."

"I'm fine."

After a moment, Aramis gently pushed off d'Artagnan's hands and padded across the room to look down on Porthos. He wanted to see, one more time, that his friend was fairing alright before heading down to the cold cellar.

Porthos' eyes were closed, his breathing soft and regular, and his mouth twitched every once in a while like someone deep within a dream. The bandage on his shoulder looked clean and dry, satisfying Aramis that it was not infected.

Unfortunately, the sight of the wound conjured images of long teeth hanging between wet crimson lips. Aramis shoved the thought aside with a shake of his head. "Not until I have proof." He turned to d'Artagnan. "Will you stay with him?"

"Of course."

With d'Artagnan's help, Aramis pulled his long doublet over his shoulders and gathered his weapons before leaving the room.

He found Thunderbird tied to a chair in the cold cellar with Athos pacing behind him. Aramis rushed forward and grabbed Thunderbird by the collars of his shirt. "What did you do to Porthos?"

Athos pulled him back. "I am handling this. And you should be resting."

I will bloody well tear his limbs from his joints! "I've rested enough!" Aramis lunged again at Thunderbird. "What did you do? Who are you?"

Thunderbird smiled. "I'm Thunderbird. You are Aramis, and the one so graciously interrogating me…" He licked a trickle of blood off his lips. "Is Athos of the King's Musketeers."

Colourful bruising marred Thunderbird's face. Athos had not been kind. It made Aramis smile, but it didn't answer any of his questions. "Why did you attack us?"

Athos put a hand on Aramis' chest. "Please, allow me."

Athos hauled his arm back and swung it forward, knocking Thunderbird's head back. "Now, let's try this again," he said, shaking out his hand. "Why did you attack my friends?"

Thunderbird lifted his chin, but didn't reply.

"You tried to kill Porthos and me! You probably killed the others!" shouted Aramis.

"What others?" asked Thunderbird, winking at Athos. "You mean, Madame La Salle?"

"And the innkeeper," stated Aramis. "We found his body rotting on the shoreline!" And I know you killed him, you son-of-a-bitch!

Thunderbird smiled as his eyes flicked toward the ceiling. "If I'm not mistaken, the innkeeper is upstairs."

Aramis squeezed his hands into fists, imagined ripping out Thunderbird's throat. Not now, he told himself. Not until I have the answers I seek. Just thinking about what he could do the monster managed to satisfy his anger and control his violent urges. "I saw you attack Porthos. Then you came at me. Athos and d'Artagnan caught you red-handed. What do you have to say for yourself?"

"You will find the truth you seek soon enough," replied Thunderbird. "But be careful it doesn't come back to haunt you."

Athos rolled his eyes. "What ever happened to simple, straight forward answers?"

"There is nothing straight forward about any of this!" shouted Aramis. "I saw him as some sort of monster last night. He wasn't a man." And there it is, thought Aramis. The truth.

"And you saw Madame La Salle dead, as well as the innkeeper," stated Thunderbird. "Yet they appear to be alive and well."

"Porthos will confirm my story," replied Aramis. "He saw what you'd become last night."

Athos pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "Porthos is lucky to be alive. As are you. And I know Thunderbird attacked you and Porthos last night. I just don't know why, and I don't know why he killed those other two people."

Although Aramis had some pretty nasty ideas on how to handle Thunderbird floating in his head, he asked, "So what are we going to do with him?"

"We take him back to Paris under our custody. If not for any other reason but for attacking two Musketeers. That alone is punishable by death."

The air in the small room cracked with Thunderbird's laugh. "I'm not going anywhere until I say so."

With passion to draw blood, Aramis grabbed Thunderbird by his shirt lapels. "You may want to think on that some more! You are most certainly coming back to Paris with us!"

Thunderbird sighed. "There is no more Paris. At least, not for any of you."

Athos' hand slid to the hilt of his sword. "Are you threatening us? Again?"

"It is not a threat. It is truth I speak." Thunderbird rested a cold stare on Aramis. "Your fate was sealed the moment you touched my totem."

What are you on about, thought Aramis. "What totem?"

"That painted pole at the edge of Black Water," replied Thunderbird. "My totem. My deliverance."

Aramis stepped back, hands trembling, breath stuttering. His vision from the other day, vividly playing out in his mind. I'm not mad. This is real. "That's when everything started… This is my fault…"

Athos placed his hands on his shoulders. "What are you saying? How is this your fault?"

Aramis shook his head, pushed Athos' hands off him. "You don't understand." His eyes were wide as he stared at Athos. "I brought the devil to Black Water."

Thunderbird laughed. "Foolish man, I am not the devil. But perhaps you should learn not to touch things that are not yours."

The walls closed in on Aramis. Desire to leave this room leached into every fibre of his being, turning his legs into logs of unmovable wood. He was grateful when Athos ushered him out of the cellar.

"Go. Rest. I will deal with this," said Athos. "And Aramis? Remove that nonsense from your mind. This is not your fault."

Aramis stood in the hallway, chest heaving, mind racing. He loathed leaving Athos alone with that monster, but he needed to speak with Porthos. Porthos would collaborate his story. He had to have seen what Thunderbird had become, and could help convince his friends something more than a simple murderer dwelled in Black Water.

And yet, he couldn't leave Athos behind.

He dragged Athos close, held him by the shoulders. "You must listen to me. At the risk of sounding like a lunatic, I must speak my mind." He looked directly into Athos' eyes. "Thunderbird is not what he seems. He's not born of this earth. And I have done something terrible by touching that pole. I've brought damnation here."

"What are you talking about?"

"Please, come with me now and I'll explain."

Athos blinked once, twice, then closed the door and locked it. "I will let you say your piece."

That won't be enough, thought Aramis. He pulled his knife from his belt and carved a large crucifix into the door, then took his rosary beads from his pocket and hung them on the door handle. Stepping back, he crossed himself and prayed that would be enough.

They climbed the stairs together, Aramis' legs getting weaker with each step higher. He couldn't believe how nervous he was at telling his friends the truth about his vision and everything that had happened to him since arriving here. It was physically exhausting him and making him feel ill.

When they reached the inn's main floor, Aramis' stomach was aching, his hands were trembling, and he felt ready to pass out. So when the front door swung open and a man entered, his heart skipped a beat.

"Excuse me… What town is this?" asked the man.

Just what we need, Aramis thought. Another visitor for Thunderbird to prey on. "Black Water," he replied.

With an arm braced around his torso, Aramis sauntered toward him. His muscles worked like he'd just climbed a mountain, weak and tingly. Pain pierced his chest with each footfall. But his mind was clear and awake; knowing in fact, this newcomer was now doomed to remain in Black Water.

The man threw his bags on the ground. "Never heard of it." He pointed out the door and shook his head. "I got lost in this murky mess."

"I'd get back on that horse and leave if I were you," Athos said.

The newcomer scowled. "I've tried three times already. And I'd be damned if I can't find my way out of this fog."

Aramis bowed his head. Of course you couldn't find your way out of here, he thought, as he rubbed his forehead. Thunderbird needs to trap his victims somehow. He sighed and looked back at the man, knowing that unfortunately, he was stuck here like the rest.

If Aramis couldn't save him from being trapped, at least he could try to protect him by having him stay close by. "This way, Monsieur," he said, pointing at the innkeeper.

~M~

The room was quiet when Aramis and Athos entered. D'Artagnan sat at the foot of Porthos' bed, watching his friend sleep. Aramis nodded to him as he went to his own bed, feeling as though he'd just finished a sparring match with the entire King's Regiment. He laid down, grateful for the respite, but heightened nerves and trepidation churned his stomach making his head spin.

"So what is it you wish to say?" asked Athos.

Aramis sighed and ran a hand down his face. "We need to fear Thunderbird."

"There is no further danger," said Athos. "Thunderbird is secure. And we will bring him with us on our return to Paris."

Aramis shook his head. "You don't understand." He thought his voice might fail if he continued to speak. He wasn't even sure where to start. He closed his eyes and remembered John 8:32; the truth shall set you free.

Aramis expelled a quick breath. "I had a vision."

D'Artagnan frowned. " A vision? Like Emilie of Duras?"

"Yes… no." Aramis shook his head. "Soup wasn't involved."

Athos crossed his arms. "But this vision, do you believe it came from god?"

"I don't know," replied Aramis. "It happened when I touched Thunderbird's totem."

D'Artagnan raised an eyebrow. "Thunderbird's totem?"

Athos explained how according to Thunderbird, all their fates had been sealed the moment Aramis had touched the pole at Black Water's entrance.

"What exactly did you see?" asked d'Artagnan.

"There was thunder and lightening. I saw death… a large bird… swooping down to grab me. Two red eyes that glowed like the fires of hell and a forest covered in blood."

D'Artagnan rolled his eyes. "Oh, that's it? Just some silly images of death and blood?" He leaned forward with a scowl. "Why didn't you tell us this!"

"And what does it have to do with Thunderbird?" asked Athos.

"It was what I saw last night," affirmed Aramis. "Thunderbird… he… he had those eyes. Teeth, as jagged as serrated blades filled his mouth. When I first woke this morning, part of me thought it all a dream. It couldn't be true. My eyes must have deceived me. Then Thunderbird said those words…" His voice trailed off as Thunderbird's voice echoed in his brain.

'Your fate was sealed the moment you touched my totem.'

"We are dealing with something of the supernatural," he continued. "This village hidden in fog. Corpses resembling the living. People not remembering anything before Black Water. And Thunderbird himself. They're all signs of something sinister happening here. We are trapped in a version of hell where Thunderbird reigns."

Athos paced the area between the two beds, his arms crossed over his chest. "I believe you had a vision. And I believe, you believe what you saw last night. I'll even admit to being suspicious about this town. There is something… strange going on here. But demons, Aramis? You can't be serious."

"Porthos was there," said Aramis. "He will collaborate my story."

He looked past d'Artagnan and Athos to see Porthos asleep under a heavy blanket. He'd barely moved since Aramis last saw him, which lit a spark in his gut. He got up, and although dizzy, he went to his friend and looked down on him.

"Porthos," he called.

"Aramis, don't wake him," said Athos.

Aramis looked over his shoulder at Athos and frowned. "Why is he still sleeping? His injuries are not severe." He removed the blanket covering his friend's shoulders and torso. Bruises dotted his chest and the bandage remained clean, so Aramis gave him a little shove. "Porthos, wake up."

D'Artagnan went to stand next to Aramis. "What are you doing?"

"Porthos was attacked last night, as was I. He should be up grumbling for retribution, not sleeping soundly in bed."

Athos joined Aramis and d'Artagnan at the bed. "You're right. It has been too long."

Aramis shoved his friend harder, his concern increasing with each moment Porthos did not wake.

Black spots encroached on Aramis' vision, fatigue weighed him down. He stumbled back, legs quaking, only to fall onto his bed in a heap. The room, his friends, everything spun around him. His arms and legs melted into the mattress, his already meagre strength diminishing more by the second.

A slap on his cheek startled his mind awake, but his body continued to sink deeper and deeper into the bed. "What is… happening?"

D'Artagnan and Athos stood beside him. "What the hell is going on?" demanded Athos.

Aramis fought to keep his eyes open, he needed to stay awake. "I don't know. I… I have no strength."

D'Artagnan looked from one bed to the other. "The same thing must be happening to them both."

Athos knelt next to the bed, brushed a strand of hair off Aramis' face. "Talk to us."

D'Artagnan dropped to his knees beside Athos and undid Aramis' doublet with frantic hands. He lifted his shirt and re-examined his friend's wounds. Nothing but bruises marred his torso. "What the hell did we miss?"

His hands searched Aramis' head and neck, and when his fingers brushed across tender skin, Aramis grimaced.

"What is that?" moaned Aramis. He worked his throat, trying to fight off the sleep pulling him under. "What's back there?"

D'Artagnan sat back, eyes wide. "We missed these. There's four puncture wounds on the back of your neck."

Athos pressed around the swollen skin. "What caused this?"

The pressure of his friend's fingers shot pain up Aramis' neck. "Porthos has the same?" he asked.

"He does," replied d'Artagnan. "But why didn't you tell us you had these?"

Aramis' scattered memories of the previous night were slipping away as fast as he was falling asleep. All he caught were flashes of fangs and claws and beady red eyes. And that he'd woken to Thunderbird hovering over Porthos. But how long had he been the room? "I didn't… know."

His eyelids slid closed. "You must wake Porthos. Ask him… Ask him what he saw last night… He will convince you."