Black Water Rises

Chapter Six

The dim afternoon light cast a shadow on Aramis' pale face, adding dark circles under his eyes. Frustrated and confused, Athos felt only minor guilt shaking him awake. When it had no effect, he tried again, called his name, then stood abruptly to face d'Artagnan. "What's happening? Why are they both asleep?"

"I don't know," replied d'Artagnan from Porthos' bedside. "Porthos, wake up. Wake up."

As if finally hearing their pleas, Porthos opened his eyes. His gaze darted around the room until it rested on d'Artagnan's face. He pushed himself up against the backboard. "My god I'm tired."

Crossing the room to Porthos' bedside, Athos looked down on him with a sigh of relief. "What do you remember from last night?"

Porthos growled. "I remember gettin' tossed across the room. And Aramis tryin' to fight off…" He bolted upright. "Where is he? Is he alright?"

D'Artagnan put a hand on Porthos' shoulder. "He is… sleeping. Do you remember what you saw? Who attacked you?"

"I saw…" Porthos slumped back against the backboard. "Naw, I must 'ave been too tired to see clearly."

"See what?" asked Athos.

Porthos waved his hand. "Thunderbird. He was here, but he had…" His eyes widened, his facial muscles went slack.

"Go on," encouraged Athos. "What did you see?"

"It was dark," replied Porthos. "My eyes must 'ave been tricking me. But it looked as though Thunderbird had red eyes… and… fangs… he had fangs." He shook his head. "Maybe I was dreaming."

"Has a dream ever left you with injuries?" asked d'Artagnan.

Porthos rubbed a hand over his bruised chest. "What are you gettin' at?"

Athos shared a grim look with d'Artagnan. "Aramis described seeing the same thing."

"Do you think Aramis was right?" asked d'Artagnan. "That Thunderbird isn't…?"

Athos raised an eyebrow. "Mortal? That he's some kind of demon?" Athos closed his eyes, thought back on the events since arriving in Black Water.

A town appearing within a cloud of fog, a dead body disappearing, and their inability to escape the village.

Athos had been trying to dismiss the supernatural ever since Aramis' first mention of ghosts, but it was proving harder and harder to discount the idea completely. He'd been lying to himself, rationalizing the nefarious acts occurring in Black Water, but he could no longer explain things with logic or reason. Not when two of his soldiers described seeing the same creature.

He brushed a hand through his hair. "Damn it, Aramis. Why must you touch what's not yours?"

"What?" asked Porthos. "What did Aramis do?"

Athos shook his head. "He touched that painted pole. Thunderbird called it his totem."

Porthos looked around the room as if an answer would present itself. "How did that start… what exactly?"

Athos laid a hand on Porthos' shoulder. "Everything… the town mysteriously surrounding us, the dead bodies and the attack last night… the cold, the fog, our being trapped here… it all started when Aramis touched that damn totem."

Porthos waved his hands. "Whoa, whoa, wait. Are you saying there's some sort of… magic at play here?"

"Not magic," replied Athos. "But certainly something no human has the right to experience."

D'Artagnan sat on the edge of Aramis' bed, his hands pressed against the sides of his head. "This is too much." After several breaths, he looked at Athos. "This is fairy tales, stories you tell your children to scare them to behave."

Frustration twisted Athos' mouth, his gaze drawn to the window above Aramis' bed.

Fog hung over Black Water like an omen. Pitched roofs poked through the mist like black mountaintops through clouds. Its smoky whiteness smothered every distance object, and nearly swallowed the people below going about their day. Once, merely a portent of bad weather, the fog now chilled Athos to his core.

What sort of malevolence lurks in this godforsaken town? Are the villagers part of this evil scheme, or simply pawns in Thunderbird's game? And how are we they to slay such an enemy? Surely sword and pistol will hold no ground. But how does one fight evil with weapons born of this world?

He grabbed d'Artagnan's shoulders. "The best way to defeat an enemy is to know that enemy. We must learn what Thunderbird is, and what he has done to Aramis and Porthos."

D'Artagnan stood. "Where do we start?"

Athos paced the room. "Thunderbird answers with riddles. He will be of no use. Besides, I doubt he'd be willing to tell us how we can defeat him."

He stopped in front of d'Artagnan. "Go to his cabin, see what you can find there."

"And what will you do?"

"I will check on the newcomer who arrived, and see that he stays in his room. We don't need him getting into trouble." Athos advanced to the door, d'Artagnan close behind him. "Then I'll watch over Aramis and Porthos to ensure nothing else happens to them."

"Be careful," Athos said, patting his shoulder. "And try to stay clear of the villagers, at least until we're certain they're not involved in Thunderbird's schemes."

D'Artagnan nodded before taking his leave. Athos stepped into the hallway after him, closed the door quietly then marched toward the newcomer's room. After a gentle knock, he pushed the door open and stepped into a cold, dark room.

It reeked of decay. Scents of rotted flesh and musty earth wafted on air so frigid it sent goose bumps up and down Athos' arms. The newcomer lay on his bed atop his blankets, a blue-tinged arm hanging listlessly over the side. Athos rushed to him, placed a hand on his neck. Icy tendrils scurried up his arm, leaving it numb and tingling. He pulled his arm back grasping his hand. "My god."

He reached forward again to check for puncture wounds. When his hands touched clammy skin, the body disintegrated into smoke.

Athos stumbled backward to the door. Fear rushed through his veins, eroding his natural confidence, making it hard to breath. He fell to the hallway floor, then scrambled to his feet and floundered back into the room where Aramis and, once again, Porthos slept.

He shook Aramis, called his name, then ran to Porthos and slapped his cheek. "Wake up you fools! Wake up!"

Aramis sat up wiping a hand down his face. "What… What is it?"

Athos grabbed his shoulders. "You brought this on us! You had to touch that damn pole! Why don't you think before you act!" He turned away, aware it was fear not anger fuelling his words. But after witnessing a body vanish into thin air before his eyes, he felt justified in his reaction.

He stepped into the middle of the room, pointed at Porthos. "Look what you've done. He may never wake up! And you… You have the same puncture marks. What will happen to you? I might be left with half my men because you couldn't keep your hands to yourself!"

Aramis paled. "That is what Thunderbird said," he replied in a quiet voice. "It is my fault, and I'll never forgive myself if something happens to Porthos… or any of you. No apology can absolve what I have done."

The hurt in Aramis' voice clamped tight around Athos' heart, and he wished he could temper the harshness of his tone. But his emotions had seized control of his actions. "I don't want an apology. I need you to think before you act. Your actions have a tendency to show no regard for possible consequences."

"How was I supposed to know what would happen? I touched a damned pole, not the…"

"The Queen of France?"

Aramis dropped his head into his hands, and Athos realized he was reacting without thought, making him guilty of the same lack of impulse control he'd just accused Aramis of. He let out a breath, but was unwilling to apologize. He'd meant what he'd said. "Well, all this means nothing if we don't get out of this damn town."

Aramis looked up. "So you believe me then?"

Athos blustered through his report of seeing the dead newcomer disappear.

"What? How?" asked Aramis.

"I can't explain it. Can you stand? I need you to catch up with d'Artagnan. He's gone to Thunderbird's cabin."

Aramis nodded, grasped Athos' proffered hand and stood. When he swayed on his feet, Athos tightened his hold and held him steady. You look like hell, Aramis, he thought. He ran a hand down his face, held the tip of his beard and forced out a long breath.

"I'm sorry I must ask this of you," he said, looking into Aramis' tired eyes. "But no one should be alone."

Aramis smiled, took his hat off the bedside table and placed it on his head. "I shall persevere." He left the room slowly, but gained speed as he climbed down the stairs. Athos regretted not being able to grant his friend more time to recover, but their situation didn't allow it.

He went to Porthos' bed and shook him. When Porthos' eyes blinked open, Athos explained what had happened, grateful his friend listened without judgment.

Like the trained soldier he was, Porthos rose to his feet, wherein Athos helped him on with his shirt and doublet. "Are you with me?"

"Yeah. I'm with you."

"We need to find Thunderbird. With another person dead, he must have escaped, and it's our responsibility to keep these villagers from further harm."

"So... You believe what we saw is real? You think Thunderbird is some sort of creature? What happened to reasonable explanations?"

Athos' eyes widened. "To hell with reasonable explanations! I just saw a fucking body disappear!"

~M~

Aramis stumbled through the village, tripping over his feet as he placed one in front of the other. Air, cold and damp permeated his lungs. They burned with each breath he took. Unsure if he could continue, he focused on his target with the precision of a marksman until he reached Thunderbird's cabin and collapsed on the porch.

"D'Artagnan!"

His head fell against the railing, his eyelids fluttered. He wasn't sure how much longer he could stave off the exhaustion coercing him to sleep.

D'Artagnan arrived, pulled him to his feet. Aramis swayed, thanked his friend, but insisted on going inside when d'Artagnan suggested he sit down.

"What have you found so far?" Aramis asked, resting against the doorframe.

"Nothing. I've found nothing." Arms spread out to his sides, d'Artagnan turned in a quick circle. "It's just like it was before. Furniture and walls."

Fearing he'd collapse if he took a step, Aramis stayed where he was and let his eyes do the searching. "There must be something." He saw the painting of the ship, a wooden chair, a desk, and a small rug before the hearth. A few unlit lanterns. Nothing of consequence.

D'Artagnan opened the drawers of the desk. "They're empty."

Aramis sighed. "Perfect… Wait. His other cabin."

"Other cabin?"

"Jeanette mentioned Thunderbird kept another cabin outside the village. About one lieu away. Porthos and I tried to find it the other day, but came across the body instead. No visitors are allowed, which makes me wonder what he has hidden there."

"Do you think you can manage trying to find it again?"

"No. But I'm going with you anyway." He held out his arm for d'Artagnan to take, and using his friend for support, they left the cabin and headed back into the fog.

They walked through the village at a snail's pace. Aramis tired quickly, needing more support than he cared to admit, which made their progression through Black Water a timely deed. Several paths left the village, one of which Aramis knew led to the sea. The others he wasn't sure about.

"Which way do we go?" asked d'Artagnan.

"I haven't a clue. You're guess is as good as mine."

D'Artagnan led Aramis toward a path at the south end of the village, the opposite direction of the sea. "This is as good as any," said d'Artagnan, pushing aside branches so they could enter the forest.

After a few minutes of stumbling through the trees, d'Artagnan rubbed his chin and looked curiously at Aramis. "How are you feeling? Do you need to rest?"

Aramis answered with a sigh.

"Does it hurt? The puncture wounds, I mean."

"A bit. Now that I know they're there."

Aramis stopped, closed his eyes. Aware of every ache and pain irritating his body, and struggling to keep his eyes open, he steeled himself with a deep breath. "It feels like I've run a thousand miles. Then run into a wall. And repeated it all over again." He opened his eyes and smiled. "But I must endure. For your sake, as well as my own."

"My sake?"

"You shouldn't be alone out here. Who knows what could happen."

"You don't look like you'll be able to fight. Especially with those bruised ribs of yours."

"When the time comes, I'm sure I can find enough strength inside me to have your back."

D'Artagnan patted his shoulder, gently urging him forward. "Let's pray it doesn't come to that."

Moving deeper into the fog encumbered forest, picking paths at random, Aramis and d'Artagnan walked for what felt an eternity until they finally found the cabin Jeanette had mentioned.

Unlike the black, tainted wood of Black Water's established buildings, this small cabin smelled of freshly cut trees. Aramis sniffed and allowed the pungent aroma to awaken his senses. He sniffed again, this time wrinkling his nose when a vile odour replaced the fresh air. "Do you smell that?"

"I smell forest." D'Artagnan looked around. "No, wait. There's something else... it's rot. Dying wood."

Perhaps a dying forest? Drenched in blood… His muscles tense to flee a giant, winged shadow swooping down on him, Aramis glanced around. Only living forest surrounded them, and no ominous creature from his vision circled above. "Where's it coming from?"

D'Artagnan shrugged.

A low thumping echoed in Aramis' ears. Quiet at first, but gaining momentum as each second ticked passed. His gaze snapped skyward, again in anticipation of the winged threat, to see only grey mist hovering above. He clamped a hand over his chest. It rose and fell with each rapid beat of his heart. The sound pounding in his ears was coming from within him.

"What's wrong?" asked d'Artagnan.

Aramis locked his gaze on his friend's worried expression, drawing nothing but more apprehension. "My vision. This place… it smells the same. I feel the same as I did when…"

"When what?"

Aramis refused to let fear take control. He drew in a deep breath and forced it out through pursed lips. "Never mind. Let's just get on with this. The others are waiting."

After a long stare, d'Artagnan opened the door to the cabin.

Hinges creaked. Odorous smells of decay and bittersweet rot assaulted their senses, forcing them to step back.

D'Artagnan covered his nose. "It smells like the morgue… After it's flooded."

Aramis pushed past him into a single room no more than five strides deep. He agreed. It smelled like dead and bloated bodies pulled from the Seine after a week long soak. The handkerchief he pulled from his pocket to cover his nose only mildly diffused the stench.

But nowhere in the cabin could he find the cause of the smell. It seemed to emanate from the walls and floors. Like the room was meant to stink like this.

A desk sat in the middle of the space, old and weathered with chipped corners as if it'd seen many travels. Cluttered across the top were leather bound books, small stone statues of bears and deer and other forest animals. The rug on the floor, threadbare in patches, was colourfully patterned in a way Aramis had never seen before.

On the walls between several bookshelves, hung drawings of young men in loincloths carrying spears. They wielded them over their heads, either fighting or fending off what seemed to be stick figures of the stone animals from the desk. A barbaric custom Aramis found slightly intriguing. It reminded him of ancient Greece; men fighting bare chested for sport in Athens.

But this was not Greece. The shrunken heads aligned on a shelf near the door reminded him of that. Long scraggly hair fell from emaciated skulls. Lips pulled into snarls, exposing yellowed teeth that had not eaten in what seemed decades. Their hollow eye sockets stared at him no matter where he moved. It sent a shiver down his spine, so he tried not to look at them.

"Where do we start?" asked d'Artagnan.

Aramis went to the shelves behind the desk. "Anywhere. This looks more like a reliquary than a home, so we should be able to find something." He ran his hand along the row of books, eyes skimming over the bindings until he pulled one from the shelf. "They're all untitled."

Flipping through the pages, Aramis realized quickly it was hand-written in a foreign language. He returned it to the shelf, and pulled another one, again featuring a language he could not decipher.

D'Artagnan walked to the desk. "There's more here." He picked one up and leafed through it. "It's not written in any language I recognize, but there's an etching carved into the leather cover that looks familiar."

Aramis stood behind d'Artagnan and leaned over his shoulder. A large bird with expansive wings stared at him from the binding. "This is the same bird we saw on the totem."

He opened the book.

"What language is this?" asked d'Artagnan.

Aramis rested his gaze on his friend's face. "I presume it is Mi'kmaq."

"Don't suppose Thunderbird would be willing to translate, do you?"

Aramis slammed the book closed. "No, I suppose not. But I do know someone who might."

~M~

A gnawing feeling in Athos' gut urged him to check on the innkeeper's body before searching for Thunderbird. So he helped Porthos down the stairs to the closet where they had stashed the corpse.

He guided Porthos into the chair he'd left outside the room, and pushed open the door. The large canvas lay flat on the floor, and when Athos whipped it away only hay lay beneath, confirming his suspicion. "It's gone."

A grumble from Porthos resounded outside, shadowing Athos' dread.

"But why did it disappear now?" asked Athos, stepping back out of the room.

Porthos rested his elbows on his knees. "I don't know. I'm tired… can't think properly."

Athos shook him. "You must. We must be each other's protection. You can't fall asleep on me, I need you watching my back."

A low groan came from deep within Porthos' chest, but he sat up and nodded his head, affirming Athos' belief that his soldiers would do anything if something threatened any one of them.

Athos' thoughts returned to Thunderbird; he needed to know how he escaped. He was sure he'd locked the room. And Aramis had sigiled the door.

He helped Porthos down the other set of stairs into the cellar. By the time they reached Thunderbird's cell, Porthos was awake enough to stand on his own.

Athos unlocked the door, surprised it was still locked, and flung it open. On the chair, arms still tied and grinning, sat Thunderbird.

From the hall, the sound of stomping feet had Athos looking over his shoulder. He turned to see Jeanette leading a mob of villagers down the stairs. The innkeeper was with her, but the other residents he didn't recognize.

Joining him, Porthos asked, "What's going on?"

"It seems the cavalry has arrived," Athos said, pointing at the pitchforked citizens coming down the stairs. He reached behind him and closed the door, locking it tight once again.

Jeanette stopped in front of him, arms crossed over her chest and chin raised. "Where is he? What have you done with Thunderbird?"

"I saw you take him down here!" shouted the innkeeper.

"He is being held for crimes against the Crown," stated Athos. "He is in our custody."

"He's done no such thing!" yelled the innkeeper. "Release him immediately."

Jeanette lowered her arms. "Is this true? Has he done such awful things?"

Athos wanted to tell her what Thunderbird had become last night, that he was a monster and they were doing them all a favour by removing him from their village. But it was hard enough for him to believe, how could he make anyone else understand?

"It is true," replied Athos. "He attacked two of my men last night."

One of the villagers raised a fist in the air. "That's preposterous!"

Athos turned to Porthos. "We need these people under control before they start a riot. Thunderbird won't be our prisoner much longer if we don't."

The crowd surged forward, knocking Jeanette aside as they rushed the door.

Athos shoved them back, his palms turning cold the moment he laid hands on one of their arms. He stumbled, stared at his hands.

Distracted, the villagers were able to push past him. They rushed forward again, knocking on the door and yanking the handle.

Too many for Athos to control at once, he stared at Jeanette. "Stop them. It is for your own good."

Jeanette's stare lingered for a moment. "Can I trust you?"

Porthos pressed his hands together. "Yes. I beg you, stop this before we must take action."

Jeanette glanced at his pistol and sword on his weapons belt. She nodded and turned to the crowd. "Stop this at once!" she shouted. "Let these Musketeers fulfill their duty. "

The villagers backed away from the door, their shoulders hunched and fists clenched.

"We can't let them do this," insisted one of the villagers, his face red in anger.

Jeanette held her arms up, gathering the full attention of the crowd. "In the end, I'm sure these soldiers will realize their mistake and let Thunderbird go free, but until then, we must obey the law of the Crown."

A collective grumble from the mob suggested they were heeding her words. Athos stepped forward and gestured to the stairs leading from the cellar. He wanted them far away from Thunderbird. "We will speak outside. Follow me, and I will explain what is happening."

Outside the inn, a fog thick enough to suffocate an entire village, loomed over Black Water, hampering visibility. Athos stood in the still silence, seeing only a few of the villagers who'd been in the cold cellar. He wondered if the others had left, or had been swallowed by the grey mist.

Jeanette stepped forward, allowing Athos to see her full form. "What is it you wish to say?"

Athos held her gaze. "I've told you Thunderbird has been arrested for attacking two Musketeers. What I didn't tell you, is that he wasn't… he's not... human."

"What do you mean, not human?"

Porthos exposed the wound on his shoulder. "Humans don't have wings, they don't have red eyes and their teeth don't leave marks like this."

Jeanette's eyes widened, she gasped, and covered her mouth with her hand. "I've never seen such marks before. But if you think you saw a demon, why do you believe it to be Thunderbird?"

"Aramis had a vision when he touched the totem at the entrance of your village…" explained Athos.

Jeanette shook her head. "Vision? This is too much to believe."

Athos reached forward and tried to place his hands on her trembling shoulders. She tensed and pulled back, eyeing him sideways. "Please, don't."

"You must listen to us," pleaded Athos.

"I must… I must speak with my father," replied Jeanette. Athos reached for her again, but her raised hand stopped him. "No. Please. Leave me alone."

She backed away a few steps, then turned and ran into the wall of fog, disappearing from sight.

Athos turned to Porthos to see his friend's form almost hidden by the grey mist. "This fog is getting thicker," he said. "We must find Aramis and d'Artagnan before it's too late. I sent them to Thunderbird's cabin. Hopefully they're still there."

"What about Jeanette?"

"We'll deal with her later. Let's go before we can't find anything in this soup."