Black Water Rises

Chapter Seven

Fog enveloped Aramis and d'Artagnan as they made their way back to the settlement. The cold, white mist crept around trees where it made their gnarled trunks appear smooth and sombre, and the sky was nothing more than a grey canvas, waiting to be smeared by sunlight.

The fog didn't just sap Aramis' body heat; it stole it away with each step he took. He was sick of it, sick of the haze filling his already stressed lungs. And tired of squinting sore eyes in order to catch a glimpse of something familiar through the dense haze.

The weather fared no better when they reached the town line; the mysterious village still remained half-hidden behind a grey shroud. The fog hugged Aramis' body in a cold embrace. He reached out a hand, and watched it fade in the mist like some half-forgotten dream. "It's getting worse. We must find Jeanette quickly."

D'Artagnan placed one of Aramis' hands on his shoulder, as he held Thunderbird's journal in his other. "Hold tight. I'll guide us through."

Aramis nodded. Fear and worry were his only fuel, and the act of moving any body part seemed almost an insurmountable task.

They moved forward at a sluggish pace, d'Artagnan navigating his way through the village with an outstretched arm. "It's like the blind leading the blind."

Aramis squeezed his shoulder. "Just keep going. You're doing fine."

A short while later they entered a pocket where the fog was thinner. Structures came into view, including the rosemary bushes that indicated the church. D'Artagnan led them toward the familiar sanctuary, then stopped and looked back at Aramis. "Where does Jeanette live?"

Aramis shook his head. "I haven't a clue."

"Then we'll ask someone."

Aramis squeezed d'Artagnan's shoulder to stop him from moving away. "Thank you."

D'Artagnan turned to him, his brow furrowed. "For what?"

Aramis glanced over his shoulder, then back at d'Artagnan. "For helping me. I fear I may have slipped away had you not led me back here." His gaze fell downward. "After what I've done, what I've started…"

"Don't say another word," stated d'Artagnan. "We stick together, remember?"

"Yes, but I…" Aramis crumpled forward; his momentum stopped by d'Artagnan's supporting embrace. "Sleep. I must sleep."

"Not yet, my friend."

Strong arms hoisted him upward. Dirt and gravel crumbled under the heels of his boots as d'Artagnan dragged him across the ground and placed him against something solid. Exhaustion prevented Aramis from lifting his head, but he knew he should fight the pull of sleep. He forced his eyes wide, dragged a hand up his body and pinched his own cheek in the hopes of keeping himself awake.

"I'll be right back," he heard d'Artagnan say.

I know you will.

With the wall at his back, Aramis floated into the embrace of a warm sea, all his fight and worries washing away with the feeling of water rippling over his skin. The sea cared not about his guilt or fear, it wished only to embrace and soothe, and Aramis savoured it.

He drifted in this state of slow slumber for what seemed an eternity, before d'Artagnan returned and placed his hands on Aramis' shoulders. "I've found her," he said. "Come on. Can you get up?"

"Yes," murmured Aramis, but he lacked the strength to back up his words. The feeling of warmth and water kept pulling him downward into a peaceful abyss.

A sting on his cheek yanked him from the comforting tide until he was forced to blink his eyes open. "What happened?"

"You fell asleep. Now come on. I can't leave you here."

The ground beneath Aramis fell away as d'Artagnan hoisted him to his feet. He stood on wobbly legs, like reeds bending in a current, reached deep and somehow found the fortitude to stay awake.

"Let's go," he said.

D'Artagnan held Aramis' head between his hands and looked into his eyes. "You're with me?"

Aramis patted his shoulder. "I'm with you."

D'Artagnan led him past the buildings of the village, the smothering fog sucking the colour from everything within its reach and turning it a stony grey. The landscape looked like a blurred painting of a colour-blind painter. Nothing but monotone smudges passing through Aramis' periphery until they reached the steps of a cabin just beyond the church.

"Here, drink this. It might help," said d'Artagnan.

A wine skin appeared in Aramis' hand, to which he accepted with a grateful nod. The red liquid burned its way down his throat into his gut where it re-ignited his perseverance. His need to fight off sleep lessened. He smiled his thanks, climbed the stairs and opened the door.

Jeanette sat at a table with her father; huddled together while holding each other's hands. Aramis thought them praying until Jeanette raised her tear-stricken face to meet his.

"Get out!" she cried.

Aramis dismissed her demand. With d'Artagnan's help, he approached the table. "I apologize for the intrusion, but we need your assistance."

Monsieur La Salle rose, stepped between Aramis and his daughter. "You will leave now. I'll have no foolishness spoken in my house!"

"I'm sorry," said d'Artagnan. "But this is important."

Jeanette turned in her seat so she was facing Aramis. "What is it you want?"

Aramis struggled with how much to tell her. "I have something important to tell you, and you'll most likely not believe me. I barely believe it myself."

Jeanette's watery eyes tore Aramis' heart. How could he tell her that he'd seen her corpse?

"Aramis, what is it?" she asked.

Realizing he'd spent too much time lost in thought, he answered her. "Thunderbird is not a person like you or I, " he said, slowly. "He's… He's… something else. And he has trapped us here. I suspect…"

Jeanette wrapped an icy hand around his. Aramis closed his eyes, fought the urge to pull back. "Aramis, you speak nonsense," she said.

"No," he said. "I speak the truth. I've seen it with my own eyes."

"Seen what?"

"You're corpse. Long deceased and laying on the shore."

Jeanette pulled her hand back, drew in a sharp breath as she covered her mouth. "No. That is nonsense. Impossible. I think you and your friends should leave Black Water at once."

Aramis reached for her, failing to grasp her hand when she retracted it into her lap. "I know what I saw. I can't explain it. I'd show you the proof, if it hadn't disappeared when we returned." He paused. "The innkeeper. I can show…"

"No!" Jeanette turned into the embrace of her father.

"This is ludicrous!" spat Monsieur La Salle. "Your friends have upset my daughter enough! She doesn't need to hear more of your foolish tales. Take your leave!"

"You spoke with the others?" asked d'Artagnan.

"Earlier," replied Monsieur La Salle. "Your friends, Athos and Porthos, frightened my Jeanette with some preposterous tale about demons."

Jeanette turned to Aramis, tears soaking her face. "Please go."

Aramis had expected an emotional reaction, but it still felt like a punch to the gut, which promptly reminded him of his own injuries.

He'd forgotten about the stabbing in his belly and aching lungs. He closed his eyes, coughed gently, instinctively wrapping an arm around his torso to help brace the brunt of his pain. He was grateful blood no longer tinged his lips.

"That's one thing in my favour," he said.

Fatigue urged him to sit, but he settled on leaning against the mantle of the fireplace beside Jeanette. D'Artagnan came to him. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. We need answers and we need them to cooperate with us."

"Well, maybe this will help." D'Artagnan turned Aramis around and exposed the back of his neck. "Look at these," he said to Jeanette and her father. "Thunderbird did this."

"I saw the same marks on your friend, Porthos," replied Jeanette. She furrowed her brow, leaned closer for a better look. "I've never seen anything like them before." She looked to her father. "What is happening?"

D'Artagnan passed her the book tucked under his arm. "We're hoping to find the answers in here."

"What's this?" asked La Salle.

"We found it in Thunderbird's cabin," replied d'Artagnan. "The one hidden in the woods. But we can't read it. We were hoping you could."

Jeanette took the book and placed it on the table in front of her. "I don't know what you expect to find in here, but if it helps settle all this nonsense, I will try. Where shall I start?"

"The beginning's always good," said d'Artagnan.

Monsieur La Salle stood behind his daughter with his hands resting on her shoulders as she opened the book.

"It starts with… Well, there's passages about Jacques Cartier and the fur trade," she said. Jeanette put her head down, traced a finger along the script, mumbling words neither Aramis nor d'Artagnan understood.

She raised her head, eyes wide. "He talks about a Virginian chasing settlers out of Acadia. I remember hearing about that."

D'Artagnan shrugged. "Maybe that angered him? I know how I felt when my farm was destroyed."

Aramis patted his shoulder, but kept his attention on Jeanette. "Go on," he said. "This is important."

Jeanette ran her finger down the page. "Chaleur Bay…"

"Where's that?" asked Aramis.

"The coast of Acadia," replied Jeanette, her head still bowed over the book. "Wait… The Jesuits came for me today. They insist I believe in their god. They burned my home, but they did not catch me." She stopped reading and looked up at her father. "It's a journal."

Aramis knelt in front of her. "Please," he said, pointing at the book. "This is helping."

"We need to find out what he is," said d'Artagnan. "Is there anything in there that can help us kill him?"

"Kill him?" Jeanette shook her head and closed the book. "I will no longer help if your purpose is to murder our magistrate."

Monsieur La Salle squeezed her shoulder. "Jeanette, please continue."

Aramis saw a spark of curiosity in La Salle's eyes when the man furrowed his brow. Aramis dipped his head and mouthed a thank-you.

Jeanette hung her shoulders and sighed, but after a moment she re-opened the book. "I found Frenchmen in a camp," she read aloud. "They were hunters. Dressed in furs my people gave them, ungrateful to the animals that provided them. I watched for hours, their infernal fire licking and growling at me, staving me off. I had to find refuge elsewhere."

Aramis pulled on his beard, considered the words from the journal, when suddenly the room swayed and the floor tilted at an odd angle beneath him. He rolled his eyes, fought the blackness creeping across his sight, desperate to hold onto something. He stood and reached out to grasp the mantle for support, but caught only air.

D'Artagnan's arms wrapped around him, guiding him into a chair. "You should return to the room. You need to rest."

"I can't," replied Aramis. He coughed, held a hand to his chest to stem the burn in his lungs, and looked at d'Artagnan. "You must not be alone."

D'Artagnan knelt in front of him. "Are you sure? I can take care of myself."

Aramis appreciated his bravado and smiled. "We don't know what we're dealing with. None of us can take care of ourselves."

"Then sit here," said d'Artagnan. "Rest." He turned to Jeanette. "Have you found anything else?"

Jeanette spun the book around for d'Artagnan to see and pointed at a passage. "This speaks of our return to France. How we built the village and of Thunderbird being… sated on the villagers. He then says he must leave this world until he needs to feed again. But first he planted his totem so he could return."

"What does that mean? Leave this world how? To go where?" asked d'Artagnan.

Jeanette shook her head. "I don't know."

Aramis wrapped his fingers around her pale hand. "What do you remember of your arrival here?"

Monsieur La Salle walked around the table and took a seat across from Aramis. "It seems so long ago," he said, head buried in his hands. "I remember building this village… excited to see my brother in Cherbourg after the long voyage home."

"Did you see him?" asked d'Artagnan.

La Salle shook his head. "I don't think so. I don't remember ever leaving Black Water."

"Neither do I," said Jeanette. "I don't remember much of anything before this town. It wasn't until you pressed me about the necklace that I even tried."

La Salle looked into Aramis' eyes. "What is happening here?"

Aramis swallowed the lump filling his throat. He tried not to avert his gaze, but an explanation kept bouncing around the back of his mind, too impossible to speak. He'd heard of people losing their memories, but that usually occurred after an injury to the head. What was happening here was collective. No one in Black Water seemed to remember much of anything before arriving.

Which meant, the whole town was affected. Something happened to these citizens when they arrived back in France.

Thunderbird also said he was sated. On what? Thought Aramis. The more he considered what the journal said, the more uncomfortable his nerves became.

He looked away from Jeanette. "I don't know," he replied. "Keep reading. And I assure you, we will get to the bottom of this."

~M~

Athos led a lethargic Porthos from inside Thunderbird's cabin onto the porch, cursing they hadn't found their companions inside. Porthos was fading, his weight heavier on Athos' shoulders, his feet dragging across the porch. "How are you feeling?" he asked, turning to his friend.

"As stout as you," replied Porthos.

Drooping eyelids and heavy blinking contradicted Porthos' statement. Athos clenched his jaw. He wished he could grant his friend rest, but knew they couldn't afford any delays.

They ambled down the stairs, but Porthos dropped himself onto the bottom step, bringing their journey to a halt. He looked heavenward and dragged a hand down his face. "How are we supposed to find Aramis and d'Artagnan in this soup?"

The fog loomed over the village as far as Athos could see, almost tangible as it shrouded everything in white mist. Townsfolk moving about, the clanking of a blacksmith's hammer ringing as it struck horseshoes, should have filled Athos' ears, but even the sounds of Porthos' heavy breathing were swallowed by the mist.

"The only way is to keep trying," replied Athos.

He pulled Porthos to his feet and led him through the village, asking the people they passed if they'd seen their friends. Many shrugged and went on with their business, while others frowned and ignored their questions.

A man walking on a path up ahead caught Athos' attention. He wore the same clothes and beard as the newcomer whose body had vanished before him hours ago. Could it be him? No. That is impossible.

Athos considered talking with him, but realized it would do no good. What answers could he have? Besides, Porthos was in a precarious enough state as it was, and stopping would just delay finding the others.

Hoping a familiar face would help them find their friends, Athos sought out the blacksmith's shop on Porthos' suggestion. At the threshold of the one-story cabin, Athos threw open the door and pulled Porthos in behind him.

Iron and coal filaments floated in the air of the small room. A kiln fire burned without purpose. Tools lay strewn about, their owners' whereabouts unknown. Athos stepped forward, his honed instincts demanding caution.

Porthos leaned against the wall by the entrance, sliding down to the floor. "I'm so tired."

Athos pulled him up and held him firm against the wall. "Stay with me," he pleaded, patting Porthos' cheek.

"Yeah, yeah," replied Porthos, nodding his head. His lips formed a straight line behind his beard, his eyes focused on Athos. "I've got this. I've got this."

Athos trusted his friend's resolve and turned back to the room. The fire warmed the shop, and the walls kept the fog at bay, but with lighting dimmed by lack of windows and soot coated furnishings, Athos had difficulties making his way around. He shuffled his feet, inched to his right and peered behind an oak counter.

Nothing.

Athos could not shake what he'd seen in the newcomer's room, and he carried it with him as searched the shop. He kept a slow pace as he worked his way around the room, his guard on high, half-expecting to find the blacksmith dead, only to see his body disappear.

"There's no one here," he said, heaving a breath.

Porthos chuckled. "He's the only other person in this village I've spoken to, " he said. "Except for Jeanette. I was hopin' he'd be willing to help."

Athos returned to him. "If he were here, perhaps he would have."

"You don't think…"

Athos held up a finger. "Don't finish that question. "

Porthos smiled. "Yeah. Keep positive thoughts and all that."

"Words to live by, old friend," said Athos. He pulled Porthos along behind him as he exited the shop. "Now stay awake. We need to keep searching."

"You sound worried?"

"And your not? Aramis and d'Artagnan are out there, without our help. And I sent them. Now the fog's getting worse, and we're floundering about out here looking for them!"

Porthos nodded, but remained quiet as they started their search for their friends.

Engulfed in fog once again, and short on familiar faces or ideas, Athos relinquished his hopes of finding Aramis and d'Artagnan by conventional means, and drew in a deep breath. He called their names into the fog, hoping to instigate a demeaning game of blind man's bluff.

~M~

Unsure if the voice calling his name originated in a dream world, Aramis pricked his ear toward the door of Jeanette's cabin. He heard it again, and sat upright when he realized it was Athos' familiar voice.

"D'Artagnan," he said, twisting in his chair to point at the door.

D'Artagnan bounded across the room. "I hear him too." He flung open the door. "Athos! Over here."

Their friends stepped over the threshold moments later, Athos cradling Porthos as he dragged him into a chair. "I thought we'd never find you," he said.

"It is good that you have," replied Aramis. "We've found something."

Athos knelt beside Aramis and squinted at him. "You've grown paler," he remarked. "How are you feeling?"

"About as good as him, I suppose," Aramis replied, with a nod toward Porthos.

Athos placed a hand on each of his friends' knees. "You two are fading quickly. It appears the life is being sapped from your bodies."

"We better not find our corpses somewhere," said Porthos.

"Better than having them disappear," replied Aramis.

"Skadegamutc," muttered Jeanette.

"What was that?" asked d'Artagnan.

Eyes wide, Jeanette stared at d'Artagnan. "The Ghost-Witches of the Mi'kmaq. Eater of souls. I just remembered."

Her father took her hands in his, held them to his chest. "It can't be, child," he whispered.

Jeanette pulled her hands back. "But father, that is what they are describing. They come and go from this world to sate their appetites. Evil sorcerers whose spirits' refuse to die." She turned wide eyes on Aramis. "They feed on human souls. Drain them of life."

"What did you call it," he asked. "Skad…da…what?"

Jeanette voiced it out. "Ska…de…ga… moosh."

"Ah, yes, easy enough," replied Aramis, rolling his eyes. But knowing the name of Thunderbird's true form meant nothing if they didn't know how to kill it.

"Could it be true? Could Thunderbird really be a Ghost-Witch?" asked Jeanette.

"Keep reading," said d'Artagnan. "We may learn more."

Jeanette flipped further into the journal. "I raised the fog today to quench my hunger," she read aloud. "But the fog is thin for I am weak. I cannot sustain the veil until I eat. Bones of my past feeds may appear, so I am fortunate someone has awoken my totem so I may take solid form once more and re-gain my strength. I've been dormant… without food, for far too long. My previous feast no longer sustains me…"

Aramis coughed in disbelief. Solid form. Feast... A strangled sound emanated from his lips, but he said nothing. He'd suspected something ominous had happened to these villagers, and now he seemed to have proof.

"… But now I will enter this world and feed again," continued Jeanette. "The villagers shall arise with me, believing it just another day. It has been many moons since they last walked this plane, but their memories will know nothing of it as they keep me company and welcome the newcomers to Black Water."

"That's how the town appears?" questioned Athos. "He summons the fog when he's hungry, trapping people in its maze?"

Aramis hung his head. "And I brought him here when I touched the pole."

"Hold on," said Jeanette. "It also says… the Musketeers have explored too much. I must eat and gather strength before they discover what I do not want known. Perhaps fear will settle in their spirits, and make them all the more splendid to eat? They have found the bones of Madame La Salle..."

She dropped the page, her mouth agape as she stared up at her father. Aramis grabbed her hand before she spoke, stopping words of disbelief from tumbling out of trembling lips. "Breathe," he said. "Feel my hand touching yours. Concentrate on that."

Her watery eyes looked at Aramis. "But we are…"

"Ghosts," confirmed Aramis. His stomach tied into knots as he spoke the word, but he held the evidence in his hand. Her frigid touch sent shivers down his spine. "You died long ago. Remember what the journal said… my previous feast no longer sustains me. He was referring to the residents of Black Water. All that survived the storm, that is."

"He murdered us!" bellowed La Salle. He stepped back, eyes narrowed and hands clenched. "He never rescued us, he's holding us prisoner!"

"I'm afraid so," said Athos. "A newcomer arrived earlier today, and I saw his body disappear after he'd died. I just saw that same man walking about Black Water like nothing happened. We must end this. But for us to do so, we need to remain calm and keep level heads."

"How can you expect us to remain calm?" La Salle paced the room before settling behind his daughter. "We just found out we are dead! Since returning to France, our lives have been nothing but a sham! We are fools for not having seen the truth!"

Jeanette patted one of his hands. "There was no way for us to know," she said. "I've felt as alive as the day we left for the Americas. We have breathed, we have slept, we have woken to see new days."

"Days!" spat La Salle. "It could have been months we slept. It was just our foolishness that made us think it was a tomorrow."

"If you are fools, then so am I," stated Aramis. He rubbed his neck where puncture marks bruised his skin, trying his hardest not to think of the fate that might await him. "I was… attacked by Thunderbird as well, but I don't plan to let this continue."

"What would you have us do?" shouted La Salle. "After all, we are dead!"

"Father, please," said Jeanette, her voice breaking. "Let him finish."

"I understand the severity of the situation," Aramis said. "But you must read on. "

"It's the only way we will learn how to defeat Thunderbird," added Athos.

Jeanette's hand shook as she ran her fingers down the next page. Tears fell from her eyes, and Aramis wrapped his hand around one of hers. "You can do this, I will help."

Jeanette nodded. "Just don't let go of my hand. If I can't be alive, at the least, I can still feel alive."

"I won't. I promise."

Jeanette read aloud, her voice soft and broken between sobs. "Insufferable fools. My feast was interrupted. My strength is only half its power and I question how long I can hold the veil."

"Ey! That was written after you caught him, right?" asked Porthos. "How could he 'ave written this when he was locked up?"

Athos shook his head. "He must have escaped the cellar and returned to his cabin."

"How? The door was locked from the outside when we went to check on him?"

"Remember, he is not of this earth," Aramis said.

"This is all good," interrupted d'Artagnan. "But we need to find out how to kill him. And fast."

"I don't remember much of the tales," replied Jeanette. "But I do recall the Skadegamutc dislikes fire."

"He spoke of it in his journal," said Porthos.

"And he seemed rather furious the hearth was burning at the feast," added Aramis.

D'Artagnan shifted his feet, crossed his arms over his chest. "Perhaps burning him will bring his death?"

Aramis nodded in d'Artagnan's direction. "It's our only option so far."

As they readied to leave, Jeanette's small voice reached them before they opened the door. "But what will happen to us?" she asked.

Selfishly, a different question popped into Aramis' mind… What will happen to Porthos and I?