Chapter 2- Fiendish Visions
A/N: Hey guys, I worked really hard all week and I am very proud to release Chapter 2 of White Eyes! I'm pretty excited to release this chapter since the action begins to ramp up a little bit in this one.
Unfortunately I'm sorry to say that the next chapter will not be released for at least another week due to a ton of testing next week. Because of this I will have almost zero time to write. The good news is its only 40 more days until summer!
Also to SoulErrorAWitch thanks a lot for the review, hugely appreciate it. And thanks everyone for the favorites/support- it really helps.
The zombie slammed the shovel down, there was a white flash and Steve attempted to shield himself with his arms. Suddenly a loud bang echoed across the strip mine, not the sound of the shovel penetrating his flesh. Steve opened his eyes to see his grandfather's stone pickaxe an inch from his head; his grandfather was struggling with the zombie. Steve stumbled back as the zombie slammed the shovel down a third time. He wondered briefly how his grandfather had gotten the pick so quickly but he shoved the thought aside. His grandfather was in front of him, his pick raised and aimed at the zombie.
"Stay back Steve!" his grandfather yelled in a scared voice as the zombie stumbled. The thing was evidently surprised at the appearance of another human. The zombie evidently detected its target's fear and reached for his grandfather, moaning loudly. Horace stepped back and then moved to the side. Steve watched in fright as the zombie stumbled towards his grandfather.
"Grandfather! No!" Steve yelled.
"Steve- get away!" Horace bellowed, taking another step back. Steve reluctantly obeyed him. Steve watched for a moment as Horace led the zombie into one of the mined out chunks and stopped.
"Watch out!" he screamed. Horace seemed to be ignoring him. Was his grandfather going to die for him like that? Steve watched, mouth agape as the zombie stumbled forwards- right into the miniature pit. How could it be so stupid? Steve was rooted to the spot, staring as the zombie struggled to get out of the pit for another go at his grandfather.
Then without warning, the zombie burst into flames. The thing moaned loudly as it tried to stab Horace with the shovel but it missed. It flailed for several seconds in desperation, trying to get at its human prey. Horace glared at the thing and struck it to the side of the head with the pickaxe in one full swing. The burning head of the zombie flew across the ground and landed with a sickening thud, extinguishing itself in the process. The burning corpse, deprived of its head collapsed into ashes, and the shovel fell to the ground with a loud clang. Steve stared in disbelief- unable to comprehend what he had just witnessed. But then he refocused and saw his grandfather, doubled over near the smoldering zombie. Every part of Steve's body was in panic mode. Before he knew it he was bolting for his grandfather, he couldn't be dying. Steve sent a hurried prayer to Notch that his grandfather was okay.
"Grandfather!" Steve yelled as he ran across the mine towards him. "Grandfather, are you okay?"
Thankfully his worst fears were not confirmed, his grandfather wasn't dead. Horace was panting. His arms rested on the pickaxe, which was stained black and red from the zombie's blood. Several moments passed, he did not look at Steve. Steve called his name several more times and his grandfather seemed to finally awaken, as if from the dead. His grandfather looked tired, and his beard was more haggard than it had been minutes before. Horace's skin was pale, far different than its usual ruddy color; it gave him a wispy appearance. The old man was in shock to some degree, not to Steve's surprise- he was shocked and scared too.
"Steve…" his grandfather started. "I'm glad you're alive."
"Yeah I'm glad I'm alive too- you're not hurt either? Grandfather?" Steve asked, reaching out towards him.
"No- no it would have to take a bit more than that to take me out. Although it did give me quite a fright." Horace admitted.
"It-it scared me too…" Steve said "There aren't more of them are there?" he asked, glancing around him in worry. He hadn't even seen the zombie approach them. Even at that very moment there could be two or even three more lurking in the mine. Horace coughed,
"No- well perhaps but they are no threat." Horace coughed again.
"No threat?! No threat? How do you even know that?" Steve asked incredulously. In spite of himself he felt his anger rising. "That almost killed you, and it almost took me out as well!"
"My dear boy, I am perfectly aware of that since it was I who saved you! However I really must ask you to calm down. Your questions are good and it only makes sense that you would want to make sense of the situation- as do I. Now-" Horace paused holding up his hand "I will try to explain… to the best of my knowledge. But please let an old man rest first." Horace replied, coughing heavily before wiping his brow.
"Well for starters was that thing?" Steve interjected, glancing at the pile of ashes next to the battered shovel.
Horace glanced at him, and pulled a small pink vial from his pocket and drank it in one gulp. "Ahh, that's better!" he said, as some of the color returned to his face. He pocketed the bottle and glanced back at Steve. "Now as to your question- that thing you saw is a zombie Steven. It is a foul creature, an undead human. I believe you know a bit about giant spiders?"
"Yeah." Steve replied. His grandfather had once told him of giant mythical spiders known as Arachnomorphs that had infested the lands ages ago. Those stories made Steve very glad that he had not been born at a time when those things were around.
"Good now be quiet and allow me to continue." Horace said firmly. Steve sat down next to his grandfather as the old man launched into his tale,
"Yes well, a long time ago…before there were records or even an established civilization the world was very different Steve- the land was infested with creatures so foul historians fear to mention them in the old texts." Horace paused and took a deep breath before continuing "It is said that the word was formed by three gods, Notch who we worship, Jeb, and a third named Baez'aamon. Now as you know Notch created the Sun, the Sky, the Moon, the seas, the trees and humans. We were long considered his prized creation. His disciple Jeb gave us the gift of fire, how to make tools, and our intelligence. Jeb also created many of the animals. You know this part of the legend Steve." Steve nodded.
"Yeah, this is about the twentieth time you've told it to me."
"Yes, but there is a much larger part you haven't heard before so listen closely."
"Does it have to do with Baez'aamon?" Steve asked.
"Ah! Yes, very good Steven very good. You're completely right. It is about Baez'aamon. Now for the sake of simplicity and because I don't want to have to say his full name a hundred times we will call him Baez. Baez was a tricky fellow; he was different than either Jeb or Notch. While Jeb and Notch rejoiced in each other's creations Baez did not. It made him jealous to see the greatness of Jeb's and Notch's creations. You see Steve, Baez created darker things. Baez created the Netherworld, many of the monsters in it, and obsidian. However long before he created the monsters Baez developed a strong hatred of humans. Humans rejected Baez and outpoured their love to Notch and Jeb for the gifts they had given them. So perhaps you could say that Baez hated humans out of jealously- although I suspect there was more to it than that. Over many years his hatred of our kind grew much like a tumor. One day Notch offered a chance to Baez by creating the first Nether portal. Naturally Baez eagerly accepted this opportunity to show off his creations and finally receive the kindness of Notch and Jeb's cherished humans. However what Baez didn't know was that Notch had planned to dispose of him from the start. The Nether was an evil place Steve, Notch sensed Baez's disguised hatred and felt pressed to do something about it. Notch decided to imprison Baez in his own realm. When Baez learned of this- and it was not for some time mind you, he withdrew himself into the farthest corner of the Nether and worked on the creation of an army to exterminate Notch's precious creations and to take over the overworld.
"Baez had withdrawn for ten full years as legend tells us, and his revenge was terrible. He attacked the human settlers with waves of pigmen, a cross between a zombie-fied man and a pig. Baez had created other monstrosities, enormous flying wraiths known as Ghasts who could shoot blazing fire out of their mouths. He also created Blazes, or fire wraiths that were similar in nature to Ghasts and strange cub-like creatures nearly twenty feet high that spewed lava everywhere they went. As legend tells us Steve, thousands of people died and the world was scorched with red flame. However Baez had a problem, many of his creations depended on the environment of the Nether- where they had been created for life. Many of his monstrosities died soon after entering the over world and this made him furious. Baez then extended his influence into the over world, creating monstrosities there like giant man eating spiders, skeletons and creepers- things that could survive for long periods in the over world. Many of the humans he killed were turned into zombies, and could turn anyone into a zombie by a single bite. It is also said…" Horace continued in a darker tone "That Baez created deep within his fortress another thing, monster or man it is not known but the thing was known once as 'White Eyes'. White Eyes was the crown of his many dark creations; it was powerful, fast, and very deadly. As legend tells us Baez did not hesitate to use his useful new puppet to capture Jeb. Baez then held Jeb in the Nether, and took his revenge by doing unspeakable things to him.
"When Notch learned of his he was furious but could not kill Baez without risking harm to Jeb- a thing he desperately wanted to avoid. As a result Notch did what he set out to do- he sealed Baez in the Nether but was also forced to seal Jeb in with him. Notch wept for a time over the loss of Jeb but then proceeded to exterminate Baez's creations on the surface. For a long time it was assumed that they had been destroyed, and humanity rebuilt and created the great cities and nations that exist today." Horace sighed and slumped on the boulder. "But it appears that it was not the case…"
"The zombie- why did it catch fire like that?" Steve asked, feeling entirely unsatisfied by this mythological explanation.
"The curse of Notch upon the creatures of Baez. The sunlight is purifying." He said gesturing to the blazing sun with his palm "There is no sunlight in the Nether- or that is what the legends tell us. And naturally, that is where the most fiendish of Baez's creations live. The light is thus a defense against the creations of Baez."
"Hang on," Steve paused "The zombies – they couldn't have all been killed or there wouldn't be any more would there? I mean, if they only reproduce by biting living people then they've been here all this time!" he exclaimed.
"That Steve, we do not know."
"THERE COULD BE HUNDREDS OF THESE THINGS OUT THERE!" he yelled.
"It's understandable for you to be angry Steve-"
"Yeah well I am okay?" Steve ran a hand through his hair "Where could it have come from? I mean I was just mining right there-" he gestured to the mined out spot near the corpse "and I got attacked by a zombie that wants to eat me! And before that I had this weird vision about some Etihw Seye!"
"I don't know Steven. Like I said I thought these…creatures were exterminated a long time ago, thousands of years ago."
"Well that's very helpful." Steve said sarcastically. Horace sighed and tugged at his beard. "So we're not in any danger because they'll just burn up in the sunlight like that zombie did."
"Precisely…as far as I know that is the case…" Horace said affirmatively. His grandfather was sitting in what seemed to be deep thought. He was staring at the corpse of the zombie. The smell of burned flesh rose from the thing's remains.
"Grandfather? Shouldn't we tell someone about the zombie?" Steve asked. His grandfather did not respond for several seconds.
"Yes, not that it would do any good boy…" Horace growled "no one would believe me or you for that matter. Imagine if I had seen a horde of zombies as opposed to just one – and told everyone about it. People would think I'd have lost my mind! I'd be sent to a nut farm before they'd believe a word that came out of my mouth. Think about it Steven. Everyone including me thought these fiends were destroyed thousands of years ago and now we've just seen one. No one would look at me with a straight face if I told them about our encounter with the zombie."
Steve sighed in anguish "You have a point but – it's real! There must be someone who can believe you. Or who can see it for themselves!"
"There is no one Steve. You must understand this. Perhaps we could bring people out here but it would make no difference. There may have only been one zombie – the one you witnessed- but not any others and then we'll both end up looking like fools." Horace sighed deeply and pulled out another loaf of bread, tore it in half and handed one to Steve. Steve took the half-loaf, gave thanks and ate it.
"So what do we do?" he asked with irritation "Do nothing? Say nothing about a man-eating zombie that tried to bludgeon me with a shovel? People should know!"
"I'm not saying we should say nothing Steven. There is a great distinction between saying that a warning would be useless and not actually warning anyone. Of course we will warn them. It would be a travesty not to if in fact, the villagers of the town are in mortal danger. We will talk to Nate about it, and the mayor." Horace explained, taking a bite out of his bread. "The mayor should at least be warned. In fact telling Muriel about it might not be a bad idea either…"
"Maybe we could go looking for others?"
"Steven, you really ought to understand by now that you cannot find something when you do not know where to look for it. I've told you this before and you would do well to remember it."
"Yes grandfather." Steve grumbled. His grandfather was right, and it was sickening to him. He really didn't have any idea where they could be coming from, or even if it was more than one zombie. Steve felt even more sickened by the fact that it was almost futile to warn the mayor. The mayor was elected by a council of six many of who were old and very opinionated and had strong control of everything the mayor did. And none of the oldsters on the council would be likely to take any action, as even if the mayor believed them the council certainly wouldn't.
Steve looked warily across the strip mine, unable to shake the feeling that there were hundreds of zombies in there. Steve hated to see his worst fears about the mines confirmed.
"Are we still getting that pickaxe?" Steve asked.
"Of course." Horace said "Although after this…we may have to put your mining on hold for a little while."
"Yeah the 'nothing in the mines can hurt you' thing is a bit of a past saying isn't it?" Steve asked sarcastically.
"I don't know…" Horace replied "I wish I did Steve I really wish I did…now it is noon." He said observing the sun's position high up in the sky. "We ought to get back to town. I've got a grocery list longer than the dinner table and you need a pickaxe."
"What about old moany?" Steve asked, gesturing to the pile of ashes that used to be the zombie.
"As we have discussed the mayor, Muriel and Nate will be told." Horace said in such a way that indicated that the discussion was at an end.
With that Steve and his grandfather made their way out of the strip mine. Horace led the way along a gravel trail not far from where Steve had fallen, that led to a pleasant grassy field. The field bristled with dewdrops from last-night's rainfall. It was a deceptively calm scene. Steve was still much shaken from his encounter with the zombie. Steve had only heard of the creatures a few times but he had in no way, been prepared for that up close and personal experience with it.
The whole experience unnerved Steve even more because he did not know how to fight. He knew how to punch; he had once punched a bully so hard he knocked him out for several minutes. But he had never used a sword, and that was what worried him the most. What if there were more zombies? How could he fight them off? And most importantly of all where had the thing come from? Who was the poor soul that had been bitten and transformed into such a horrid creature? And where had the zombie that had bit that person came from? Horace had explained that the monsters were creations of an ancient demon- Baez'aamon but had left to question why they had come back after thousands of years.
Steve balled his fists in anger at all of these unknowns. What was worse was that Horace was right; no one was likely to believe their encounter with the zombie. Steve didn't think that he would believe it either if he was a villager and monsters had been a thing of myth for thousands of years.
They didn't talk for the entirety of their journey back to the village. Steve thought for a moment on everything that had happened that morning, he had seen a vision of something called Etihw Seye, fainted, and nearly got killed by a zombie. Did that all mean something? Horace had mentioned something about a creature called 'White Eyes' what did that mean? Steve had seen hundreds of pairs of white eyes staring at him in his vision. And then there was that name Etihw Seye. Etihw Seye…Steve repeated the name again and again in his head. Was there a connection? He thought to himself. And then it dawned on him like the sun's rays on a snowy hillside. Etihw Seye was 'White Eyes' spelled backwards.
"Etihw Seye…White Eyes…" Steve said softly. It all added up, the pairs of glowing white eyes in his vision, the voices chanting Etihw Seye, and the 'White Eyes' Horace had told him about. Besides it would explain why Nate's face had darkened when he mentioned Etihw Seye. But then there was another question, why was it even spelt backwards in the first place? Was there something to that? Steve sighed, he felt like he had been played for a fool.
"Steve?" his grandfather's grumpy voice called. Steve shook his head and looked up at his grandfather and shot him a quizzical look. "You stopped moving. Is something the matter?" Horace asked.
"Yeah- I just realized something really important. Grandfather I just figured something out- it's really important." Steve said excitedly.
"You did? Then get a move on and we'll talk about it." Horace replied. Steve hurried forwards and launched into his discovery.
"Grandfather, you remember a few minutes ago how you were talking about 'White Eyes' and all that mythology stuff?"
"Yes, although it is legend and assumed to be true Steven." Horace corrected him.
"Er- right." Steve said "I just realized – something really important-"
"Then out with it boy." Horace said impatiently, his face turning a ruddy color "I haven't got all day to play the ruddy pronoun game." Steve rolled his eyes and continued,
"Etihw Seye is 'White Eyes' spelled backwards." Steve explained "I just figured it out. It explains why the voices- in my vision- were chanting it. Grandfather it could be connected to the 'White Eyes' in that legend." Horace looked at him thoughtfully for several moments. Then a spark of amusement touched his ruddy cheeks.
"Very good Steven! Very good!" he chortled "Yes it is White Eyes spelled backwards and I figured it shortly after you told me. As for whether or not Etihw Seye is connected with White Eyes in the legends I do not know. But I must say something for your imagination boy- a hundred pairs of white eyes…burn me…"
"But it has to be! It would explain everything!" Steve exclaimed. "The zombie, the eerie chill I got when I heard the voices." Horace sighed patiently.
"It's all happened on the same day grandfather! It can't just be a coincidence that this Etihw Seye or White Eyes shows up, we get attacked by an undead and then you tell me of a White Eyes in the legend! Also, why didn't you tell me it was White Eyes spelled backwards when you figured it out earlier?" Steve demanded angrily.
"Steve I must remind you not to shout at me…"Horace said coldly "I thought you would have figured out the connection by yourself and regardless I did not deem it important to tell you. Now," he raised a pudgy finger – signaling that he was about to go off into another long winded lecture "indeed, these events are most unusual. Do you think the sight of the zombie didn't shock me as much as it did you? Of course it did, but there isn't any rational explanation for it is there boy? In fact there's no explanation for it at all. All I know about what is going on is from the legend of Baez'aamon and even that is questionable grounds to base a theory on." Steve's frustration only grew at his grandfather's words.
"But…it can't just be coincidence…it can't!" he growled.
"Steve! Our manners!"
"I'm sorry grandfather." Steve said bowing his head. He was frustrated but his grandfather was right, yelling was not going to help matters and aside from that he did deserve Steve's respect.
"I do not believe these happenings are mere coincidence. I am not challenging your point there Steven. But White Eyes is a legend and the very fact that he exists is unknown and debatable." Steve opened his mouth in protest but Horace continued "It is a great coincidence that you received a vision about 'White Eyes' and heard the tale of him and encountered a zombie all in one day. Regardless Steven, however great the connection, it does not necessarily prove causation." Steve hadn't heard that one before.
"Is that another mantra of yours?" Steve asked
"Perhaps." Horace said brightening slightly "It has a nice ring to it doesn't it? By the way how did you find your first foray into mining?"
Steve was almost floored by his grandfather's brusqueness. One moment they were talking about the world being in potential peril and the next they were talking about something as trivial as his work potential.
"It was…hmm let's see," Steve said sarcastically, putting on his best thoughtful expression "not too good cause I almost died."
"I do not suffer from short term memory loss Steven I am aware of what almost happened to you and I would prefer to forget it although I cannot…" Horace said raising the bloodied pickaxe. The blood had now dried on the stone leaving a horrible black and red stain on its tip. "In fact, come to think of it…it might be a better idea if this was kept under wraps for a little while, don't want people getting the wrong ideas after all." Horace said, stopping for a moment and pulling out a wool cloth which he tightly wrapped around the edge of the pickaxe. "I merely posed the question to see if mining suited you well or poorly regardless of our situation at the moment."
"It-It was okay. I was getting a feel for it after a few blocks." Steve admitted. Horace beamed, as he always did when Steve did something good, or took a fancy to one of the jobs he had cut out for him.
"Excellent, excellent. That's good to hear Steven. Perhaps if things return to normal by tomorrow…we'll have a chance to really get your training started!" Steve was not excited by this information but managed a dim smile in return.
Steve had been so immersed in their conversation that he hadn't noticed the outline of farm ahead of them growing steadily larger. It was Terrance's farm. Steve was able to tell this by the custom weathervane atop the roof of Terrance's house, which was in the distinctive shape of a pig. The farm itself extended a kilometer or so in every direction by Steve's reckoning and was walled off around the perimeter by sections of short wooden fencing – to keep out the vagabonds Horace had once told him.
"'Ey Horace! Good to 'ee you again!" a friendly voice croaked. That voice belonged to Terrance himself who apparently had noticed their approach and had come out to meet them.
"And a good morning to you too Terrance!" Horace boomed. Terrance gave him a friendly wave. "And how is the farm coming?"
"Right poorly Horace, right poorly. Aye…one of my sows died last night…poor girl couldn't do anythin' for 'er. Called the medicine man, ol' Wickfield but he couldn't do a thing." Terrance said sadly, wiping his motley brown hair with a free hand. His expression had gone from pleased to slightly depressed in an instant. It was always hard for any farmer when their livestock died- normally it wasn't their fault.
"I'm very sorry to hear that Terrance." Horace said sympathetically. "We both feel for your loss. I hope it has not hurt your farm too badly?"
"No, no it hasn't. She was an old lass, it 'twas her time I reckon." Terrance said. His voice was mournful. The farmer had undoubtedly felt the loss of his livestock very deeply.
"I'm sorry to hear it Terrance. How are the children keeping?" Horace asked politely.
"I've got them working." Terrance said offering a toothy grin. "How about yeh Steve? Your grandfather been putting yeh to work a lot lately?"
"Uh I guess you could say that." Steve muttered. Terrance looked at him for a moment,
"Somethin wrong? Feelin' a bit under the weather eh?" he asked looking at Steve.
"It's nothing…" Steve mumbled, scratching his head. His mind was still on his encounter with the zombie.
"He's been mining. I took him out just a little earlier, over at the strip mine that way." Horace said gesturing off into the distance.
"That so?" Terrance said with genuine interest "Good work mining. But not as good as farming!" he laughed. Steve was very inclined to agree with him on that point.
"Yes well we must be off Terrance. Things to do, to buy, you know."
"Aye Horace. Well have a good day eh? And good luck with the mining Steve!"
"Thanks, I'll need it!" Steve replied, forcing a smile. Terrance chuckled.
"Ah well, then I 'ope it goes a bit better for yeh."
"Yes well we really must be off." Horace replied. "Good day to you Terrance!" Terrance waved a goodbye and trudged back to the farmhouse.
"You couldn't have at least warned him?" Steve hissed once they were out of earshot.
"No. He wouldn't believe me." Horace said firmly "Besides, that poor man doesn't need any more trouble on his mind than he's already got. He says his children are fine but I know for a fact that his daughter is sick with colic."
"Oh," Steve said "is she okay?"
"She's fine. You even had colic as a little kid Steven. You were a handful…" Horace murmured.
Steve smiled a little at this. He had been an active child. When he was three he farted at an almost indecent frequency and when he was seven he had a habit of jumping on the bed. Steve couldn't focus on anything back then – one minute he would be working on one of his grandfather's projects and the next he would be drawing unflattering portraits of Horace on the walls. Then Steve turned fourteen, the age when he was supposed to be a man and he was as immature as ever. Horace had finally managed to straighten Steve out by a rigorous regimen of work, exercise…and more work.
Several minutes later they were at the familiar doorstep of the Darton blacksmith. Bad memories resurfaced in Steve's mind every time he looked at the place. The smithy's shop was drab building made of dirt, mud and cobblestone. It looked very medieval and every bit as foreboding as Steve remembered it. The shop had a low hanging stone roof, exactly one window, which was so filthy it was impossible to see anything through it- and a red brick chimney.
Horace coughed and walked up to the door, rapping on it three times in quick succession. Then he stepped back and waited several moments. No one appeared at the door, there wasn't even a sound save for the delighted squeals of several children playing down the street.
"Maybe he didn't hear…" Horace muttered, rapping on the door even louder than before.
"Uh well if he's not there-" Steve started but his hopes were dashed as a muffled voice came from the smithy. Steve couldn't hear what the voice was saying but it was definitely the blacksmith's and it sounded very angry. Suddenly the door burst open and grizzled figure of the blacksmith appeared, a scowl on his face and several burns on his arms.
"What in the name of Notch's shiny, bald, bloody fat head do you think- oh it's you." He growled, glaring at the pair. The blacksmith was a man of middling height, was muscular and evenly built with a round head. He had beady eyes and a great mane of grizzled dark brown hair which was burnt at several ends. The blacksmith was exactly as Steve remembered him except his hair was a little grayer and he looked a little meaner. Some people never changed Steve thought.
"And a good morning to you Robert." Horace said cordially.
"It's Bob." The blacksmith grunted. "What do you want? I'm busy."
"An iron pickaxe."
"An iron pickaxe he says…" Bob grumbled "Alright, alright. Mining are we Steven?"
"Yeah." Steve replied, a little shakily. Bob smirked.
"So that's what you've got him up too this time Horace. Well, I hope he turns out to be a better miner than a blacksmith…" Steve felt the blood rush to his cheeks at this remark. He opened his mouth in retort but couldn't articulate a response. Bob ignored Steve stepped back towards the interior of his shop "Don't worry Horace; I've got a few picks in stock. I've run a little low on iron since the mining activity's died down so it will cost you a bit extra…"
"That's fine." Horace replied as the door slammed shut and the blacksmith disappeared inside the dark of the smithy. They waited for several moments in silence before Bob reappeared, an gleaming iron pickaxe in hand.
"This what you want?" he asked gruffly. Horace peered at it for a moment,
"Yes! Yes this is perfect. How much for it Bob?" he asked enthusiastically.
"Seven gold Horace."
"Seven gold! Bob, surely you can go a bit lower for that? Steve is only learning how to mine- maybe you have something cheaper?" Horace asked weakly. The blacksmith's face curved into a small smile.
"Good point Horace…perhaps you'd like the cheapest pickaxe? Accidents happen after all especially in…unskilled hands." He said, eying Steve maliciously.
"He will learn, in time." Horace said defensively "Do you have one for perhaps four or five gold?"
"Yes." Bob grunted as he headed back into the smithy. A minute or two later he reappeared with another iron pick. This one was not unlike the first one except it looked older and had a tarnished look about it.
"Will this do for you Horace?"
"How much for this one Bob?" Horace asked.
"This one's five gold." Horace sighed and laid the stone pick beside the wall and began to fish through his pockets for the required gold. After several moments of jingling and low cursing Horace removed five gleaming gold ingots and shoved them into Bob's outstretched palm.
"There you are Bob. Thank you very much."
"Thank you Horace." Bob replied, handing him the pickaxe. Horace took it, and handed the other one to Steve. Steve grabbed the handle tightly while keeping one hand on the wrap, the last thing he needed was to have the blacksmith get the wrong idea.
"I hope you're keeping a close eye on your grandson Horace." Bob said gruffly.
"And what's that supposed to mean?" Horace asked indignantly.
"Well by the look of your pickaxe it seems he's been mishandling your tools. Burn me if I ever saw a tool more beat up than that."
"No he has not. It has simply mined one too many blocks Bob. And I'll thank you to remember your manners. It is a family heirloom!"
"Yes well perhaps you want me to fix it for you?" Bob offered.
"No thank you, but the offer is appreciated."
"Will that be all then?" Bob asked, brushing off his pants "I had some important work I was getting too before I was disturbed."
"No that will be all." Horace said brusquely "Farewell Robert."
The blacksmith grunted in response and looked at Steve for a moment. Steve glared back at him. Bob raised an eyebrow before turning away and disappearing back into the smithy, his immense mane of hair trailing behind hm. Every time Steve visited the smithy it was always a reminder of his failures. Bob never seemed to forget Steve's disastrous tenure as his apprentice and always gave him little reminders about it every single time he visited the smithy. The blacksmith was a man of very limited patience and a very unpleasant personality. Steve snorted, first he got attacked by a zombie and then insulted by the blacksmith, the day was not working out in his favor one bit.
Steve followed Horace through the cobblestone streets of Darton. The children that had been playing in the streets had disappeared. The sun beamed down upon them, offering waves of warmth to combat the slightly chilly spring breeze.
"I'm proud of the way you handled yourself back there Steven. I know how you had it when you were Bob's apprentice." Horace said.
"Uh right." Steve replied "Well I've gotten used to it by now."
"Well I want you to remember that Steve. Never be the first to offer the low blow- even if you're tempted." Horace said with a small smile.
"It doesn't bother me a whole lot." Steve said "That was nothing compared to getting attacked by a zombie." Horace froze up at this,
"Keep your voice down. Good lord boy do you want half the town to think you're crazy?" Steve glanced around him,
"There's no one around us, nobody heard. Don't worry I'm pretty sane."
"Well at least you're seeing the humor in it…" Horace grumbled "Ah! Good afternoon Everard!"
"Hello Horace." a tall thin man replied from a nearby building, he had been looking at them. Everard was the local tailor and he was readjusting his sign in front of his shop. Steve had gone to him many times before to have his clothes enlarged or to be fitted for new ones. Steve did not have very fond memories of the place. When he was thirteen he had a massive growth spurt where he had taken some fourteen trips to the tailor because he kept growing out of all his current clothes.
"Just don't mention it right now." Horace said lowly.
"Don't mention what?" Steve asked.
"The…you know the thing." Horace said frustratedly.
"Oh the zombie?" Steve said somewhat loudly. Horace nearly jumped at this. He paused briefly, whirling around checking to see if anyone heard before he swore and turned back to Steve.
"Yes! That! Just keep quiet about it in public!" Steve almost smiled at this. Sometimes, his grandfather's reactions were completely priceless.
They continued down the road to a bland colored building with a thatched roof and an old wooden porch out in front of it. It was the butcher's shop, and coincidentally also his house. As Steve approached the place the smell of raw meat became overpowering and Steve had to hold his breath for several seconds before he managed to adapt to it. In past trips he had wondered whether or not the butcher had a muted sense of smell after living next to piles of fresh and rotted meat for so long.
Horace led the way onto the porch and rapped lightly on the door. Next to the door was what appeared to be a display rack behind a case of glass. Steve could see pork chops and what appeared to be disembodied pigs feet on the polished stone surface.
"Biggins? Biggins are you in there?" Horace asked, knocking on the door with one hand and covering his nose with the other. Suddenly a large face appeared behind the glass, followed by a click and the whole panel suddenly disappeared. Steve nearly fell over as an even more powerful blast of stale meat overwhelmed his senses.
"Hello Horace! And Steve! Good to see you." the man said with a wide smile. He was a young man with a round, bald head. He had beady eyes and was very large. The man ironically reminded him of a unusually large pig. Steve had a faint memory of him; the man was the Butcher's assistant, Butch.
"Where's Biggins?" Horace asked in a muffled voice. He had not taken the handkerchief from his nose.
"Out." Butch shrugged "Said he'd be back by nightfall. Apparently he had a bit of business to attend too- something regarding a sow…"
"Is that Terrance's?" Steve asked, remembering the old farmer and how he had told them about the death of his pig.
"As a matter of fact it would be. Yes he only about half an hour ago, 'fraid you just missed him." Butch explained "Do you need his help or are you buying?"
"Buying." Horace replied. "I need two pork-chops, a bit of bacon and five ham. And – er- please wrap them very heavily if you don't mind."
"Right you are Horace." Butch replied, momentarily disappearing under the counter. He seemed to not have taken notice that both Steve and Horace were holding their shirts up to their noses. Not having a sense of smell must be a pre-requisite for being a butcher Steve thought to himself.
"Alright, let's see two pork, here's three bacon and five ham. That'll be one silver Horace." Butch said cheerfully, as he quickly wrapped up the meat in some wrapping paper and set them on the counter. "By the way Horace, you got a cold or something? You've been holding that tissue up to your nose the whole time."
"Oh this? Yes a bit of a cold, but it's gotten a bit better lately." Horace lied.
"Ah."
Horace bent over and scrutinized the packaged meat for a moment as if to check to see if they were heavily wrapped as requested. After a moment he gave a brief nod and handed Butch a single silver piece. With a quick motion Horace stuffed the meat into his pouch and bit Butch goodbye.
"Thanks." Steve called offering a small wave.
"Thank you!" Butch called as he disappeared behind the glass.
Once they were a suitable distance from the shop Horace removed his handkerchief and Steve lowered the shirt from his nose. Thankful to be away from the odor of the butcher's he gladly breathed in the fresh clean air. Horace chuckled at this,
"I really wish they'd give that place a good cleaning don't you?"
"Definitely!" Steve said. He hadn't been there in a while but after their visit he was really appreciating the clean air outside the place. "It must get really bad when it's windy." Horace smiled,
"In that case I'd hope I was downwind of it!"
"Or a few miles away." Steve added.
"That too!" Horace said with a laugh. "Now let's see…what was that inn Nate said he was staying at? The Inn of the White Dragon? No that's not the one…"
"Lonely Dragon." Steve interjected.
"Yes that's the one. Thank you Steve. Right…" Horace paused checking his watch "What's the time.." he muttered, squinting at the thing "Should be around four…"
"What?" Steve asked.
"Steve I want you to take this meat back to the house, and put it in the freezer. I have some business to attend to."
"Oh, alright then. Do you want me to come back?"
"No, I think it'd be better not to risk it." Horace said with a light smile "You know because of the-"
"Zombies." Steve said flatly.
"Shh!" Horace said angrily, putting a finger up to his lips "Don't you remember anything? Not so loudly boy for Notches sake!"
"Alright then zombies." Steve said in a slightly lower octave. Horace glared at Steve and handed him the meat. Steve recoiled slightly from the bad smell of the raw food.
"Bring it to the house and store it otherwise it'll go bad and I'll have to make another trip. Don't leave the house once you reach it. Is that understood?"
"Sure. Do you think there's more out there though?" Steve asked largely out of his grandfather's sudden concern.
"I doubt it Steven. In either case take care of yourself. I know you know how to do that but…just don't be a fool." He grumbled.
"I won't." Steve said, with a weak smile as he held the food under one arm and the pick in the other. "When are you getting back?"
"In three hours Steven or at least before nightfall." Horace said, glancing around him warily to make sure no one could hear what he was saying. "In fact you'd better give me that pickaxe." He said gesturing to the stone relic Steve was holding.
"Here." Steve said, handing him the pick. He was glad to get the thing off his shoulder at least. But his happiness at this vanished once Horace handed him the iron one which Steve quickly found was every bit as heavy as the stone pick.
"I thought you said these things were lighter than stone ones!" Steve exclaimed.
"I didn't say how much." Horace said with a veiled smile. "Now go on, there's some business I have to attend to."
"Well, you stay okay too grandfather." Steve said. Horace smiled and clapped Steve on the shoulder.
"You'd better get going boy." He said as he turned and walked away. Steve watched his grandfather for a few minutes before he turned and walked down the cobblestone road towards his home.
For the first time since he was a little kid Steve felt afraid of some mysterious force. There was something Steve reasoned that was out there, there was a reason for that strange vision, and something must have triggered that zombie. Steve walked down the trail that led through the sparse woods towards his house. The wind blew harder and the light a little dimmer. The woods had rarely looked so intimidating to Steve.
"Nothing will happen to you…you're fine. Just keep walking. Keep walking." Steve repeated to himself as he gradually left the outskirts of Darton. As he entered the woods he began to hum an old tune his grandfather had taught him and began the short journey home.
Unknown to Steve, something was watching him as he entered the forest. It was a form, without shape, a thing without a face. It had lurked in the hidden places of the world for many years and now it was free. It had waited so long for this opportunity, this moment to show its power and now it was here, with this weak willed mortal. There was a low whistle, the spring breeze blew harder, and the light gradually faded from the forest. The thing could feel the human's heartbeat increasing, his fear mounting. Yes, the being thought, now it was the time to strike.
So they finally figure out who Etihw Seye is. But who was that watching them from the forest? What will happen to Steve? Wait until Chapter 3 to find out.
Until then read and review!