The Fragile Fall At Tallow Bridge (The White Blood Chronicles Book 1) (9 page)

Thaindire paused as the image of the magnificent Hall of Allsaints flashed up in his mind.

“ Oh, like that house over there,” said the witch hunter pointing across the square.

The girl nodded.

“ Do you like cakes” she asked.

“ Yes I do. Do you?”

“ Oh yes. Lovell makes delicious cakes. I like his lemon ones the best. Oh and the strawberry ones. And the orange ones.”

Thaindire reached to his purse and picked out four silver marks. He handed them to Annabel.

“ Why don’t you buy some cakes and share them with the boys. I'm sure they will let you join in, if you bring them some cakes.”

The girl took the coins, her face breaking into a grin.

“ Thank you Mr Samael. I like you.”

She turned and skipped away. Thaindire watched and smiled.

Thaindire continued his exploration and walked carefully along the length of trees, which were densely packed even at the forest edge of the square. He looked into their depths and could see the trunks of the trees thick and leaning at angles, clearly decades old. There were no saplings but instead the mighty trunks of well-established trees, reaching high into the sky, their branches tangling together to create a ceiling of wood through which little sunshine would percolate even if there had been any on this overcast day.

              After perhaps three minutes of walking along this section of tree-edged square he came to a gap in the trees and halted. He looked along to his left and saw a pathway leading through the trees and foliage and a short distance away he could see part of a house, it itself obscured by the forest. It was set back some hundred feet from the square and was a well-appointed two storey stone construction with a thatched roof, leaded window panes and grey-white smoke being blown to one side by the wind as it exited the chimney.

“ Who lives here then? “ wondered Thaindire aloud. It was no farmer’s hovel or even a tradesman’s dwelling but the alignment of the timber denoting a solid, expensive house. He noticed that, unlike the rest of the edge of the forest, colourful flowers adorned the pathway, unusual given the time of year. Thaindire gathered his cloak about him and began walking down the path towards the house. He drew nearer and could see that a small-grassed area lay before the house and there was a statue of some description in the middle of the lawn. There was money indeed here. Perhaps this was the elder of the village or its leader, although none of the villagers had spoken of one so far.

              Suddenly Thaindire felt tightness about his ankle and looked down to see that an arm extended from the foliage that grew at the side of the path. At the end of the arm was a hand, which had gripped his ankle. The hand appeared human. Thaindire tried to free his foot, but the hand had a firm grip on him. He tried to see whom the arm belonged to, but the bushes hid whoever it was.

“ Who’s there?” asked Thaindire and he balanced on one leg seeking to wriggle his foot free but it was no use. As he stood waving his foot about he then felt a similar tightness about his right foot and looked down to see that another hand, this time appearing from the other side of the path, held him tight. He tried to walk forward but he could not. Thaindire looked ahead to see if he might summon assistance and saw an unusual sight. Flailing from the undergrowth were several arms and hands. They waved through the air, groping and grabbing. They emerged from the bushes at different heights, some down by the ground, and others at waist height and still more at head height. Thaindire reckoned at least a dozen of these strange arms writhed ahead of him.

“ Let go of me,” ordered Thaindire but there was no compliance. He bent down and with both hands gripped at the hand, which held his right foot. Another hand emerged and with a swipe, scratched his bare hands. Blood began to surface on his right hand from the wound as he tried to bat the attacking hand away. Something grabbed at his cloak and began tugging it, trying to pull him off balance. Thaindire realised that these hands were trying to drag him into the bushes. Again, he tried to pull a hand away from his ankle, but came under further attack. Another hand seized his right wrist and Thaindire was alarmed at it strength as he heaved, seeking to avoid being toppled into the foliage. He had no blade to hack at the hands and twisted looking back over his shoulder to see if there was any nearby villager who could come to his aid. He could just about see the square beyond the pathway and the flanking trees but nobody was within sight.

              Thaindire looked towards the house lest some saviour might emerge and his hopes rose as he observed a ground floor window being opened. The leaded pane swung open and his eyes widened as he regarded the figure stood in the window. It was just over six feet in height, with bright white hair that was worn long. The features of the face were refined and would easily pass for good looking, two blue eyes peering out from beneath dark eyebrows. The nose sloped unbroken and smooth to flare out without being bulbous. Two full lips were poised beneath the nose, surrounded with maybe a couple days’ worth of stubbled growth and then a strong chin completed the face. Thaindire gasped, “ My One True God,” for the figure at the window, which he was staring at, was himself.

              He was reminded of his predicament by the pulling of the hands at his wrist and ankles but he was so overcome by the sight before him that he was unable to call out. The figure then raised its right hand and motioned at Thaindire to go back before clicking its fingers. Instantly the hands released their tight grip on him and slithered back away from him. Thaindire winced immediately gripping his sore right wrist with his covered left hand. He stood staring at the figure as it again indicated for him to retreat.

“ Who are you?” called Thaindire. Suddenly a number of hands emerged from the bushes, again edging forward to try and ensnare him. Thaindire took a couple of steps back. He held his hand up by way of submission and turned, limping back down the path. He glimpsed once over his shoulder but the window was closed and his doppelganger was gone. His breath came in ragged spurts such was the degree to which he was unnerved by the encounter. At the end of the pathway he found a tree stump and lowered himself to it to compose his thoughts. He had heard mention made of foul doppelgangers that had been abroad in the land and that they came doom-laden but to see himself and by no mistake that was he, came as quite a shock. Whatever it was commanded some power over the forest for the hands, which bound him clearly acted at its compulsion. He had received a warning from this brief meeting and clearly his presence at the prestigious looking house was not welcome. The whisperings and rumours, which reached Lancester about this village at the end of the world were proving accurate.This village was reputed to be the crossover point between the One True God’s kingdom and the nether world. Now he firmly believed that this was the case. Witchcraft was evident here for there was no other holy explanation for an exact replica of him to appear and for it to order his capture by the forest itself. His first encounter with the imps had emphasised the godlessness by which Centopani Forest had become known, but he had not ascribed that to the village itself and it was the village, which he had been sent to report on. Doubts had formed with the Dromgoole’s denial of the tower and also Benjamin’s declaration of his attack being that of wolves but there was some plausibility to that. His suspicions had heightened with the existence of the apothecary and the quite clearly quickening healing properties of its concoctions, which sought to mimic the might of the One True God. The ongoing attempt to seduce him by Kathryn using her wiles but moreover the strange, intoxicating scents that she wore continued to escalate his concerns, which had gained credence with his visit to the seamstresses. There was nothing godly about the speed at which those two women worked and even though they had shown him a kindness in the repair of his cloak, he suspected this was merely flattering to deceive him. Yet with this latest encounter he knew that this was indeed a damned village and in accordance with his orders he had to identify all sources of the witchcraft that abounded within its boundaries in order to formulate the best way of eradicating such unholy behaviour and beings from the kingdom. He was neither strong enough, nor equipped to administer the One True God’s judgement himself but instead would have to satisfy himself with gathering as much intelligence as possible before returning to Lancester and bring other members of the Order here. They needed to know the full extent of what they were facing and whilst his injuries kept him from departing he knew that he must identify and record the many transgressions against the One True God’s will in the expectation of a total purging. He wondered which of the dark gods lurked in this isolated village, exerting their foul will over the all too willing villagers. He vowed to discover that information.

              Thaindire got to his feet and looked back down the pathway to the house. Nothing stirred. He rubbed at this wrist and then continued with his exploration, moving onwards in a clockwise direction. From the pathway to the large house, the line of trees continued along the eastern edge of the square. The wind whistled through the boughs above, seeming to gather strength and he held his cloak tight about him as he came to the road, which led in and out of Aftlain. The cobbles ended here and instead the road was earth, flattened by trundling wheels on carriages and carts and the incessant march of booted feet over the ground. He looked along the road, which sloped upwards away from the village until it disappeared, the forest closing in on either side. The road was empty and it was down this track he had come, limp and broken in the back of Benjamin Dromgoole’s cart. The road was labelled the Widow’s Way and it was clear why it received this appellation. He left the entrance road behind and began to walk along the southeastern section of the square, which would lead him around presently to the abode of the alchemist.

              Thaindire followed more trees noting that the eastern section of the square only really held one house the one he had been unable to reach and he wondered if it was no coincidence that this house was considerably set apart from the rest of the village and engulfed by the forest. The thin sliver of trees he walked alongside was not sufficiently dense to prevent him from seeing a row of four houses beyond. These dwellings were not of the same standard as the isolated house but nor were they hovels, being built of solid timber and well glazed. The thatched roofs were maintained and he could see the chimneys were straight and true. A couple of the chimneys belched out smoke into the autumn afternoon, the wood smoke swirling away on the wind, but he did not see anybody at the houses. Finally the trees ended and here he was at the house of Ilberd. Thaindire paused contemplating attending on the elderly man but reasoned from what Kathryn had explained that he was unlikely to entertain visitors. He could see the blue smoke continuing to billow into the sky, whipped away by the stiff northern wind. Thaindire noted that the alchemist’s property and that of the four to the left of it were but in a single row, the crowding trees in immediate proximity to the rear, but this arrangement altered as he made his way up the southern side of the village. A small lane led away from the square and he could see that it branched off into other narrow thoroughfares as he encountered the most densely populated part of the village so far. The lane sloped upwards and this accounted for the massed bank of roofs he had been able to see from this room at the tavern. He considered whether the lane led to the tower in the distance but he could only see so far along it before it too met the bank of trees.

              Two children ran by Thaindire as he looked ahead of him. This was a busier section of the village and the various open fronts to the properties he could see denoted that this was where the tradesmen were established. The first building he reached opened into a workshop and he could see a man with a young lad busying himself planing wood. The shavings dropped to the floor to be picked up by the eddying wind, sawdust scattered about as the duo worked heads bowed. Beside the carpenter was a pretty woman sat on a stool besides boxes of various, exotic fruits which all looked in remarkable condition for the time of year. Two village women were stood nearby poring over the selection of fruits, fondling the various wares on display as they selected the best produce to place in their baskets. The sound of hammering became louder as he walked alongside a cooper’s, he could see the various barrels stacked up within, two large double doors flung open wide to allow the light to reach into the working area. A burly man was hammering lengths of curved wood into place, his mallet rising and falling, his dirty sleeve flailing. Thaindire gagged a little as the stench from the next store was borne on the wind. The unmistakable odour of a tanner leaked out into the square and Thaindire quickened his step to leave the rancid smell behind. On he walked, passing the butcher who was busy serving a handful of villagers, beyond the fletcher and wood turner until he halted by a larger building. The ever present ringing of metal on metal confirmed he was at the smithy.

Ansell Redway, tall and muscular stood at his anvil shaping the orange glowing metal before him, working the metal with a dexterity that was surprising for one of his size. His assistant kept the furnace glowing white hot as he operated the bellows and occasionally darted towards the back of the smithy to fetch something for the blacksmith. Redway raised the still hot metal and inspected it before laying it on the anvil once more and continuing with his crafting. His broad featured face glowed from the light of the furnace, sweat dripping down his nose to pool at the end and then drop with a sizzling sound onto the red-hot metal that he was shaping. He inspected the metal again and gave a satisfied nod before plunging it into a barrel of water. With a hiss steam rose and engulfed the smith, clouding him from Thaindire’s view momentarily. Seemingly content with his work he moved the metal to one side to cool further and laid down his hammer, regarding Thaindire for the first time.