Fool Without A Master (Chapter 18 Part 2)

I smelled Greysmarsh before I saw it. And not the fishy scent I was expecting. No, it smelled of… fire.

“Come on, girl,” I muttered, tugging softly on Peaches’ reins and I guided her through the trees.

Something wasn’t right. A fuzzy sensation swept over my whole body as I emerged from the trees and looked upon my childhood hometown. Or, should I say, what was left of it.

Greysmarsh was never really a town; it had been more of a settlement. Buildings hastily cobbled together by the port, its streets narrow and twisting with wonky paving that were most definitely a trip hazard.

My hand slipped from Peaches’ reins as my pace slowed, eyes itching from the ash in the air. The blackened, charred remains of buildings creaked and moaned, their insides still crumbling and cracking. The streets were caked in soot; it coated my boots and the hem of my cloak instantly.

My mind was empty but my feet kept moving. Furniture scattered the streets, looking like it had been tossed absently aside. Singed clothes hung out of windows like ghosts reaching for help. It wasn’t until I saw the puddle at the foot of the steps of what had once been a florist that I stopped short. A thin layer of ash covered it but there was no mistaking the maroon hue. Blood.

Flowers had been trodden and mashed into the puddle and morbid trails of bloody petals littered the cobbles in every direction.

Once my eyes adjusted to the sight, I couldn’t stop seeing it. It was everywhere. Bloody handprints on the insides of the homes, on railings, on the discarded furniture. Wicked arcs of it sprayed up the sides of buildings.

“No.”

I was running then, skidding across the uneven stones. A window blew out, glass and fire exploding right before my face. The flames licked my cheek, singing my hair. I spun on my heel, darting in the other direction, my feet guiding me home.

The sign was hanging lose, held up by a single stubborn nail. The Clover. The same sign they had when I left, made by the resident sign maker. Strong, bold lettering over a simple outline of a four leaf clover, now blackened at the edges.

The building had been gutted. Broken chairs and tables had been dragged out onto the street. A bed half hung out of an upper storey window. The stairs had been eaten by the fire, the scorched remains looking like a mess of jagged, rotting teeth.

There was no blood that I could see within. I staggered back out into the street and collapsed against an upturned cupboard, loosening the mess of broken crockery inside. It all spilled out, smashing far too loudly against the stones.

Blood, but not a soul in sight. Not even bodies.

“What… what happened here?”

There was a crash behind me, most likely a roof falling in. I was too numb to even react.

“Nasty, isn’t it?” came a voice.

I stood and spun around, heart in my throat. My hood flopped in front of my eyes and I panicked, quickly shoving it back. My ash-covered palms scraped my face and I hissed in pain. My cheek – it was either burned or cut from the glass of the broken window.

Before me, a knight was making his way over from down the street, his head bobbing in and out of the buildings, clearly searching for something. The striking red and gold of his tabard against the dusty grey backdrop assaulted my eyes.

“What happened? Where is everyone?” I nearly tripped over what could have been a chair leg as I hurried over to him. This one also wasn’t wearing a helmet. He was tall and broad, dark hair cropped close. A smear of dirt or soot covered half his face.

“Raiders. They ransacked the place. Took whatever they could.” His lips pressed into a thin line. “We fought them off but not before they set the whole place ablaze.”

“The people.” I gestured to the emptiness all around us. “Where is everyone?” Are they all dead? was what I really wanted to ask but I feared the answer too much.

“We got most of them out. They’ve been taken to a village just north of here.” With his sword, he parted a set of curtains and peered into the building to his left. If my memory was correct, it was the home of a woman and her young daughter.

“Most?”

He peered at me, jaw set. “Yes. Some of the townsfolk fought back or got in the way and…”

Mrs. Treager. She would have fought back. There was no way she would have let them ruin her beloved business without doing something about it. There was no way she would have let them lay a hand on her husband.

Did she pay for her hot-headed ways?

“I can take you to where the survivors are, if you wish? I’m almost finished with my final search.”

I blinked and hot tears ran into the wound on my cheek and lip.

“No.” The word jumped out of my mouth. Clearing my throat, I shook my head. “No, that’s quite all right. But thank you for the offer.”

The knight shrugged and passed me, heading into another nearby building and ending our conversation.

I headed back to Peaches and found her where I left her, trotting anxiously on the spot and stirring up little clouds of ash.

“Sorry, girl.”

She whinnied softly in response, pressing her velvety nose against my chest. Taking her reins, I guided her around the back of the charred, skeletal buildings, making sure to avoid the boggy marshes nearby. The aching within me soon grew too heavy and sent my legs wobbling. Returning to the back of Peaches, I could feel the strain of her muscles shifting beneath me and I steered her in the direction of a lake I knew would be clean enough to drink from.

Once I heard the soft babbling of the brooks, I hopped back off her and let her stroll at her own pace towards the water. Nostalgia struck me like a rock to the face as I weaved through the greenery towards the clearing and the expanse of water. Mirabelle and I used to play at this very spot in our childhood years, threatening to dunk each other in the water. But they were never just threats. The Treagers would always be furious when we returned sopping wet and leaving puddles in our wake.

My knees buckled at the water’s edge and I landed heavily on my bony backside. I cringed at the uncomfortable twinge in my back and took a swig from my water skin before quickly spitting it back out. It tasted of ash. Peaches stayed close to my side as she drank, tail swishing gratefully. I dunked my hands in the lake and washed my face, teeth slicing into my tongue to repress the yowl of pain. I kept forgetting about my sore cheek. The skin felt tight there and my heart was in my throat as I folded myself into a kneeling position and leaned precariously over the lip of the lake to catch my reflection. The water had a steady flow which meant catching a good look at myself was not possible, but I could just make out a striking redness that marred my left cheek.

It struck me then that this was probably the longest I had gone without looking upon my reflection, and I must say I was thankful it was obscured. Seeing myself… it was an unwelcomed reminder that I was, in fact, real. I was a person and I was hurting.

All this time I had just wanted to feel alive, but it had so quickly become a chore.

My inner compass had sent me straight to Greysmarsh, but why? I had no intention of seeing the Treagers, not like this. Perhaps I could have watched from the window as they went about their daily business. Would they have recognised me if they had seen me standing there? What would they have done?

A million expressions contorted their faces in my mind but perhaps it wouldn’t have been any of them because they were dead, too.

“Peaches.” My voice was a brittle thing; locked tears were barbs in my throat. “Peaches, I’m scared.”

Carefully, she buckled her legs slightly and then with a heavy, graceless thump, she was lying beside me, her large head seeking my lap. A laugh escaped me as I stroked her ears, hands coming up black with dust and ash.

“I agree,” I whispered. “Let’s just stay here for a while.”