“Why’d we have to camp so close to that old house Odo? It gives me the creeps.”
Scratching his patched and scraggly beard the old wagonmaster scoffed, “Heh, you’re not afraid of a little old house are ya, Miles? We’ve camped next to far worse things in far worse places without so much as a peep from ya, and now you’re scared?”
The much younger Miles, with a slight quiver in his voice, replied, “Aye, but… you heard what the villagers were saying. It’s not just a story, people have gone missing. They avoid this route, this very forest like it had some vile dark magicians plague upon it. And even if their stories were half true…”
Interrupting the young man, Odo boldly proclaimed, “We’re in her wake boys, and by Tinarae’s light we are going to make our fortunes with this haul Dawnspire!”
“Or we are being led astray by that very light, likely to our own glorious deaths by the hand of a vengeful ghost.” replied a grizzled and scarred, one-eyed shifter from across the fire.
“What do you mean Cinder,” Miles asked.
Turning on the log he sat upon towards Odo, Cinder replied, “Aye, you heard a few tales of a haunted farmer’s house and the ghost of a man who devours the souls of any who get too near. An embellished one to be sure, but you haven’t heard the whole tale.”
“Yes, this place feels foul, we should tread cautiously,” lilted a melodic voice approaching the fire.
With a start, the small company of wagoneers and guards turned toward the slim lightly clad women at the edge of the fire. She had her hands casually resting on two, expertly crafted, slim picks strapped to her waist. With the grace of a prowling cat, the female kor sat on the log next Cinder.
With a hint of annoyance in his voice, Odo said, “You haven’t said a word in two whole days Nayla, and when you do, it’s in support of these fools.”
Eyes glinting in the firelight, the kor gave a shrug as she casually began to warm her hands by the fire. With all looking on her as she gazed into the flames she began calmly, “the light may be a guide to us on a long journey, but it is the fool who gazes at it directly and becomes blind to his path.”
Tauntingly Odo quipped back, “you’re full of nonsense Nayla, I’m supposed to follow the light but not look at the light? How can I follow something I can’t looking at? The least you could do is say something useful.”
Apprehensively Miles asked, “what’s the full story Cinder?”
Turning back towards Miles, and with a grim tone in his voice, Cinder responded, “well, I heard it goes something like this…”
–
It was a peaceful time, before Iden’s Wall and the tainted wrath of the Stormheart on Caelryn. A young farmer and his new bride settled on a new homestead at the edge of this very forest. For many years they lived in blissful happiness with the promise of a child yet to come. Under the young farmers guiding hand, the land sprang to life and produced abundantly. He grew the most crops, the largest vegetables, and the sweetest fruit. Always, his wife was there by his side. In harmony they planted, and tilled, and harvested.
But this happiness was not to last. It was the year of a harsh winter, and the farmer’s wife, heavy with their unborn child, became very ill. Nothing the farmer could do seemed to help his wife, no herb, tonic, or tea he tried, nor prayers of the Alynic priest improved her condition. With his wife on her deathbed, the farmer cursed the angels and he cursed the gods, and in the final words of that uttered curse, something answered.
Dark words whispered back to the young farmer, promising to cure his wife, promising even greater prosperity, promising untapped power, all for a price. For you see in order to save the life of his wife, a life must be exchanged, and for this young farmer, the life demanded was that of his unborn child. In anguish, he looked upon his suffering and dying wife and knew that if he did nothing they were lost. Better to lose one life than to lose both. To that darkness that seemed to creep into the room, pushing back the light of the fire and lanterns about, the farmer whispered back, yes.
A chill swept into the room, pain seared through his head, and he felt his soul wither even as darkness embraced his home. Erratically the farmer rose from where he lay on the floor, and peering through the darkness perfectly, he saw the empty bed. Casting his gaze through the darkened room he saw his wife sitting in the rocking chair he had made. Silently she rocked holding a tiny form wrapped in a small blanket. Slowly, he relit the fire and lanterns and then knelt in front of his wife.
“What have you done,” she said.
His voice quivering and heart palpitating as he recalled his recent experience, “I had no choice, it was the only way I could save you. There was no other way.”
“What have you done,” she cried out in agony!
Nervously he looked up into her eyes… her dark lavender eyes? With an eerie and anguished scream, the farmer’s wife revealed a knife she held under the lifeless body of their child. The knife glinted in the firelight as she thrust the knife at the farmer. The farmer fell to the floor as he felt a sharp pain in his chest, though this pain was not nearly as bad as he had felt earlier. Then he felt another and another as he realized his wife, the love of this life, was killing him.
Laying on the floor of their house, the farmer felt another chill breeze as his wife opened the door and stepped out into the frigid winter night. As he lay there in the last moments of his life, he remembered the smooth beautiful face and pale green eyes of his beloved wife. He remembered the sweet times they had over the years and the hope for a bright future together on their farm. Blood gurgling in his throat as he struggling to breathe, the farmer closed his own pale lavender eyes.
–
With a shiver, Miles spoke, “So the farmer’s ghost is still collecting souls, to save his wife?”
Shaking his head, Cinder replied, “No, it’s not the farmer, but the farmer’s wife collecting souls. She’s trying to get her baby back!”
“That doesn’t make any sense Cinder, you have it all wrong. They were both cursed you see,” retorted Odo.
“Hush, all of you,” whispered Nayla, “something approaches.”
Gripping his long knife tightly, Cinder replied sardonically, “I guess we are about to find out who’s right.”