***
Achil and Nishga jumped to their feet. Outside they had heard a scream, the high pitched shriek of frenzied enraged minds. There followed after an unnatural silence. The Furies had struck somewhere in the town. Achil had drawn his sword instantly; it was all that Nishga could do, not to be impaled by it in that small room. They stood stoic for a time waiting, but no other cries could be heard. Achil was about to go and investigate, but was hauled back by Nishga.
“You are not going out there!” she said clutching at his arm, and holding him in a vice like grip, she was plainly disturbed by what they had just heard. “If,” she continued. “You go out there, you’ll get lost. We don’t know this city and everything is quiet again. So what do you hope to gain by risking your life, only the Gods can guess at?”
Achil unclasped her hand, and sheathed his sword. She did have a point. He sat back down frustrated that he could do nothing to intervene.
They slowly sat back down, and feverishly began discussing their plans of how best to defeat such creatures.
The next day they were up at first light. Someone had come to them with breakfast, fresh bread, different types of cheeses and eggs and something they had never tasted before, a deep brown powder that hot water was added to and also fresh milk, apparently it was all the fashion. Achil and Nishga took a sip; it tasted so foul and bitter that they thought it should only be used medicinally.
After finishing they asked to be shown where the man was buried who was believed to be the cause of the present malady affecting the city. The two were taken up deep into the mountain, where they came upon an open area designated for burials and graves, bordered by thick metal railings and a large iron gate; as they entered there was a large monolith to the front with many names of fallen heroes carved into it. They were introduced to the caretaker who had been expecting them, and were taken to see the man's tomb. He wore a cloth cap and torn linen overalls, beneath which was a very scruffy looking shirt; his boots were well weathered, dried on mud gave them the appearance of being almost twice as big. His scraggy hair reached to his shoulders and his blue eyes though seemingly dull, were quite alert. He was a man who obviously took pride in his work, as he would tell a story that went with each tomb and their significance to the city. Achil found the man a bit morbid and was bemused by his enthusiasm for the job. When they arrived at the man’s tomb they found something curious. It was large and quite reverent, not quite what they expected.
“Who was he exactly for him to have had such a memorial?” asked Achil.
The caretaker looked at the plaque at the side of the tomb, “He was one of the heirs of the founding fathers of the city, and he may have even gone on to be Prefect one day. Who knows, what befell him was a tragedy for the city. If there's nothing else I'll be on my way. A new arrival came in today and I want to make sure he settles in.”
“I'm sure whoever it is has no need to worry anymore, so I don't think you need to rush, but thank you anyway for your help,” said Achil, and then turning to Nishga, he quietly whispered in her ear. “Perhaps he should realise that his are the type of patrons that never leave, or make complaints.”
Nishga just managed to stop herself from laughing out loud.
“Thank you for your time,” cried Nishga before the man moved too far away.
The man doffed his cap with a smile and moved off.
The two went off on their own to investigate their surroundings. There were many large tomb stones dating back hundreds of years. The cemetery was built along the mountain in steps, the newer tomb stones at the top the older ones at the bottom. The man's tomb had been well cared for that was obvious from their first inspection of it. Now they went back for a closer look. He had been well loved by all. The plaque had the words inscribed on it: In Memory of our Lost Son; Lost Son, there was something about those words. In Findolin when the old Champion had perished in battle the King had said it was a grievous blow to lose such a son of the city. Whereas most of the other tombstones had such words as: In loving memory, but his was different, it reflected something else; more of a general loss to the community. Achil wondered if it was a collective sorrow that had given birth to the manifestation of the Furies. A shared pain; magnified by a feeling of loss to so many. Achil recalled his experience with the Muli which in effect was a lesser demon. A more general loss to the community would surely lead understandably to the manifestation of the more powerful Furies; creatures of a far more insidious nature.
They remained there for the entire morning trying to piece together what had occurred, the sorrow, the sadness, and the loss were well evident. Eventually the two sullenly made their way back to the city, across quiet streets, and passed empty shadowed parks. They entered their house and began to formulate a plan and make preparations, first they waited for the sun to dip below the mountain, and slowly as it did, all was bathed first in a golden hue and then there was a deepening gloom that soon turned to darkness. They opened the front door and the shutters to let the night in and waited. As the evening wore on they heard a rustling outside, something was moving toward the house; they kept still not even wishing to breath less their shallow in takes of breath give notification of where they were.
Then peering through the door was the head of a goat, it looked in at them, a small rope hanging from a collar around its neck. It must have been tied up somewhere and gotten loose. And finding the only open way had been drawn to it. Achil and Nishga let out a mutual sigh of relief. At the same time the Furies struck, falling upon the small hapless creature slashing at it with their fingers and biting into it. Nishga was about to intervene but it was too late, the small animal was dead. Achil held her back fearful that she might get hurt. The Furies then looked up and shrieked seeing the two impostors to their misery standing in the glow of a fire.
They entered the house as Achil and Nishga slowly backed into the small corridor, at the foot of the stairs. The Furies were unable to leap forward in the cramp environment. Achil’s sword barred their way. They merely crept forward until suddenly they stopped as though a barrier were preventing them from proceeding further. Achil lifted his sword up, the furies followed the point toward the ceiling, and there were the magic symbols that had been used to halt the Muli. The creatures were caged. Nishga began to concentrate, the crystal around her neck glowing as light began to emanate from it. From her hands miniature coils of light formed that flared suddenly and enveloped the Furies where they stood. They twisted and shook violently, their shadows reflected against the walls and ceiling like writhing snakes; their heads jerked back, and out of their mouths escaped some dark viscous cloud, erupting volcanically from the ether of a black existence. A darkness that burst into flames as it touched the symbols on the ceiling, violently bringing to an end the malice that the women had been forced to contain within their humble bodies, destroying it in a blazing brutal inferno. The three bodies then crumpled to the floor sobbing, in shock over the sudden release from their torment.
Nishga asked Achil to fetch help, whilst she tended to the women. Colour and life was already returning to their pallid features. She rapped them in blankets and got a bowl of fresh water to wipe their faces. They looked at her and for the first time in what seemed an age saw through their own eyes and wept. Questions flooded out of where they were, and what had happened to them. Achil returned with the Prefect, his personal guard and the Alchemist, behind them were many attendants, to care for, and take away the three ladies. The Prefect and the Alchemist marvelled at what had been done, and how quickly they had resolved the crisis involving the Furies.
Achil sat down shaking his head slightly.
“It was Nishga who saved the day,” said Achil. “Frankly I was just a bystander; she is the one with the real power.”
Nishga smiled back at Achil.
“I would not have had the strength to face them alone,” replied Nishga. “It was Achil who laid out the plan; and gave me the courage to face them, after that, I merely did what had t
o be done.”
The Prefect interjected, “Whoever did whatever, the people thank you both. But now there is another request that we would ask of you, but if you turn us down we will understand.” He gestured to the two guards closest to him, “These two are setting off on a quest tomorrow to seek out the lair of the Dragon of Ruin Mountain. We know Achil that you are a great Warrior and we also know that Nishga’s crystal power might serve to be a benefit in such a perilous undertaking.”
Achil and Nishga looked at each other. Achil then turned to face the Prefect before he said anything more.
“We would be willing to join them on their journey if they were willing to have us?” said Achil.
The Prefect looked relieved. “Thank you, let me introduce you to your new companions this is Andreas and this young man, is Nicholas.”
Andreas was about the same age as Achil, their height was not too dissimilar though he did seem broader at the shoulder which made him appear shorter he had long dark hair and alert blue eyes, Nicholas was much younger, barely a man and perhaps a testament maybe to how dire things had become. He also had long dark wavy hair to his shoulders and mischievous eyes that shone in the gloom, he was strong looking and tall also. The two were in the attire of the Vangarian Guard. They were the elite warrior caste of the Dragon People.
Andreas stepped forward, “Once you are rested this night. We will leave, probably setting out if you are willing, by tomorrow noon.”
“Very well,” said Achil. “Noon tomorrow it is.”
The Prefect regarded all four of them solemnly, “Good hunting.”
On their way back to the Chamber of Equals they could see that life was once again returning to the city, as news spread fast of the Furies expulsion. Boarded windows were being opened up, and once again light filtered out onto the streets. And the street lights were once more being lit again.
“So, what say you about ancient Oracles,” said the Alchemist. “Not so sceptical now are we.”
“Who really knows the truth about such things,” said the Prefect. “What matters is that the Furies are no more, and these two could be the best thing to come our way in a very long time. Now that’s something I cannot deny.”