(TLO) Chapter 71: What Could He Possibly Have Done (Patreon)

The pale light of the moon gave way to the mooring of the morning. The sky was lit blue and was cloudy. It ensured the new dawn light remained a bright blue. Where the moon light blue had been pale, this one was simply blue.

His exit from the shelter was bristled with anger. The possibility of Timi being the one in trouble coursed through his veins and pushed him to the edge of vexation. Timi was his one real friend in the seminary. The only one he could truly call brother. That someone was possibly hunting him angered him.

At some point his minds mumbled of a similarity between the cloaks of the dead men and a cloak they’d seen once before, during the test. His anger guided him from their words and he ordered them towards a single task. Find the missing brother.

All else was forfeit.

The night was done now, and the animals had come out to play. The air filled with the broken chirping of birds. Small rodents clambered up trees somehow uncaring of the cold. A particularly bright foal bounded past him and he ignored it. This was no time to be hunting food.

He continued on in this way. Time trudged on slowly, sluggish as the rising moon on a slow night. He checked behind trees, around rocks, within piles of snow. At one point he climbed a tree for a better vantage point. No sign of a brother came to sight. No sign of anything came to sight.

Hope tried to flee him and he held to it like a prisoner to freedom. It would not flee him until he was done with it. Hope would be his prisoner until his use for it was done.

The sun was high in the sky by the time he found something of worth. Despite its place in the sky, winter did not allow its shine glow orange. It did not allow it bask the world in its glow. The light of day remained simply blue, and it bounced of the snow in deeper shades of blue-white.

He rested a hand against a bent tree when it happened.

He did not rest because he was tired, fatigue had since evaded him since his temperature had risen. He simply waited to calm his mind, to reassess his search. He was hidden in a conversation with his minds, scolding them in his since waning anger when he heard it.

It was the slow ding of metal. A clinking, really, if he was being honest. It was so far from his ears that he strained to hear it.

He paused, glad his minds had the decency to fall into silence. He abandoned his vision as most do when straining to use other senses. His eyes wavered, unfocused, staring at everything but seeing nothing.

It came again, this time louder. Still a quiet clink. But he caught it, held its direction in his ear like the tiniest strand of hair in a giant’s grasp.

He bent his ear to it, tilted his head to the side. He leaned in, gathering the sounds like a farmer gathers his wheat.

“West?” he mumbled to himself, unsure. “North-West?”

His minds picked it a moment before him, but he was moving before it told him. He left the tree and shot off in its direction. His legs carried him through the snow.

The clinks soon became dings, then clangs. He heard it clearly as he charged forward. Soon he saw where it came from.

Two people fought in the snow off in the distance. One of them was smaller than the other, a few inches well above Seth. His opponent was large enough to be one of the three possible brothers Seth was seeking and he pushed forward, sprinting faster as the smaller of both fighters pushed his opponent back.

The larger fighter held a broadsword and moved back. He defended and dodged. His opponent scored a few hits with his longsword depite this. He held it in a double handed grip and attacked with strong but flexible strikes. He employed feints and weaved his blade with a seminarian’s proficiency.

Seth grew closer. The distance between them reduced, cut short with each step. The winning party took a moment to look away from his opponent. He turned to afford Seth his attention and his eyes widened in shock, narrowed in suspicion, then grew guarded.

Seth stared at Salem’s guarded expression but his charge did not falter. His sprint did not wane.

The larger opponent turned to Seth at the same time and he caught sight of Timi’s worried expression. It was all he needed to see. He reached for his sword, grabbed his hilt.

When he got to them, he discarded the cloak of fur and his sword sang free. He arced a sharp cut at Salem. It missed the boy by a wide margin but it did not bother him. He had not been going for blood. All he had intended was to push his brother back. And it worked.

He stood between both brothers now, sword held out to the side. Timi stood panting behind him, protected from the winter snow in fur that didn’t seem to come from a cloak. It also smelled like something riddle with rot and Seth tried not to dwell on the smell.

Salem wore only his cassock and trembled lightly from the cold.

Seth readjusted his grip on his sword. He moved it so that he held it in front of him, grasped it in two hands. “Are you alright?” he asked Timi without looking back.

Salem stared at him in anger.

“Yes,” Timi answered.

He nodded, then focused on Salem. “And what is this madness, brother?”

Salem relaxed his grip on his sword and said, “You’re on the wrong side, brother.”

“Not the wrong side,” he disagreed. His sword remained in place. “Never the wrong side.”

“Move, Seth!”

There was anger in his brother’s eyes, strong and unmoving. His anger was a mountain. It seemed he would not be dissuaded from whatever endeavor he had chosen.

“Work with me here, Salem.” Seth took a hand from his sword then held it out to his side slowly. “I am not the enemy.”

“No,” Salem spat. He pointed his sword at Timi. “He is!”

Seth moved his sword to his side as he had done his free hand. It left him open for an attack. “No, he’s not.” Slowly, he began sliding his sword back into its sheathe. “Whatever’s going on, we can solve it without bloodshed.” He really didn’t want to have to fight. If it had been Forlorn, he wouldn’t have cared. He had no aversion to knocking the boy’s arrogance down a few pegs. Salem was a different conversation, however. “Even Timi doesn’t want this. You know he hasn’t fought back.”

“I don’t care what that monster wants!” Salem roared. “I don’t care!”

“Calm down, brother. He di—”

Bonus Quest: [The Hunter and The Hunted].

Your missing brother has been on the run. Now you have realized there is a hunter and a hunted. Find who hunts who and render your aid as you see fit.

Objective Passed: [Find The Hunter: 1/1].

Bonus Objective: [Find The Hunted: 0/1].

Seth stared at the notification, confused. “What the hell?”

“Stay away from this, Seth.”

He returned his attention to Salem. “Why?” He intended his voice to be firm but it came out unsure. His confusion from the new notification spilled into it. His minds strained themselves, trying to figure out what exactly was going on. What exactly the notification meant.

“I won’t say it again, brother,” Salem scowled, rage burning in his eyes. “Move!”

“What could he possibly have done?” Seth withdrew his sword already halfway in from its sheathe. Violence seemed inevitable. “Did he steal your core? He’ll give it back. Did he steal your food? I have more than enough meat to go round.”

Poisoned meat, one of his minds added.

“Shut it!” he hissed at it, then turned his attention back to Salem. “If he took your shelter, I’ll make him give it back.”

Salem shook his head violently. “You cannot fix what he did. Such monstrosity cannot be forgiven. He can’t be allowed back into the seminary.”

Seth’s hold on his blade faltered. The world paused around him at the accusation and he stared at Salem.

His minds catalogued Salem immediately. The boy bore cuts and tears in his cassock. It hung loose in some places but none of its parts were missing. They went to the piece of blood stained cassock wrapped around his hand. They moved to the cassock hidden within the tree.

A slow fear creeped up his spine.

The notification claimed he had found the hunter but not the hunted. Timi still had on his cassock. And Salem was much too small to own the one he’d seen. He refused to believe the direction his mind was headed. The tattered and torn cassock had an owner. It wasn’t Timi’s and it wasn’t Salem’s.

He feared the answer, yet needed to know. His decision here would haunt him if he did not make it with all the knowledge he could have. Even if Timi had done what he feared, he was certain there would be a reason. Perhaps a disagreement. Perhaps a misunderstanding. It could have been self defense. But he needed to know; to be certain.

“W—what,” he stammered, struggled to get the words out. “What did he do?”

“You don’t want to know,” Salem replied. “Just walk away, Seth.”

“I think I do.”

“Seth,” Salem warned, his anger bristling yet something softened in his eyes.

Seth shook his head. “I need to know.”

“Leave it, brother.”

“Salem.”

“I said leave it.”

Seth took a step forward. “What could he possibly have d—”

“HE ATE BARTHOLOMEW!!!”