Episode 60

We like to think that places don’t change

Mountains are fixed and valleys stay the same

So the towns that we love can be left with their culture

Frozen in time like a painting or sculpture

But mountains do move on magma plates

Valleys are carved at glacial pace

And so do towns change in their way

Moulded by them that leave and those who come to stay

Ominous sounds. Dripping. Echoes.

Deep beneath the Drygemarsh, miles from anything and hidden from the world there is a church. It is nowhere near a forest, and yet it is built of wood. It is tall as a fortress and yet the top of its tower touches the ground. Its main hall is suspended high in the air, attached to the roof of a cave like the cocooned prey of some giant arachnid. Moisture and dread drip from its walls and even though there is no sign or symbol denoting its purpose only the cruel or insane would see it and not run in terror.

Cromwell Attorcop, not insane, became suddenly aware of his own body. He had been standing stock still, in a mix of exhaustion and shock a few feet in from the entrance to the cave that housed this unnatural construction. Had anyone decided to look in his direction he would be spotted instantly and so Mr Attorcop pulled his eyes away from the building above him and looked for a place to hide.

As he tiptoed carefully to a large set of upward pointing stalagmites that he could use as cover, he wondered what became of Serena and Peter up on the surface of the marsh. A part of him hoped that they would not find this place. The three of them had been tracking a man named Fenric through the marsh at Lilian’s request. Mr Attorcop did not know why she needed this man followed but now that he was here, he was even more determined to learn as much as he could and then warn Lilian about what he had found.

He had to duck down quite a way to avoid being seen by anyone coming out of the church. Its entrance was still quite some distance away, in what would have been the church tower, had the thing been built the right side up. To access this opening one would have to walk underneath the main bulk of the building. Mr Attorcop wanted to avoid doing that if at all possible. The whole thing looked as though it might collapse if someone sneezed too loudly down here.

He studied the building for a time and assumed that there must be a staircase within the tower that could take you up to the main hall. Occasionally Mr Attorcop would hear sounds coming from up there but they did not paint a clear picture of what might be happening inside. At one point he heard a sort of crashing sound as if someone had tipped a wheelbarrow filled with silverware onto the floor. There were no voices and no lights, nothing to communicate what might be going on inside. Mr Attorcop resolved that he would investigate the interior once it was safe and empty. He guessed that this might be some time away as whoever would travel this far to come here would presumably want to rest or complete some complicated, lengthy task.

It appeared as though this assumption was wrong however. Just as soon as Mr Attorcop got comfortable on the wet and rocky surface behind the stalagmites, he heard the sounds of footsteps at the other end of the cave. The corner where he was hiding was a good distance away from the closest torch and so he judged it to be dark and safe enough for him to look out from. He lifted his head slowly, not wishing for a sudden movement to attract attention.

He saw a man walking slowly towards the entrance to the cave. He wore a large, yellow cloak with its hood up so that it obscured his face. He walked slowly but with purpose. Mr Attorcop saw that his shoes were made of fine leather. They were clearly wet but seemed sturdy enough to come out of the salty journey relatively unscathed. He carried something on his back which Mr Attorcop could not make out at first. As soon as he passed him though, Mr Attorcop could see that he had several empty bags slung over his shoulder. They were large bags too, the kinds that sailors would use to pack up all of their earthly belongings. Mr Attorcop committed everything to memory, trying to retain as much as possible for analysis at a later date.

The man, who Mr Attorcop presumed must be Sage Fenric, extinguished the torches lining the stone pathway as he went. When he finally disappeared back into the stone staircase there was only a faint orange glow coming from the entrance. In time, that died as well and Mr Attorcop was left in complete darkness. He made sure to wait there a few minutes, to make sure Sage Fenric was not returning, before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small vial of Lunar Essence. This one was only filled up to a third of the way up. He had three others, but they were hidden in the lining of his cloak. This one would have to do for now. Summoning some remaining strength he focused on the vial and amplified the essence’s natural moonlight.

The cave became bathed in the cooling glow of the moon. The vial cast long shadows which did not flicker. Mr Attorcop looked up at the suspended, upended church. It was soundless and still. There was something comforting about seeing it in this light, but even the familiarity of the moon could not make this building more inviting. Even so, Mr Attorcop knew what must be done. He stood up, stretched his neck, and made his way over to the church tower.

Walking under the building made Mr Attorcop feel uneasy. It was like walking on a rope bridge or mountain pass. He knew that looking up would make his legs feel weak, but he could not help himself. It was like a predator that he needed to keep his eyes on at all times. One turn of the head and it would pounce.

He managed to reach the entrance to the tower unscathed. He felt his heart begin to pound heavy beats in his chest. The moonlight was welcome but the shadows it cast were dark and deep. As he approached the door to the tower he saw that it was round and made of stained glass paned by rusting metal. It was like a large window that swung out on ancient hinges. Mr Attorcop closed his hand around the vial of lunar essence allowing for a gap where the light could escape out of the top of his fist. This focused the weak wash into a powerful beam. He pointed his fist at the door and tried to make out the design in the glass. It was a design he did not recognise, which was never a good sign. The glass was dark orange in some panes, clear in others. There were darker colours too but none of them made the overall shape clearer in any way. It didn’t help that the light cast from the lunar essence washed everything in a cool blue, leaving Mr Attorcop to guess at what most of the colours were. The strangeness of having stained glass in a building that would never see the sun was not lost on him. He tilted his head to examine the door from another angle. Of course he thought, it’s upside down.

The shift in perspective revealed more. The window depicted a sort of animal head. A cow perhaps? Certainly bovine in nature. Mr Attorcop could see its big dark eyes. Its mouth was open and it looked up to what should have been the sky. Mr Attorcop had not spent much time around cows, but any cow that looked like this would surely be long overdue a visit to either a doctor or a butcher. It looked like it was in pain or like it had seen something that had frightened it terribly. Mr Attorcop made a mental note of the image before pulling the door open and stepping into the tower.

Just as he had suspected, there was a set of stairs that climbed up through the tower. Each one creaked and groaned under the strain of a single foot step. There was no bannister, no rope, just rough hewn planks of wood nailed violently into the walls and supported by rickety beams. They were placed at odd intervals as well, meaning the Mr Attorcop had to consistently keep his eye on his feet as he climbed up through the tower.

Eventually the stairs let out into the suspended structure. Mr Attorcop emerged through a hole in what should have been the ceiling. The darkness inside was even thicker than that of the cave. The dust and damp were so oppressive that even the focused light of the lunar essence had trouble penetrating the far corners of the hall. The interior of the church mirrored the outside in that everything here was built upside down. Pews that no one would ever use were hammered into the roof, forty feet up. Mr Attorcop could even make out detailed tiling work, made to look like a church’s floor. The actual floor that he was standing on was even more impressive. It was separated into eight or nine large sections. Each one was painted to depict various scenes. These types of paintings were quite common in older churches. They were made by applying crushed dyes to water and then painting directly onto wet plaster so that the art would dry and become part of the building. They usually depicted scenes from the book of stories or other dogma that exemplified values and morals that the church wanted to encourage. Mr Attorcop did not recognise any of these scenes.

The closest one depicted a group of children trying to persuade a stubborn bull to move. Their faces were all smiling placidly but the bull looked bored and uninterested. It was hard to tell if the children had been put in charge of the bull, or if the bull was their minder in some way. The next two were hard to make out as the years had worn away the details. Perhaps one was of a speaker in a town square brandishing something round and red to a group of townsfolk. There was one which was clearly some kind of bonfire. It was unclear what was being burned but in the foreground there was a man with an angular face pointing at the fire behind him as if to draw the viewer’s attention to its importance. All looked to have been done by the same artist and painted in bold colours with quick and heavy strokes.

About three quarters of the way across the space Mr Attorcop finally saw an image which contained some recognisable tropes. This was a scene from the story of Freddr Horbling. It was not one of the more popular stories but it had its place and was often told to young children. Freddr was a boy from a small village. In the story he is accused by the elders of his village of stealing goats and selling them to a traveller. Sometimes it’s goats, sometimes it's chickens, the point is that Freddr is innocent. He prays to Enoch’s brother Severen who has been known to intervene in human affairs of injustice but he gets no response. The painting on the floor in front of Mr Attorcop depicted the trial scene. Freddr is brought before his village and permitted to defend himself but instead of giving an alibi or trying to convince anyone of his innocence he simply curses Severen and vows to take his revenge in the seven heavens. So Freddr is sentenced to a time in the town gaol and once released, lives the rest of his days in bitterness.

Mr Attorcop liked the story. It was often used as an example not to trust in fate or the gods when dealing with one's own affairs. It’s also a good way to show children that anger only serves to get you into more trouble. He remembered a travelling puppet show in Freedos that had performed it a few years ago. In their version Freddr transformed into a vulture when he died. They’d done a wonderful job of making the Freddr puppet become ever more twisted and misshapen as the years went by and he cursed Severen with ever more vigour. The vulture at the end was a particularly fitting touch.

Of all the stories to appear in this strange place, Mr Attorcop would not have picked that one. He studied the Freddr Horbling scene for some time. Freddr stood in the centre, his hands bound behind his back. His head was tilted upward as he stared defiantly into the sky. The townsfolk around him were pointing and shouting. In this version there was a stockade nearby which Freddr was presumably heading for. Painted in the distance Mr Attorcop could see a church in a field, some cattle and a small lake. The scene was just as unnerving as the rest of them. The people were lifeless and generic, their eyes were too large and had dark circles around them. The buildings and trees were one dimensional and coloured with just the bare minimum of effort. Most art is made to elicit some kind of reaction, but it was hard to tell what the purpose of these frescos was. Mr Attorcop got the feeling that whoever painted these either did not have much training, or much time.

An idea was starting to form in his head. But he needed more evidence to validate it. He went to look at the next painting but became suddenly distracted by something up ahead. He’d made it all the way across the space and was now in a position to see what had previously been obscured by the darkness. He directed the moonbeam across the remaining paintings and up towards the far wall. At its base, gathered into various piles, was a mass of objects. Mr Attorcop shone the beam across them quickly, expecting something nefarious to be hidden amongst them. The light of the beam was considerably weaker now compared to when he’d first cast it. He made a mental note to get out of there before the lunar essence was used up completely.

The objects were not grouped in any particular order. They were not carefully placed like the riches they’d found at the top of Empress Sylvia’s palace, where Mr Attorcop had eventually also found these vials of lunar essence. Although they did remind him of that room for some reason. There were paintings, boxes, necklaces and bracelets. Mr Attorcop moved closer and saw pewter mugs, some letters bound together with string. There were cups and spoons, lamps and even a small desk. He had expected Sage Fenric to be bringing some kind of horde but these were more like a collection of things one might find at a flea market. There was also quite a lot of it. Certainly more than he had brought in just this one journey. Not all of this could have fit in those bags or on that little canoe he had used to get here.

Mr Attorcop approached the collection tentatively. He tried to find something about these objects that connected them, or made them significant in some way. But they were just things. People’s possessions. They were not valuable, they were not rare. At one point they had been part of someone’s day to day life, and now they were here.

Suddenly a drop of rusty water plopped into a silver bowl causing it to ring a little in the darkness. The event forced Mr Attorcop’s eyes upwards. He was all the way on the other side of the room now, so in terms of the layout above him, he was directly beneath the altar.

The empty pews had all been facing something. It was above Mr Attorcop now, about twenty feet in the air. Like everything else in this space bar the collection of things, it was upside down and attached to the roof. Mr Attorcop focused the beam of light onto the thing, a sort of hanging sculpture by the looks of it, but even with the light directly on it, it took him a second to realise what it depicted. The statue was made up of several parts, with the central stone being the most arresting. It was the body of a large man, not obese by any means, but portly and strong. It wore no shirt but had a piece of material carved out of the pale rock wrapped around its waist. Surrounding the man were several other statues. Mr Attorcop counted five. All human and all gathered around the central figure, as if they were posing for a family portrait. Mr Attorcop could only stray his eyes from the central figure for a few seconds at a time. It held his attention the way a street fight would, or a particularly gruesome play. It was the head that he gazed at. It was not a man’s head. It was some kind of animal, a farm animal. A sheep perhaps. The type of animal was not immediately what was bothering Mr Attorcop though, he could work that out later. What was most strange, was that while all the other statues were looking straight ahead, out over the pews. The central figure with the animal head was looking at him.

Mr Attorcop was suddenly overcome with the sensation of being unwelcome. He took a step back. Then another and then turned around with the intention of heading out the way he’d come in. But there was someone already there and they were blocking his exit. Mr Attorcop’s beam of light revealed an older man in a yellow cloak standing in the centre of the space. His first thought was not about who the man was, this was clearly Sage Fenric, but about how he had not heard him come in.

“You think I did not sense you, moon master? Scratching around in the dark like vermin.” Sage Fenric spoke in a twisted, raspy voice. Mr Attorcop needed the situation to remain calm and so he chose deference by way of response.

“My apologies. It was not my intention to cause offence. I’m merely curious.”

“Don’t play the fool with me,” Sage Fenric spat in reply, “I know what you’re doing.” He paused for a second and narrowed his eyes. “You don’t remember me do you?”

The question took Mr Attorcop by surprise, he searched his memory for this man’s features, the sound of his voice or the green of his eyes. Perhaps the stress of the situation was inhibiting his mind, he was also very hungry and tired, but try as he might he could not place this man.

“I’m afraid I don’t.”

Sage Fenric tsked and shook his head, “Still as arrogant as ever.” His shoulders relaxed somewhat and he began to close the gap between them.

Mr Attorcop was sure not to make any sudden movements. He needed to change the subject, make him forget about whatever grievance he’d caused this man in the past.

“Quite the collection you’ve built up here,” he gestured to the objects behind him, “Although I can’t imagine you’ll get much for it.”

Sage Fenric produced a low, guttural laugh, “It’s not their monetary value that matters. It’s their significance. The more it takes to give, the more we gain.”

This was good information. Mr Attorcop prompted further conversation by repeating a single word: “we?”

“The one I serve,” a twisted smile fell across Sage Fenric’s face and he looked up at the altar above and behind Mr Attorcop.

“Does your master have a name?” asked Mr Attorcop.

Sage Fenric looked back and curled his lip, “Not for one so lowly as yourself. The wolf does not give the lamb its name.”

Sage Fenric had halved the distance between them by now and Mr Attorcop’s heart began to beat faster, pumping ready chemicals into his bloodstream, preparing his muscles for action. This man did remind him of a dog. That moment where a friendly pet’s patience is tested by a young pup. It bares its teeth for just a second before snapping. Mr Attorcop needed to keep him talking.

“So if I’m a lamb and he’s the wolf. What does that make you? A shepard?”

This produced another chilling grin from Sage Fenric, “of sorts…” he said.

One that’s in cahoots with the wolf no doubt, thought Mr Attorcop. This conversation had taught him much and the idea he’d been forming in his head about this church and the being it was built for was starting to take shape. At that moment, his priority shifted. The information had been gathered and now he needed to leave. Mr Attorcop tried to keep Sage Fenric talking, it served as a distraction and as a means of learning more information. While he spoke though, he tipped the vial in his hand ever so slightly so that some of the lunar essence came out and hung in the air, still giving off a bright light. He needed Sage Fenric to believe he was still holding his hand up in front of him, while using the cover of light to bring the vial behind his back and extract the moon blade from the last of the essence.

“I must say, this place does not seem like a church belonging to any great power. It is old and worn. Perhaps your choice of master is misguided. He cannot even keep his house in order.” Mr Attorcop was trying to provoke him. Angry men make mistakes.

The comment did produce a slight frown from Sage Fenric but the smile did not entirely fade, “This place was not built by love or devotion. It is like the symptom of a sickness.”

“One can treat a sickness,” replied Mr Attorcop.

“Or one can succumb to it,”

Sage Fenric finished the thought. He was very close now. Mr Attorcop could see the patches of white hairs in his beard, and the light of the essence reflecting in his eyes. Mr Attorcop tried to seem relaxed but every muscle in his legs was tight and ready. His right hand gripped the handle of the moon blade, its ethereal material cold to the touch.

Sage Fenric stopped walking and glared intently at Mr Attorcop, “you really don’t remember me, do you?”

Mr Attorcop spoke a curse somewhere at the back of his mind. He’d been busy searching his memory for this man’s face, but there was nothing. There was no sense in trying to placate him, he needed to force a move. “Does that bother you?” he asked. He looked down and caught a slight movement happening beneath Sage Fenric’s yellow cloak. Looking back at his face, he saw that the smile had now turned into a laugh.

“How conceited would I have to be? No, it does not bother me. It was many years ago I suppose. I just find it intriguing. Still, even if you had remembered it would do you little good now. This is a secret place you see, and I’m afraid we cannot let you leave.”

Mr Attorcop was about to look around for an accomplice when Sage Fenric lunged forwards.

Sage Fenric’s cloak whipped open to let his right arm shoot forwards. It held a weapon, a blade of dark metal that twisted and curled around his hand at the base. It looked more like roots caked in dark earth save for the tip which was beaten to a fine edge. Mr Attorcop did not have time to study it too closely even though he would have liked to. He brought the moon blade round and out just in time for it to clash with Sage Fenric’s dark weapon. There was the ringing of metal and Sage Fenric followed his surprise attack with several strong swings. The metal blades sang with every strike and intermittently illuminated the dark church with furious sparks. Mr Attorcop was accomplished enough to parry every blow, but he struggled to find an opening for his own attacks.

This was no duel between gentlemen nor a bar yard brawl, Mr Attorcop sensed deadly intent in every swing of Sage Fenric’s sword and he needed to be prepared to kill, if he was going to survive.

Mr Attorcop set up a short pattern. He parried left then right, then left again. Once he got his opponent used to the design he suddenly switched tactic. Just as Sage Fenric stabbed from the left Mr Attorcop ducked instead of parrying. He brought the moon blade up quickly from his crouch position, aiming for Sage Fenric’s throat. But his opponent was skilled and adapted quickly to the shift. He dodged backwards and the moonblade caught the clasp of his cloak instead. Sage Fenric’s eyes glowed with murderous glee.

“It seems your age has not affected your skill Crom,” the clasp of his yellow cloak was damaged and hung limply from a thread. He stepped back and looked down at where the blade had cut his cloak and smiled, “You keep your mind as sharp as your blade. It’s a shame. We could use one such as yourself. So much intellect, wasted.” At that moment Sage Fenric threw off his cloak and let it flop to the dusty floor. Beneath it he was wearing a black shirt and a thick jerkin made from dark stained leather. Mr Attorcop saw that those dark roots attached to his blade extended up and over his entire arm. Up to his shoulder and possibly round to his back as well. It was like his sword had grown out of that strange black, sinuous material.

Something odd beyond that popped into Mr Attorcop’s mind. No one ever called him Crom… Not since… he could not finish the thought because in the moment it had appeared Sage Fenric leaped forwards. Mr Attorcop dodged back, careful not to trip on any of the objects that were scattered behind him. He glanced behind him quickly and saw that he was a safe distance from most of the gathered belongings. Bringing his attention back to his opponent he could not help let his mind linger on another disconnect. There had been a collection of cups and plates just behind him a moment ago. He was sure of it. But now there was nothing.

Frustrated by Mr Attorcop’s evasion, Sage Fenric brought his sword up and out, releasing his grip on its handle as he did. To Mr Attorcop’s surprise, the sword hurtled forwards, tip first directly at him. Had Sage Fenric been foolish enough to let go of his weapon? Mr Attorcop ducked down to the left and looking back up saw that the blade was still attached to those strange black roots. They extended out and over him in twisted concertina. Sage Fenric lurched his arm down and the sword whipped away, landing in his hand as if it had been drawn back by some powerful magnetic force. The move was so surprising that Mr Attorcop could not react in time for the second throw. Sage Fenric released his sword out and back like a frog’s tongue, and the tip caught Mr Attorcop’s right shoulder. A sharp pain shot through his chest and he winced as he tried to stand back up. Sage Fenric clearly had the advantage at this range, and so he needed to close the distance between them.

Ignoring the pain as best he could he shot forwards, bringing his sword up as he did, showing his opponent as much as himself that he was still a deadly adversary. The blades collided mid air with more clangs and crashes that echoed off the blank church walls and stained glass windows. Sage Fenric clearly had some extraneous power on his side. It was present behind every swing of his sword. Mr Attorcop’s arm began to ache, defending himself against the flurry of blows. Sage Fenric’s manic grin widened each time Mr Attorcop was forced to take a step back.

Mr Attorcop did not secede ground lightly though. Every movement was teaching him something else and he knew enough by now to realise he would not win this fight on his strength alone. Perhaps if this fight had taken place thirty years prior, but right now he needed some added power of his own. He took two steps back and reflexively reached for the sleeve of his cloak. But his hand closed on empty air. It took half a second for his mind to catch up. In that time he dodged two more thrown sword attacks and was pushed back even further to the far wall. Of course, he’d given his cloak to young Peter to help him get out of the mud. That meant that all the lunar essence he had left was currently being used to generate the moon blade. Mr Attorcop’s mind raced through other options. There was that strange power he’d learned in the land of the demons, but in this large space, it would probably just serve to use up his remaining energy and then Sage Fenric could just wait him out.

Suddenly, Sage Fenric took his eyes off Mr Attorcop for just a second to glance down at his feet. Perhaps he was checking his step, making sure not to tread on a particular mural. The reason did not matter. What mattered was that it gave Mr Attorcop a split second to move without being seen. He hid the moon blade behind his back and melted it down into his palm. He then stepped forward quickly to make Sage Fenric think he was closing the distance again. The plan was to distract his opponent and then strike. But there was a problem. As soon as Mr Attorcop went to move his right foot caught on something. His mind blanched. There had been nothing on the floor, no loose floorboard, no step, nothing. He had been sure. Instinctively, he looked down as his body fell to the floor.

His heart skipped a beat. For a fraction of a moment he thought he saw a hand, one belonging to one of the characters in the mural he was standing on, retract back from the physical space, and into the painting. It had reached out. Reached out of the art and into the world to grab his foot and make him fall. Pain rang through his knees as they hit the painted floor, which now presented a new menace. The lunar essence that had melted into his palm hit the floor with a weak splash and cascaded over a section of the mural. His heart sank at the sight of it disappearing in front of him. For the first time since Lilian had been in danger at the palace tower, Mr Attorcop felt fear. This may not be a fight he would survive.