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Engines of Obsession: Chapter 3
🕑 Added 2025-08-03 21:16:27 +0000 UTCChapter 3: The Beard That Burned
Nobody was in a hurry to talk after the discovery. Each had their own thoughts and theories, but none of them were clear enough to speak. Most of them had implications that were unsettling, at best. A few questions passed amongst the four, clarifications and the like, but no conjectures. Turner had his own thoughts, so he was fine with this. Once in a while, Martin or Milo looked backward, pondering the scene they had left behind. Neither spoke aloud, but the way they scanned the trees said enough.
By nightfall, the tension had started to ease. Neither Milo nor Martin had found any further signs of trouble, and Martin managed to use his sling to tag two squirrels and another rabbit. Dinner was a lot more hearty, especially with the roots Nora had foraged.
Turner wasn't looking forward to the questions and wild guesses that would come later. As fate would have it, he didn't need to worry. They'd barely broken camp for the morning before Milo heard the rattle of a cart coming down the road. A quick negotiation had given the four a ride into town, helped along by the cart being half-empty. Turner now shared space with his companions, and several bushels of various berries, plus a few empty barrels. Hodgeworth apparently had several quality apiaries, supplying Sparston with much of its mead.
The cart creaked, but Turner could tell it was solid. More worrying to him was the rumble in the distance, but that was less of a concern now. "Thanks again for the ride," he said, speaking up to the middle-aged man driving the cart. "We'd have had to push through without any breaks to beat the storm to Hodgeworth. If you want us to help you unload, just say the word." Quiet though he was, Turner knew when to be polite.
The farmer grunted, nodding. "Storms about here can be pretty rough, I wouldn't want to see anyone stuck out in one." He looked back over his shoulder with a grin. "I'll hold you to that. My back isn't what it used to be." He paused, glancing at Nora with an expression of deep thought, then back to Turner. "I didn't notice at first, but you have a bit of an accent. Whereabouts are you folks from?"
Turner answered easily, seeing Nora look up with a tightening of her jaw. "Mostly local, actually. I spent ten years in Edsenburg, a few days north of Norien, but I was born this side of the Crowned Peaks. Or uh... Pale Peaks, as you call them around here. Once I was old enough to travel, I headed northwest back to my homeland." He nodded to the others, "Everyone else I picked up along the way. We're normally more to the north and northeast, though. I haven't seen the mountains in a couple years."
Nora didn't look up from the careful cleaning of her walking staff, merely speaking in a soft voice. "In the old tongue, they're known as the Halpes." She'd noticed the man's look at her, Turner could tell, and was using his easy reply to put the man's worries down. "My mentor taught me that. She was from this area, just a little farther east. My mother, as you can guess, was from the Broken Coast. But I was born not far from here."
Milo overheard and called out, "We're from a village northeast of Benten. It's north of Sparston." He grinned, "Basically locals." Martin gave the farmer a wave, but as usual didn't say anything, now that Milo was back to being sociable. Turner felt relief that the simple act of company had calmed the two hunters.
The farmer grunted, but didn't ask more. He was busy giving a nod and occasional wave, as the road became less 'loosely-cleared ground' and more 'packed earth flanked by stones.' The ride became smoother, and Turner watched the children jogging alongside in amusement. He gave them a gentle shooing when their mothers called them back. Mothers didn't want their kids hanging around shady drifters like him. They thought it would give the children bad ideas.
Mothers were probably right to make that rule.
With the better road, farmhouses and fields were much more common, but it wasn't long before the cart approached the town proper. First past the old, short and scattered stone walls, then the taller and mostly intact combination of stone and wood making up the proper wall. It wouldn't keep out an army, but it worked for what it was. Hodgeworth didn't have an entry fee, so Turner and the others just hopped off the cart and walked on through.
True to his word, Turner rounded up Martin and Milo to unload the cart, while Nora asked for directions. Seeing the town's shrines pressed so close to the market made Turner uneasy. In places like this, faith and coin often lived too close together. He could feel the old woman sitting near them giving Nora a measuring glare. The town children playing tag nearby gave her some respite, at least.
In a stroke of luck, the aged woman snapped to the children about respect for the Sad Mother. Nora took that opportunity to do her usual trick for putting the locals at ease. As the children rolled their eyes at what seemed to be, for them, a common scolding, Nora called out to them. "Would you rather hear a story about one of the other gods? Have you heard about how Redbeard's whiskers changed, then?"
The old woman, most likely a local priestess, gave a skeptical look, but eased a little. The dozen or so children, mostly young boys, murmured in interest. Only a couple indicated they'd heard the story before. It was good enough. Nora took a seat, and the children clustered around to hear a new tale about a familiar figure. Well-read travelers often got such attention, out here.
Nora laid her staff across her lap, clapping her hands together. A stranger telling a story always got some attention in remote towns like this. Turner, heaving the last basket into place, wasn't surprised to see a few of the adult locals lingering about. Everyone knew some stories about Redbeard, but in a town like this he wasn't the major deity. Stories outside of the norm always caught some interest out here.
"Long ago, before the gods had their names stolen, the gods clashed often with the giants of the north," Nora began. "Back then, Redbeard's hair was brown and grey, his beard a bushy, large one. The giants of the north had fought many times, and now Redbeard - though he was not known as such then - chose to fight with his brethren. His power was great, and he called down lightning from the heavens to carve a path for his soldiers."
She had the kids now. Talk of battles and smiting always grabbed the attention of groups of young boys. Nora's smile flit across her lips before she continued, drawing them further in. "Then, the advance stopped. A great warrior of the giants appeared, and stopped Redbeard's lightning with his own. The giant, roared a challenge! 'I am the Thundering Giant, and I challenge you!' he cried out!"
Nora spread her hands out. "For four days and nights, the two fought. Redbeard called down rain and fire from the sky. The Thundering Giant would smash his great warhammer down and shake the heavens, diverting Redbeard's powers. He was strong, meeting Redbeard attack for attack. Despite his own great strength, Great Lord Redbeard couldn't help but admire the giant's power and valor."
With a deep breath, Nora paused to collect her thoughts. She had the children quiet now, and the old woman smiling in approval. Perhaps the priestess had heard this tale before, or subtly different, but Nora's version seemed to meet her standards. "Then came the Heartless. Giants with no warmth, no compassion, charging down... not into battle, but into the villages of those the Giants held dominion over. The Thundering Giant stepped back.
"'You fight with great valor!' the Giant said to Redbeard. 'Alas, my duty calls me to battle another! The humans here cannot stop the Heartless, that is the task of my own people.' He retreated, leaping away to engage the Heartless, with many of the other Giants." Nora made motions like she was leaping away, to the delight of the children. By now, several of the adults were loitering at the edge, taking a break for a new story.
"At first, Redbeard became enraged!" Nora clenched her fist and shook it at an imaginary foe. "How dare this foe dismiss him! Yet as he thundered forward to resume, he saw the truth of it. The Giants were losing to the Heartless, yet they fought on, while the lowly mortal humans below were in peril. Yet the inspiring sight drew the mortals to join in, though they had not the power of the Giants nor the gods. Even still, it was not enough."
Nora smiled, sitting down again. "Redbeard saw the truth of it, then. He was angry, still, but he understood. The Giants were never their foes, they were the guardians against the Heartless. While Redbeard's temper was and is always hot, he holds wisdom, as well. Else the others would not revere him as their Lord. He rallied his own brethren, the other gods. Then he joined the Giants in battle, back to back against the Heartless."
Even those who had heard the tale before were silent now. Nora had a lovely voice when she wanted it, and the motions and changes in pitch she added gave the story depth. She was good at this, and even Turner liked to listen, no matter how many times he heard each tale.
"At last," Nora continued, "The Heartless were driven back. Broken, never to be a threat again. But the Thundering Giant lay wounded, blood seeping from a fatal wound. Redbeard kneeled beside him and took his hand. The Giant spoke, 'You fought well, but I fear our duel will be left unresolved.' Redbeard shook his head, 'No, my friend, and friend you are. You have reminded me that I took up this mantle to help those lesser than me. In strength, I do not know who is greater. But in battle, you have won.'"
The blonde spread her hands with a sad sigh. "As Redbeard admitted defeat for the first time in ages, the Giant passed away. The blood from the battle had not yet been cleaned from the great Redbeard, and much of it soaked into his beard. His grief at the passing of his former foe was so great that his tears mingled with the blood of his new friend. It never dried, instead dyeing his bewhiskered face with the bright color we know today. An eternal reminder to himself, and his brethren, that power and glory are meaningless without something to protect.
"And that," Nora finished softly, "is why his beard still burns red, even now. So we never forget what mattered most." She made little shooing motions with her hands. "Now up, up. Looks like my friends are finished in the market. We have some errands to run."
Martin and Milo had paused, because they hadn't heard Nora tell that story before, but Turner had. He bid the farmer that had given them a ride a good day, and wandered over to join the others. "Hopefully that will keep them mellow enough they won't pester us. Come on, our client should be home now, we can make the delivery before dark."
Milo spoke up on the way, looking at Nora again. "I don't remember you doing that when we went into Sparston. It looked pretty well-practiced. Do you get the cold shoulder that often?" He didn't look happy about it. Turner knew Milo liked Nora a lot, but he wasn't sure Nora would appreciate it if the hunter got too protective.
"Your village, and Sparston, are a lot more pragmatic and have a lot more diverse religion," Nora explained. "I don't hide that I'm a witch, and in some regions that's still a matter of suspicion. They tend to relax a little if I show them I'm not here to lure their kids into a life of mystery and ritual."
The brothers both laughed, the atmosphere relaxing. In part, because some of the strain of the journey was wearing off. Also in part because the delivery was to someone apparently rather wealthy, if not to aristocratic levels. The home Turner sought out was on a decent-sized plot of land, with tended trees along the path to the front lawn. Nicely tucked away from neighbors, yet not so far it was inconvenient.
"What did this guy do, anyway?" Milo asked, noticing the grounds and signs of money. The house was now visible, though only just through the leaves of the trees. The gabled roof peeked out above the tree line, from the right angles.
Turner answered, "A glass artisan. Bit strange for a trade like that, this far south. But I guess he was damn good at it." He shrugged, approaching the house... and wordlessly, slowed down. The other three tensed up as they saw him draw his revolver and pop the cylinder open, checking the chambered rounds. "Which is why I'm worried, seeing the front window smashed," he finished in a low voice.
Milo had his precious rifle out and ready to cover Turner before he'd covered another yard. Martin, at a motion from Turner, broke off to creep toward the window from the side. Nora stayed back, observing, while Turner himself made the slow approach to the shattered glass. He noted to himself that some of the broken glass was outside, while the bulk of it was inside. Strange.
The house was silent. Broken glass crunched under Turner's boots, but a look inside, and at the glass, had him relax. He still kept his revolver out, and motioned for Milo to come up. Martin, his spear at the ready, joined Turner in the steady and measured step over the sill, into the house. The signs that the one responsible had already left replaced his wariness with a different kind of dread.
"Breaker's blood... this is fresh!" Martin exclaimed, breathing a rare blaspheme. Yet Turner could understand why. Milo halted when he came up behind his brother, seeing the scene of carnage. Shattered chairs, table split down the middle, walls torn open. The plaster of the interior walls showed cracks and gouges, crumbling even now. The faint scent of tobacco smoke lingered in the air, the pipe that had produced it shattered on the floor.
Slowly, Turner lowered his revolver and tucked it away, breathing out a sigh. Milo and Martin had to turn away, but he didn't. Even though this sight made a gorge rise in his throat, swallowed down by sheer will. Turner had seen murder before, but this was another level.
Nora inhaled sharply behind him as she walked up to join Turner. Close enough to see the shattered body of the slender man. His jaw crushed, skull caved in. All limbs twisted and broken, with his chest a mass of blood. All the damage caused by the same strange, circular imprints they'd seen on the wolves. The same savage, violent impacts.
"They'll be laying this on us, won't they?" Turner muttered, staring at the ruined body of their client.
