Then a hand laid itself on Redbridge's shoulder, and she nearly jumped a yard. Then her frightened eyes turned, and saw Brandon standing behind her, one hand still clasped to her shoulder.
"So. You hear them too." He sighed. "I'm not sure, I've heard them before, actually," he murmured introspectively. "I'm not sure what they are. They could be internal or external. They're stronger now then they ever were before. Stronger here. Somehow... Somehow I think the town of Redbridge has much to answer for."
Redbridge shrugged and leaned against his hand, as if gathering strength from the tall hunter.
"But, internal or external, I will do what I must do," he said, smiling down at her. "And you shall do whatever suits you."
She nodded, firmly, making her decision and restrung her bow. Her eyes looked up at him, and her tiny mouth set. 'I will go where you go,' the posture said.
"There is something more to this than the mist," Brandon said, stirring the stew he was eating with his spoon thoughtfully.
Redbridge, having quickly finished her dinner stared into the mist again, drumming her feet against the wall behind the bench. She turned and looked at Brandon, and cocked her head at him. Her eyes clearly asked 'Why?'
"The voices, Redbridge," Brandon explained. "I have never heard them so clearly." He pointed his spoon out into the fog, which was sliding along the barrier trying with everything it had to find a weak spot where it could break through. "And that - such a miasma of negative emotion. It hates the town, Redbridge. So much I can taste it."
She cast a glance at the stew and gave a sardonic grin.
"Very funny Redbridge." She spread her hands and shrugged. He sighed, and returned the small sardonic smile, before looking back at the mist. "If I were a secret in this town, where would I hide?"
Redbridge pointed towards the forest.
"Yes, but that would make sense, and I don't want to leave into that mist anymore than you do." He caught her eyes, they were the same deep red-brown as his. "Or any less."
She looked away, embarrassed, like he had caught her watching someone couple.
"But none the less," the dark haired hunter continued. "We have to figure out what this is, and why it hates this town so much."
"All you had to do was ask..." echoed the voices around them. Redbridge made a dismayed noise, as the voices echoed, slightly out of chorus, filling the town with what used to be whispers. The townsfolk bolted out of doors, looking at the gray mist like the day of reckoning had come.
"Generations of lovers and children coldly killed for the curse of one."
The echoes died, and for a moment the mist receded, like that great voice had taken a great deal from it.
"Great," mumbled Brandon. "That's really clear." The townsfolk began slinking back inside. "HOLD IT!" he bellowed. They stop in mid sneak. "None of you go anywhere until someone explains!"
"We don't know what it's talking about," whined the headman.
"Sirrah - " said Brandon lowly, in a voice that twanged down Redbridge's spine. The headman shivered and stood up a touch. "The truth."
"Don't know what's wrong with this town," muttered the headman. "We got more children being lost ta the damned blood drinkers. They run off, not to bigger towns, but to the leaches. Even if we see them again, they're tainted. Give birth to goddess-blasted half-breeds. Foul unnatural creatures."
Redbridge's eyes flickered up to Brandon's face, but his slender face was impassive as the headman rattled on blithely about how awful it was that the poor children had been so twisted by the vampires. "But we sent them back ta the goddess and got rid of the half-creatures in the earth. Exposed them."
Redbridge gasped, but he wasn't done.
"But we had a debt to you, so we took the half-breed in. The hard part was keeping folk away when she got toothsome. Didn't want her tainting any of our boys. It got so hard; she's a pretty little thing. Kept hoping you'd take her away, get her out of this town, leave us to live our lives. But the extra vigilance kept the others away. Haven't had a taken or a half-breed in the sixteen years the blasted wench has been here." He frowned. "Always figured Ren Archer for tupping her. No small wonder he let this mess loose. IT had been kept bound for so long. Deserved what he got."
Redbridge gave an indefinable anguished, betrayed wail and ran away, one hand clenching her bow tight, the other covering her face, she disappeared between the houses, as the headman suddenly realized what he'd been saying, and looked up into Brandon's calm, impassive face.
"You are not a good man. But not a bad one," Brandon said after a long moment. "If I were more judgmental, I'd be taking the child and leaving the town to its fate." The Headman looked shocked.
"But you're lucky," Brandon said, turning away. "Whatever mistakes you've made it's not my business to make sure you're punished. When the trouble is gone - " He looked over his shoulder at the man and there was a hard glint in his eyes. "Then this will be resolved. But I will not judge you now."
Brandon took time from finding a solution to look for Redbridge instead. He knew that she wouldn't cross the line, so she must be somewhere in the town - but he had to find her. And find her he did at last, sobbing her eyes out in a barn. He walked up and sat beside her. She threw herself into his lap, still sobbing.
"Ah, Redbridge," sighed Brandon, stroking her shoulders. "I'm sorry." She gave another dry anguished sob, and looked up at him, face pink streaked with tears. "Na, na... don't let your anger get in the way of your sorrow," he consoled, wiping the tears away. Her eyes looked up at his, and asked plainly.
'What did I do? What did I do to make them hate me so much?'
"It's not you that they hate, Redbridge." Brandon said, wiping her face again. She rubbed her hand across her nose and sighed. There were yelps and screams, and Brandon looked out the open stable door, but didn't move from where the slim girl was laying in his lap. More incoherent babbling and screaming streamed in the door, but he didn't move. At last, Redbridge stood, rubbing the last of her tears away. Brandon stood as well, and straightened his sword belt.
"I have to go, and see what's about."
Redbridge slowly picked up her bow, and skipped a bit to catch up with him. She had said that she would go with him, and she would.
The fog had thinned somewhat but it had gotten no lighter out. In the lighter mist figures moved, define figures, and they were testing the barrier.
"Will you all just calm down!?" bellowed Brandon - and the townsfolk stopped in mid panic. "Inside! All of you! If you want to scream and panic at this mess do it through the window!"
The street became deserted. They could both see the people peeking out their curtains though.
Redbridge looked up at him slyly, arching an eyebrow.
"It's all in the inflection," he said modestly. "If you act like you're in charge, people will generally obey you."
Idly, Redbridge restrung her bow, and plucked the string, as always enchanted by the soft twangs that it produced. As she reached to make the sound again, the shadows, in their strange, shadowy bodies, surged against the barrier - and began to slip through. Like water seeping from a bucket, it was slow - and at the same time, far too fast to act on. But Brandon moved towards it, throwing one hand back - indicating Redbridge should stay in the town square. For an instant, she was insulted, until she realized why. With her bow and arrows, she could watch most of the town's perimeter from where she stood - but armed with a sword and dagger - Brandon had to get closer - much closer. Taking a deep breath, her eyes danced about, looking for a target. They were terribly man-shaped, and it took great will power for Redbridge to loose that first shaft. But she did, and it flew where she aimed it. Had the shadow been a real man, it would have buried itself deep into the creature's back- as it was the shadow screamed - then shattered. It made her jump and almost pause - before she saw the shadow going for Brandon's back, and shot it too - he'd whirled to face it himself, and seen her shot- the auburn haired hunter smiled at her, a brief sharing smile - that said 'well done.' She didn't hesitate again.
After a while, Redbridge noticed that there didn't seem to be any less of the shadows - but there was an ebb and flow to their attacks. During one of those ebbs, she expressed concern that they wouldn't be able to win.
"We can't." Brandon said calmly, gulping down water from one hand, then splashing another handful on his face. Redbridge wouldn't have drunken from the horse trough, personally, but she figured that Brandon knew what went on in a horse trough, and chose to anyway. Then what he'd said registered, and she stared at in incredulously. He grinned.
"We can't win at the current rate we're going, but we can hold steady."
She threw her hands into the air, what good would that do?
"By holding steady, we force them to escalate," Brandon explained, re-tying his hair, in a desperate attempt to keep it out of his eyes. Redbridge failed to see how this was good. He sighed, and rested his head back against the wall. "By forcing them to escalate, we force them to move - towards us - by moving, by showing more of their cards, we get a better idea of their strength, and their limitations." He paused. "This is one of the few situations where I'd prefer to be the defender."
Redbridge was sick of defending. Sick of this whole business, but when the shadows regrouped to try again, she picked up her bow and the arrows she and Brandon had reclaimed. It hurt to fire the arrows now, an ache in her pulling arm, and more so in her heart, with every shadow that shattered with her strike. It was as if every doubt she had was turning her own weapons against her. There were less shadows now, she noted, dark red-brown eyes flitting about. But they looked - stronger. Then there was a noise, like a chant, low and droning, filling the world, and her ears.
"Our pain, our loss, our lives, for love. Your fault, your hands, your hate, for fear." It was low at first, then it started to get louder, and louder and louder, like thunder - but each voice that chanted was slightly out of synch with the others. It made her entire body vibrate, and she could hear the wails of children in the houses - but no one seemed to hear the words. Well... Brandon did. It seemed to be bothering him worse than it bothered her, there was the wonder of it. He clutched at his head, as if stunned by it, and stumbled a few feet. She rushed to his side, and tried to haul him upright again.
"I'm alright, Redbridge," he said, waiving away her arm - "Over there!" a knife came out in his hand as he struggled to his feet, and is screamed through the air. A shadow screamed, and the door it had been ripping off the hinges fell with a thump to the ground.
'Holding even my ass,' thought Brandon gloomily. 'I may be a little over my head here.'
More screams and sobs came from inside the house. He hoped they had the sense to go into another room and shut that door. The shadows dispelled into fog again, as if thinking - and doubtless gathering strength.
This wave was worse. They rushed with screaming claws, clipping flesh as she jinked from side to side trying to avoid them, And she had no time to check how Brandon was doing. At last the wave was over and she could breathe for a few precious moments. Then she looked around for Brandon, and realized that he wasn't within eyeshot. She gathered up the last of her breath and ran, looking for him. Small movements in the battle had moved them from their original places- though Redbridge stayed fairly close to the main square. She spotted Brandon - just as a greater shadow closed on him, wrapping his arms as he tried to pull away. As the struggle continued , more shadows flew across the ground and the chant began again.
"You kill us, you hate us, you are us, our pain. You die, you join, your strength, our reign."
"No! Let go, this is wrong," yelped Brandon, white teeth flashing in anger as he tried to get away from the shadow form that held him, as it whispered poisonously persuasive words to him. One of his struggles brought the hunter's face around to face Redbridge, and he looked at her in shock, as if for the first time.
And suddenly the child of Redbridge realized that he hadn't the strength to break free this time, and that this couldn't continue. Her hand went back to her quiver, and found a single arrow's fletching there. If she had one shaft to affect this - it would be all that she was. The Shadow mocked her with its rolling tendrils draping them about Brandon's body in parody of an embrace, and at the same time, pulling him in front of its main body, limiting the shots that Redbridge could take. Even still she put the shaft to the bow, and dew back until she could feel the cool touch of it by her cheek. A strong pull for such as short distance - but there was more to it than that. Redbridge looked along the shaft and shot her last arrow, the one she'd been saving - the arrow that was always her lucky shaft, the one that still had strands of the false Brandon's hair affixed to it. With that shaft she sent her prayers, that it would reach its target, and once there, do what it needed to do.
"Redbridge!" yelped Brandon trying to free his arm from his shadowy captor. "Don't do anything stupid!"
The world faded away - it was simply her, her target, and the arrow's fletching touching her cheek. The shadows, the wounds she'd taken, the all pervasive agony of weariness that filled her limbs, it didn't matter. Only... only that this arrow must hit.
Brandon watched the slim girl pull back the bowstring. There was grace in her every movement, and a strange glow in her eyes. It had hurt her to fight these spirits with her - this pervasive miasma of hate, and betrayal. But she could not have fought against him, so she fought in pain - and now, she stood before him, when it was his own mistake that had gotten him into a situation that had gotten him into trouble he couldn't get out of. He knew it would happen someday. He just hadn't realized what it would cost him. His renewed efforts to get free before Redbridge let that shaft go brought his upper body freedom - and the moment that it was free - the arrow flew singing from its string to strike deep into the solid shadow that held him. With a soundless explosion, he was thrown forward to the dirt, but landed rolling, turning to look at what had happened. Light poured out of the hole the arrow had made, devouring the shadow, and small memories played across the blackness as the light traced over it. They rolled chaotically as the clouds that had covered the town did the same breaking and fleeing to the four corners as the shadow was devoured. The last disappeared as the first sunbeam touched the town sign the mist had appeared. Brandon's head dropped for a moment, in exhaustion, then raised it again. The sun lacked perhaps an hour or two to the horizon - all of this had taken place in the span of a few hours - or a whole day had passed until it was afternoon again. He shakily got to his feet, and turned slowly, dreading what he would see where Redbridge has stood, and knowing just the same.
The pale shell lay there, in a pile of leather and linen, strong bow string broken beneath her fall. There was no life in the body , all of it fled to destroy the danger that had attacked her town. Brandon knelt beside the small frame that had held such a fierce spirit, who had tried so hard to fly, despite being hampered. Her eyes dark and glazed, were focused on a place far distant, and smile smiled, faintly as if she saw something special there. He looked down at her, and shook his head, saddened by this loss. He hadn't realized how much he had enjoyed seeing her until he realized that he wouldn't see her again. Words failed him, and then, re-realized what he had to say, as doors opened, and the villagers stared at the dawn, as if they had never expected to see it again.
"Dust you are, and dust you shall be. From the dust you are made and to the dust you shall return," he whispered, closing the girl's eyes. "Ashes to ashes, and dust to dust. Rest in peace, little sister. Rest in peace. Be welcome in your own heaven, child, if not in that of my God's."
The townspeople gathered around behind him. They could feel the dark cloud's lifting.
"So what shall be his price this time?"
"He saved us again."
"Once again."
"So what shall be his price?"
Brandon stood, and turned, red brown hair rippling as he did, arms holding the slim, limp form of the girl called Redbridge in his arms.
"There is no price I could ask, that would repay what was given today. There is no price for the sacrifice was not mine." He turned again, and walked to the road that led into the town, and beside that road he dug a grave. Not large, but a full six feet deep. There he wrapped the woman-child's form in his own cape, for he had no shroud for her, and into that, tucked a scrap of familiar faded yellow flannel. And then he replaced the earth over her small body. "I saw you come into this world," he said. "I wish I was not here to see you leave it." Brandon bowed his head in prayer, and turned once again, to the people of Redbridge. "Do not forget what was given here."
"Is this your price?" demanded the head woman's wife archly. "Is this what you ask for this time? You ask us to give remembrance to... to a..."
"To a woman," said Brandon firmly. "To a member of your town, a woman who proudly bore the name of the people who scorned her. And gave her life that they might live. A woman like to my god." He sighed and stood, dusting his hands off, looking down at the freshly turned earth. "I shall not return again this way," he said, half to himself, half to the townsfolk. "Don't make the same mistakes, people of Redbridge."
He picked up his satchel, which he had laid down as he'd worked, and walked away, never looking back, as one by one the people knelt until all were down upon their knees, praying thinking , perhaps thanking their gods, for they could still remember, the clammy oily feel of evil upon their skin, and they couldn't help but wonder what would have happened had not one small girl perished, for the love of a town that hated her.
This is the end of the story. This is how I heard it. This is the end of the skein, as I said, the pattern may seem familiar, as I said, the words may have been heard before, but this is the story of Redbridge. And this - is all there is.
