The Hunt: Tendrils

“When I awoke within the inky dark, I found my needs and desires wiped clean. Now, purpose sustains and drives me. As it will for all of you.” Captain Grishner read the bloody letters painted on the storeroom wall. He leaned in closer and watched the excess crimson trickle down the walls wooden face.

“Like bloody tears.” He murmured from underneath his bushy, white moustache.

“What was that sir?” His subordinate said.

“Never mind it Stirge. Just talking to myself.” The captain rose from his position, his old joints cracking and popping in retaliation. His silver eyed gaze slid to the baker’s corpse. She was young, at least, younger than he was, only just getting her first grey hairs. Within the whole mess, she was the cleanest. “Tell me about her.”

“The woman?” Stirge asked, grabbing a cold pastry from the counter. “Well, she’s the owner, ever since her husband died of the silent cough.”

Grishner gave a solemn nodded. He remembered the cough’s outbreak, as quick as it hit the city it left like a phantom. He could still see the noiseless coughing fits his son had. A man in his prime taken away so easily.

Stirge’s voice pulled Grishner back, “Looks like whoever did this, had her bled like a pig.” He pointed to the rope around her ankles and then to the open slash across her milk-white throat.

Grishner watched as Stirge bit into the baked sweet, filling and apple chunks gushed out and splattered over the man’s lips. “Do you have to eat a dead woman’s food over her corpse?”

“It’d be a waste not to.” Sugary spittle and crumbs flew out of Stirges mouth

.

“It’s a damn crime scene! At least pretend you’re a professional and sate your hunger after the job is done.”

“We’ll it’s not that I’m hungry. It’d just be a waste for it to go without being eaten is all.” Stirge licked his fingers clean, not breaking eye contact with the older man.

The captain noticed dark circles under his eyes. “Still have trouble sleeping?”

“The nightmares won’t stop.” Stirge said. “Doesn’t matter how much I drink before sleeping, it’s always the same in the end.”

“Well, that won’t do, I need you sharp on the job,” Grishner shook his head. “Make sure you get your sleep however you can.” He turned his attention back to the wall. “People have a lot of blood in em. Some of hers was used to write the message, but the rest of it is nowhere to be found. What’s your take on it?”

“It’s probably our serial killer continuing his game.”

“But why keep the blood? How did he move so much of it without anyone seeing? And why is he suddenly leaving a cryptic message?” Grishner stroked his whiskers.

“Hard to say.” Stirge paused a moment to think. “Perhaps he’s found god?”

“Only god around these parts is Richten the High Sun, and he doesn’t call for blood sacrifice.”

“Perhaps he’s taken to an older one?”

“Such as?” Grishner asked.

Stirge scratched behind his ear as he thought. “Well, there’s the Sons of the Wolf who practice such things.”

“Generations ago you might have something. But now stories of them come from a kingdom away, I doubt their followers would be anywhere this far south. Not to mention they’d stick out like a sore thumb garbed in their pelts and fangs.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to take a look around, there’s that group of refugees that arrived after Harberden and Luparrov went to war.” Stirge said. “Maybe a few slipped in with them.”

Grishner grumbled. “Don’t remind me. That lot’s been more trouble than they’re worth, but they’ve never committed anything beyond petty thievery and swindling. But what do those pelt wearing bastards have to gain from coming down here with the downtrodden?”

“Perhaps to find new followers. Desperation causes a man to take actions he normally wouldn’t.”

Grishner shook his head. “I won’t dispute that; however, I doubt that our suspect is a zealot clad in fur.”

“Still, it might be something to pursue.” Stirge said.

“I’ll mull it over. For now, get the guard in here to clean this up.”

***

Grishner hobbled into his house. It was a simple thing, matching all the other houses in the city. It was big, however, he liked that. He placed his heavy woolen coat on one of the hooks by the door. “Grish? Is that you, dear?” The voice of his wife echoed through the hallway.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he said, taking slow thudding steps as if his boots were made of lead. Entering the dining room, his eyes found his his wife attending to the fire and whatever she was cooking to serve as dinner for the next four days.

Grishner smiled. Even with her gray hair and wrinkles he found her as beautiful as she was thirty years ago. She turned to him and returned his smile. “Supper’s almost ready. How was your day?”

He gnawed his lip, then said, “Big headache, I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Suit yourself.”

“How was yours?” He planted a kiss on the side of her head.

“Quite pleasant. Ryan had a fresh batch of turnips at his stall. Soon as he saw me, he started yelling for me. ‘Sara, Sara! I’ve got just what you and the captain like today.’” She giggled.

Grinning, Grishner shook his head. “He’s hoping I’ll turn the other way to his smuggling for a time. Maybe Stirge and I should stop by.”

“Oh, leave the boy alone.” Sara said filling two bowls with Turnip stew. “He’s just trying to get by like everyone else.” She handed him a bowl.

Grishner took the stew and began slurping the bitter mush down. “Well, he has done a good job keeping Skorsbern’s new guests happy.”

Sara stirred her stew around, watching the wispy steam rise. “I wonder where all that food he brings them comes from. Perhaps the good lord Westlen secretly has a heart. Or maybe a generous merchant?”

“It’s the thieves.” Grishner’s voice was dry. “I’ve talked to a few that were brought in the past few weeks. They’ve learned not to hold on to it very long and to keep whatever they take moving.”

“What do you do with them?” Sara asked.

Grishner shrugged. “Give them a slap on the wrist and let them go. They keep thieving of course, but it’s better than their people going hungry and starting a riot.” He devoured the remains of his stew. He stared at the empty container and thought a moment. Rising from his seat he moved to his wife and kissed her.

“Was dinner really that good.” Sara smiled.

“Well, yes. But you just gave me an idea.”

***

Grishner trudged into the market, everywhere he looked he saw stall owners and customers bartering over goods. He spied a homeless child slip a man's coin purse from his belt before passing to another child. He quickly rested his hand upon his own purse and let out a sigh of relief when he found it. Grishner eventually found Ryan peddling several potatoes to a woman staring at him skeptically. Ryan took note of Grishner as he approached.

“Ah one of my regular customers, the good captain of the city guard will back up my word!” His eyes pleaded with Grishner.

Grishner rolled his eyes. “Let me see one of those.” He took a potato from Ryan and began to inspect it; he noticed several soft spots immediately. “These certainly look fine to me,” he feigned. “I’d recommend a thorough mashing with butter added in.”

“I’ll have no money for butter after this.” The woman said.

“Don’t worry madam, Ryan here will sell them to you for half the price.” He gave Ryan a prickling eye. “Won’t you?”

The stall merchant broke under Grishner’s eye. “Yes, that’s right.” He didn’t try to hide his disappointment.

The woman bought the potatoes and thanked the two men before leaving. Ryan gazed at his measly earnings and sulked. “Grish, did you have to do that?”

“Yes, you make more than enough from your cuts with the thieves, you don’t need to rob women of their few pennies with rotten potatoes.”

Ryan shook his head. “I suppose you didn’t come down here to lecture me about my business?”

“Afraid not,” Grishner said. “What have you heard about the refugees?”

“They’re hungry.”

“Hungry enough to commit murder? I thought they get by from you and the others moving food around.”

Ryan’s eyes widened. “Murder?” He managed to contain his voice to a whisper.

“Yeah, the type of murders one makes in the name of a heathen god. If Stirge’s theory is to be believed that is.” Grishner said.

Ryan shifted; his eyes scanned the market. “Do you mind us talking somewhere else?”

Grishner thought a moment. He’s skittish. I don’t believe he’d try something stupid. Still the open may be a safer bet. “I’m supposed to meet up with Stirge in the slums, we can speak on the way,” he said.

“That’s not what I meant,” Ryan said.

“It’s either that or in a guardhouse cell.”

The smuggler was flustered. “I’ll have to leave my shop.”

“Close it early. Doesn’t look like many people are rushing to get old food.” Grishner smiled. “Give all the fresh stuff to the important people?”

Ryan’s face was red, and he gnawed his bottom lip relentlessly. “Five minutes.” He didn’t look the captain in the eye as the words tumbled out of his mouth.

With his arms crossed, Grishner watched him close his stall. After finishing, Ryan joined Grishner, and the pair trudged towards the slums. “You’re jumpy, Ryan, more than usual. What’s going on?”

“I’m risking my neck speaking to you.”

“Not if I catch this bastard. When we take his head, we can all rest easy at night.”

Ryan shook his head. “You’ll be taking more than one head Grishner.”

“Oh?” Grishner eyed at the younger man. “Pray tell how many?”

“I don’t know. My contacts within the refugees rarely speak of them but when they do, they speak as if there are several murderers.”

Several, eh? “Damn.” Grishner scratched his chin. “Any words on the why or who?”

“Some supposed it’s the Sons of the Wolf trying to get the refugees kicked out so they can get their hands on them for whatever nasty rituals the Sons do.”

“But that doesn’t make sense.”

“Why do you say that?” Ryan cocked his head.

“From what I was told, the Sons of the Wolf don’t aim for wholesale slaughter but subjugation. A collection of warlords loosely bound together by their faith and disdain of outsiders,” Grishner said. “A few sacrifices here and there at most.”

“Who told you that?” Ryan asked.

“Some fellow from the Ard-Firach, we shared some stories over some good ale after a long day of searching for some magical freaks on the loose.”

“So, who is it being targeted?”

Grishner shrugged. “Ordinary people, A rich man in an alleyway was the first, followed by several whores, a few shop owners.”

“And none of the refugees? They’d be the easiest target.” Ryan said.

“Wouldn’t get the attention the other killings got. Which is why I don’t subscribe to Stirge’s idea. Someone from the north would have enough trouble enticing new converts.”

“Look, captain. I don’t want to be the bearer of bad news but, there are whisperings of strange markings in the sewers and alleyways.” Ryan leaned closer, locking eyes with Grishner. “Written in blood.”

“Markings of what?”

“Different sorts of things but the one that’s the most common are some sort of tentacles or vines.” Ryan stepped away. “There’s something off going on around here Grishner. But I don’t think it’s any northern barbarians.”

“What do you think?” Grishner asked.

“I think you should be careful.”

“I will. But I wouldn’t worry too much.” Grishner patted a dagger at his waste. “I’ve been in this business long enough.”

Ryan smiled and gave the old captain a nod. “Good luck.”

Grishner waved and continued his walk to the slums. The cool salty smell of the harbor told him he was close. To his surprise he spotted Stirge waiting near the wharf. “I would’ve guessed you to be waiting in the slums.” He said as he approached the man.

Stirge stared at him for a moment. “I need to show you something.” The dark circles under his eyes had darkened and his eyes were bloodshot.

Grishner cocked his head. “You sure you’re up to any of this. You look worse than before.”

The unblinking man nodded. “There’s something you need to see captain. It can’t wait.”

“Where is this thing that’s so important?”

“The sewers. There’s a spot down there, I wouldn’t dare go into it by myself.”

“And what is this spot?” Gishner asked.

“I don’t know. A room perhaps. It was blocked by an iron door, the face of which was decorated by a red marking.” Stirge said.

Grishner grabbed the man and pulled him close. “What kind of marking?” He could feel Stirge shaking in his grip.

“I-I don’t know. Some sort of collection of vines or swirling arms.”

“Tendrils,” Grishner muttered. He looked Stirge in the eye. “Take me there.”

***

Stirge led him through the the dimly lit sewers. He followed the markers painted on the walls. The stench of shit and piss burned Grishner’s nostrils forcing him to gag several times before he was able to wrestle back his composure.

“The smell isn’t too pleasant, but it does go away closer to the door,” Stirge said.

Must be all the half-rotted food Ryan sells to people. Grishner thought.

“I found the door by accident you know. Took a few hours of aimlessly wandering around,” Stirge said. “But if we follow the markers that match what was painted on the door, I’m sure we’ll get to it in no time.”

As they traversed deeper into the sewers the underground passageways grew darker lit only by fleeting sunlight peering through the sewer grates above them. Figures seemed to dance and loom within the shadows around every turn. “We should’ve brought a lantern,” Grishner said, rubbing his eyes in a futile attempt to help his vision.

“We’re this deep now, captain. Might as well make it to the end.”

Grishner said nothing. He coiled his fingers around the hilt of his dagger as his eyes followed ephemeral figures in the dark, putrid halls. Eventually the stench of excrement was replaced by something far fouler, causing Grishner to vomit. “What the fuck is this smell?”

“I can’t say. But it’s coming from behind that,” Stirge said pointing to the tarnished iron door.

Grishner took several steps towards the door. He could feel a draft wafting from it. The putrid, damp air clung to him. The excess of blood from the mark painted on the door dribbled down it’s iron face.

He examined the coagulated mess. Grishner’s thoughts drifted to the woman hanging upside down from the bakery ceiling. He drew his dagger and motioned to Stirge. He grabbed the handle and heaved the heavy door open.

The old captain stepped through the entrance. He halted, staring at an oozing black pool bubbling at the far side of the room. A thin figure rose from the inky liquid. The creature had the head of a squid and wore robes slick with the tar like substance. “A new pet?” The creature’s voice was a series of gurgles vaguely imitating human speech. “What is your name?” It pointed one of its elongated fingers at Grishner.

“I won’t be giving you that curt-”

“His name is Grishner, master.” Stirge said from the doorway.

Grishner turned to the younger man, gripping his weapon tighter. There were others behind Stirge in the sewer. Their faces were hidden by dirty hoods. “There’s no fighting it captain.” Stirge said stepping towards him. Grishner stabbed him in the gut. The man didn’t react. He looked down and grasped the old man’s wrist, forcing the blade back out of his stomach. Black ooze poured from the wound. The younger man’s strength surprised Grishner as he was slammed back against the wall, knocking the air from his lungs. “Allow the blackness to fill you as it has for me.” Grishner slammed his forehead into Stirge’s face. Stirge fell back onto the ground, allowing the older man to catch his breath.

Grishner watched more of the strange black liquid pour from Stirge’s nose in silent horror.

“Your flailing won’t do you any good.” The creature said as it stepped towards Grishner. “Give in to my will.” Its long fingers wrapped around Grishners head like a snake coiled around its prey.

Screaming, he stabbed at the creature in desperation. Each blow was like stabbing a stone. On the third strike his blade snapped on the creature’s skin. “I thought I told you it wouldn’t do any good.”

It stuck two fingers into the captain’s mouth, prying it open with ease. The creatures milky, yellow eyes rolled back as it vomited inky black tar into Grishner. The captain felt the slimy substance roll down his throat and swell inside his stomach. The monster let go of Grishner letting him fall to the ground as he gagged. It recoiled back into the pool.

Grishner lost his senses. He was no longer in the sewers. His surroundings were that of a city comprised of magnificent ivory buildings. The city’s inhuman denizens went about their day as if he wasn’t present. Grishner walked amongst them, examining their bestial features, one had the head of a rabbit, while the one to it right had the head of a bull. They spoke but Grishner could not make out the words. Despite this the air between the pair was thick with a cloud of hostility. He searched among the crowd to see a similar situation between the others around him.

The rabbit and bull creatures turned, looking past him. Grishner turned and saw a large cage on wheels being escorted down the path. Several bestial figures escorted it. Within the cold iron bars were something familiar to the captain- men, women, and children. Their naked figures were assaulted by child-beasts hurling stones and sticks. One had come too close to the cage and was swiftly struck by one of the guards and sent reeling.

Grishner’s sight blurred, and his head thrummed as if he had been beat with a hammer, and his world faded into darkness.

***

Sara heard the door open and close. She rushed to find her ragged husband staring at the ceiling. “Grish. Where have you been for the past three days? I was worried sick about you.” She took a step closer and noticed the dark circles under his eyes and the blank stare he gave her. “Grish, are you okay?”

He blinked once and seemed to recognize her. “I’m sorry, dear.” He gave Sara a smile that turned her stomach. “I need to show you something.”