The Watchman
by James Crowell
The Storyteller’s Guild (YouTube)
James Crowell is an aspiring writer with a passion for entrepreneurial endeavors and a love of storytelling. When not pursuing these interests, he can be found managing his YouTube channel and online writer’s community: The Storyteller’s Guild, reading, and cooking exotic meals with his wife.
Trees. Crawling, twisting, shifting trees. Thousands and thousands of them. They were just wood and bark, the final stage of a well-studied cycle of biology, and yet, they still made him uneasy. Edward shuddered, nervously looking away from the forest below.
The night’s watch was a solitary post. From dusk till dawn, through the deep-dark dead of night, the watchmen paced along the wall-walk. They were not alone, at least a score of soldiers were stationed on the wall each night. But there was something about the blackness, the heights, the howling wind, which stirred in these men a fear of things unseen, of gods and monsters. For the Raven’s Guard it was a right of passage, the many new recruits serving their first year atop the castle walls night after night. It was not an unimportant post, but it was unpleasant, and necessary nonetheless.
Edward couldn’t help but laugh at the irony of it all. For years he had dreamed of the matte black armor, the golden trim, the billowing cloaks and the shining badges of the Raven’s Guard. After all, they were not only the most competent and feared fighting force in the nation, but also the most renowned: for one distinct difference. Its members were not chosen by class or rank or heritage, but hand-picked from every level of the populace to serve amongst its venerated ranks. Their leader, somehow more well-known than the soldiers he trained, was Ivo Black, Lord of Highhall, Master of the Raven’s Guard, and–depending on which woman you asked–the most eligible and stately bachelor in the land. And so, the Raven’s Guard, the night’s watch, and even Highhall itself, were the stuff of legend, of boyish dreams and mellifluous ballads. Yet here, amidst it all, stood Edward, unimpressed.
There were no regrets in the young soldier’s heart, but the reality of his current station had finally set in. After only weeks of service, the glamor had faded. And no matter how hard he tried, the stories and fairy tales of his youth began to creep into his memory. Tales of the ancient forest, of spirits and monsters. The metaphysical wilderness which only emerged in the dead of night. He turned again to the inky blackness. It was unsettling, yet strangely hypnotic, its archaic mysteries calling to him. Pulling him in.
“They just had to put me on this side, didn’t they?” he mumbled. “Everybody loves the ocean, but not Edward. No. He gets to watch the forest. That forest.”
The young man shuddered again, shaking himself free from his musings and returning to the warmth of his ale. He had to admit that tonight was better than most. Lord Black was throwing a feast for emissaries of the king, and the captain of the watch had managed to smuggle away a portion of the spoils. Edward had never been a party goer, even the small barn dances in his village had never suited him, but he liked them from afar. The laughter, the music, the warm aroma of bread and sweetmeats wafting through the air. He sighed deeply, breathing in the joyful ambience. Tonight the castle felt alive, its harsh stone seeming to emanate with hospitable warmth. A gust of wind swept the soldier back to reality. He glanced again to the forest’s edge, its twisting branches seeming to leap and dance in the pale moonlight. Then he tipped his head back, downing the last of his ale, and stood up to resume patrol. Through the eerie stillness there sounded a distant rustle, and then a crack.
Slowly, the watchman turned. As he looked, his eyes adjusting to blackness, what he saw was not an animal. There, just beyond the glow of the castle torchlight, hunched a figure unlike anything he had ever seen. It was tall and thin. Its lean form bent on four legs, skin glistening in the pale moonlight. Sinewy bones and muscles shifted and clicked as the creature paced, a predatory saunter in its step. As if frozen, it stopped suddenly, its head snapping and twisting with short, halting movements. With a blur and a rustle, it was gone. Edward rushed to the edge of the wall leaning out, his eyes straining to pierce the darkness. Nothing. It had vanished. Or perhaps it was never there at all. Perhaps it was just the ale. The young watchman paused a second longer, his heart still pounding in his chest.“Come on, Edward. Get a hold of yourself.” he muttered. “It’s all in your head. Just stupid wives’ tales is all.” With that, he left, resuming his dutiful patrol.
#
The rain poured endlessly. It had been two whole weeks of non-stop rain and the men of the night’s watch were all on edge. Their cloaks and tunics barely had the chance to dry before the soldiers donned them again the next night. There was no laughter atop the wall anymore, and civility had been worn thin. They never talked, and what mutterings they did manage consisted of a series of colorful curses, mostly to themselves, or if they were feeling especially social, others. Edward was no different. He found it easier if he didn’t pace, so he stood stationary at his post, his cloak pulled about him and his hood low over his eyes. A shiver ran down his spine and he inhaled sharply. “Damn this bloody rain,” Edward spat.
As a child he would have been overjoyed. Rain meant two things for young Edward, more ammunition for mud fights with the village miscreants, and all was well in the homestead. Rain, especially in the west of Krete, was a blessing to any farmer. His father had been no different. Every village had their own approach, but they all collected rainwater somehow, storing it for the dryer months to come.The dryer months being most of them.
Which is why that damn forest is all the stranger! Edward thought. There’s barely enough water for crops around here, and yet those trees go for miles.The young man shook his head, wiping his eyes and straightening his stance. He wouldn’t think of it. Not anymore. He was a soldier, a Raven’s Guard, trained in body and mind to conquer all. To conquer fear itself.
A clap of thunder echoed in agreement, and directly above the young soldier, a flash of lightning split the sky. “God’s above!” Edward exclaimed, jumping back at the almost supernatural display. He slipped, the sound and spectacle jolting him from his thoughts, his plated shoe skidding across the slick stones.
“Careful little one, that’s quite a tumble!” boomed a voice behind him, rivaling the thunder in its volume. Edward turned to see the hulking figure of Oliver Grimm. Though the man was only a few years older than Edward, he loomed a good foot and a half above him. Oliver was a jolly fellow, and popular with the guardsmen. But no one was quite at ease in his presence, the threat of his stature too obvious to ignore. Edward laughed weakly at the comment, trying to think of a snide response, but he had none. He couldn’t help but be shaken by the strange series of events. He smiled for a moment longer, and then turned back, staring out into the rain. His heart pounded in his ears. Another boom of thunder and another flash of lightning tore through the night sky. Edward froze. He tried to scream, but in that moment the watchman’s voice betrayed him, and he sat in silence, shaking. This time it was closer. Not two hundred yards away, just mounting the lower wall of the fortress, was the abomination. Edward could see it more clearly now, its form highlighted by the momentary flash and glistening raindrops. The creature was massive. Perched atop the wall-walk, resting on its haunches, it seemed self-aware, domesticated even. The creature’s face was round and flat, almost humanoid, but for the snout which formed at the base of its jaw. Slowly, it searched the wall above, stopping directly on the watchmen. Edward stood still, fixated by the creature, by its eyes. Its gray-black eyes, devoid of life, yet piercing nonetheless. A gaping hole opened in the young man’s stomach, fear gnawing from within. In an instant, the panic overtook him and the boy screamed wildly.
“INTRUDER!!!” The cry pierced through the night and the wall-walk sprung to life. Scattered shouts traveled up and down the wall as guards flocked from their posts towards the commotion. Oliver was the first to arrive, but when he did, all that remained was a watchman, panicked and shaken–alone. The abomination had vanished.
#
Something was terribly wrong. A sense of unease plagued the castle halls. Emissaries from the king came weekly now. The feasts had stopped, replaced with hushed greetings and private councils. Raven’s Guard had been recalled from their many posts, slowly gathering in the keep. And there had been strange rumors, reports of villagers gone missing, patrols abandoning their posts, movement in the East. Even the night’s watch had been increased, long veteran soldiers now patrolling with the new recruits.
Edward remained alone. To the night’s watch, he was a coward and a fool, a victim of his own fear and superstition. It had been a month since the wall-top encounter, and in that time he had become infamous. The captain had interrogated him, concluding the affair to be a simple mistake, the result of sleep deprivation and an overactive imagination. For Edward, this pronouncement had been worse than any punishment imaginable, worse than even death. In fact, over the course of the following weeks Edward had wished for death on several occasions, a welcome escape from the leering of the court and his fellow guardsmen. In no time at all, he had gone from a soldier, with promise and future, to the fool of the night’s watch. A child among men. But perhaps they were right. Perhaps the fear and lack of sleep had finally affected him. It was a plausible explanation, very likely in fact. And so the watchman returned to his post, determined to lay low and regain the trust of his peers.
Winter approached–a crisp, snowless winter–and the wind took every opportunity to remind Edward of this fact, its words cold and sharp. The guardsman sat atop the wall, shivering as he looked out across the castle grounds. His gaze was low, avoiding the forest altogether. He would not think of it. He would not look at it. He would not even fear it. For fear was a weakness which a Raven’s Guardsman could not afford.
At that moment, a strange squeaking noise sounded from behind the soldier. Edward tensed, barely controlling the urge to wheel round, sword drawn. Gently, calmly, he turned around, and relief washed over him. What he saw was not the gray-black eyes of a freakish nightmare, but a beautiful young woman. She had emerged from the tower stairs to his right, her hands covering her face. She was crying.
“Are-are you alright, my lady?” he asked, reaching out in hesitant comfort.
“GODS ABOVE!!” she screamed, jumping at the sound of Edward’s voice. There was a pause and then the woman’s face melted with embarrassment.
“You scared me!” she cried incredulously.
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“I mean, here I was, thinking I found a place all to myself, and then your voice comes out of nowhere and just-” Her face blushed bright red as she continued on, her words faster and faster.
“I don’t know. I just didn’t think anyone would be here. But of course you were. I mean, why wouldn’t you be? If I was Lord I’d lock you up here too! Who wouldn’t?”
“They do let us down on special occasions, my lady.” Edward answered coolly.
“Well of course! I didn’t mean that I just–you know it was a turn of phrase and–”
She stopped and cocked her head, slowly realizing his sarcastic tone.“I’m making a fool of myself, aren’t I?” she said, a slight twinkle flashing in her eyes. “Well, I guess that’s it then. Shall I jump off now or later?”
“Perhaps in the morning, my lady. That way the day’s watch can clean it up.”
The woman did not respond, but simply stared at Edward. He met her gaze, unable to look away. He hadn’t expected such biting wit. Not from a lady of the court such as herself. At least he assumed she was. Edward had seen this woman about, in recent weeks, always in conversation with other nobles and their swarms of attendants. But she was different. There was a certain stern, starched air about castle nobles which was absent from the figure before him. She was young, twenty or twenty-one, and full of infectious wonder. Edward continued staring indecorously. He caught himself, quickly glancing downward, but it was too late.
“Are you going to keep gawking at me or apologize for your insolence?” she quipped, a smile teasing at the corners of her mouth.
“Please! forgive me, my lady! I meant no offense. I was simply surprised that…” Edward trailed off, lost in her blue-green eyes. She was smiling at him. Her smile grew wider, and then became a laugh, until she fell to the floor chortling indecently. Edward stood aghast, processing the indiscretion. Then slowly, his own mouth curled into a smile, and then a chuckle, and in a moment, he had joined the woman, the pair doubling over in hysterics, still unsure of why they had started in the first place. It was a minute before Edward regained his composure. When he did, he rose hastily, offering his hand to the young woman as he did so.
“Forgive me, m’lady.” Edward said, trying to assume a formal tone. She grabbed his hand and pulled herself up, still grinning.
“No, no, there’s nothing to forgive. Please, I haven’t laughed like that in…”
“Ages.” the guardsman finished.
“Exactly.” The woman paused a moment longer, her face inches from his own. Then suddenly, she pulled away, looking Edward up and down in mock judgment.
“So tell me noble warrior, to whom do I owe the pleasure of my rescue?
“Rescue?”
“Come now! I was a lady in distress and you cackled at me! There is no better remedy to distress than that.”
“Cackled?” the young man exclaimed.“Well, since my lady has such a way with words I suppose I must oblige.” Edward straightened up, clicking his heels together and bowing slightly. “Sir Edward Kingsly, Raven’s Guard, at your service.” She smiled, a flashing youthful smile, and curtsied back.
“Sir Kingsly. Lady Catherine Bordeaux, pleasure to make your acquaintance.” She turned quickly, breaking from her curtsy to lean against the parapet beside her. “Well, now that that’s over with, tell me truthfully Sir Kingsly, how long have you been a guardsman? Two months? Four? A year?”
He sighed in mock disappointment.“What gave it away?”
“Come now! Just because I’m in skirts doesn’t mean I don’t know a thing or two about soldiers and their customs. Only new guardsmen serve atop the wall. And besides, with a face as handsome as yours, I knew you must be a fledgeling.”
“You are quite the opponent, my lady.” Edward laughed, shaking his head as he did so.
“Is that so?” she drawled flirtatiously.
“And beautiful at that.”
There was a stunned moment of silence. Even Edward couldn’t believe he had been so bold. His heart was racing now, beating faster and faster as though it would burst through his breastplate at any moment.
“I must say, Sir Kingsly, you are forward!” she said playfully.
“Honest. I only meant to be honest, my lady.” Edward blushed, stuttering as he spoke the words.
“Well, if that’s the case, then I must also tell you that, in a moment, I am going to lose my handkerchief atop this wall, and I expect you to call on me and return it in the morning.” She paused, her lips forming into a warm smile. “If we’re being honest.” Then, with a flick of her wrist, she dropped her handkerchief, and walked away. It hung in the air a moment and then drifted lazily to the ground at Edward’s feet. He stooped, snatching up the silken square. As he returned his gaze to Lady Catherine, he smiled in quiet amazement. She was simply walking away, but it was beautiful. Her stride elegant and graceful, her hair shimmering, its waves of brown cascading down her blue-gray dress. It was like a dream.
But like all dreams, it quickly faded, and reality crashed down upon young Edward. A dark, horrifying reality. A nightmare. It started with a sound. A distant wailing like a child in anguish. Then he saw it–the creature. As if emerging from the stone itself, the hellish form loomed before Lady Catherine, rearing threateningly. Its mouth hung open, jaws flanked by mandibles which wriggled and squirmed with ravenous anticipation. Along its back and arms were rows of porrus indents filled with eyes. Unblinking, lifeless, gray-black eyes. Edward paused for a moment, still registering the horror that had materialized before him. Before her.
“No!! Look out!” he cried, and ran towards Lady Catherine, tackling her in a swift, protective dive. They were on the floor now, Lady Catherine screaming and thrashing frantically.
“No! Please! Help!!” she cried. But her fear was not of a monster, but of a man, of Edward. Armour clanked and scraped as Edward was pulled violently off her. He looked about in confusion, turning back to Lady Catherine. He had saved her from almost certain death only moments before. But as he looked at her now, she sat on the ground, disheveled and shaking, threatened only by shadows and the cold night air.
“No! It’s not what you think! There was a creature! a beast! I saved her!” Edward pleaded. He was interrupted by a swift kick which sent him sprawling to the floor. Blood filled his mouth as another armored heel pressed his head to the stone, his face grinding against it. Edward grunted in pain. With his face to the floor, he could still see Lady Catherine. Her eyes, which had seemed to dance with laughter, now stared blankly, unblinking, wide with fear. Edward turned away, unable to bear the sight, his head throbbing with pain. Screams of horror and panicked shouts echoed all around him. Edward closed his eyes, trying to gather his thoughts and remember the events of moments before. What had he seen? Where had it gone? Why was he the sole victim of this fell beast? The watchman coughed and then spat, clearing the blood from his mouth. How would he defeat it?
#
The library was quiet, the crackle of parchment and the rustle of robes breaking the deathly stillness at random intervals. Far beyond it many arches, its countless benches and desks, its practically infinite collection of pages, in its farthest corner, sat a meager work desk. Atop it, lying among a heap of scrolls and literary volumes, was a young man. His hair was disheveled and knotted, unwashed by the looks of it. He was asleep, the image almost peaceful if not for the shadow of sleepless nights encircling his eyes. A guardsman in all black strode towards the sleeping man.
“Get up.” he growled, rapping the man’s head with his fist. Edward jolted awake with a gasp and a cry, flustered.
“Yes?” he asked faintly.
“The Lord Black wishes to speak with you. Straighten up.”
“Here? Now?”he said, still easing into a waking state.
“You heard me.” the soldier sneered.
Edward jumped to his feet, straightening his wrinkled jerkin as best he could. He hurriedly ran his hands through his long black locks, striving in vain to tame them. Just as he began to shuffle through the sea of books and papers which were strewn across his desk, Edward spied a figure walking across the library towards him. He was a tall man, his long strides easily closing the distance between them. His clothes were black, save for a small golden pin which clasped a cloak about his neck and the large raven symbol embroidered in gold upon his chest. His hair and beard were also black, streaks of gray accenting his thick locks. Ivo Black, Master of the Raven’s Guard, Lord of Highhall, had come to visit
“That’ll be all.” Ivo said, quietly nodding to the guardsman. The soldier exited, and the two men stood silently facing one another.
“‘Edward,’ is it? ‘Edward Kingsly?’” the lord asked with calculated ignorance.
“Yes, my lord.”
Ivo nodded thoughtfully, still gazing intently at the young watchman. His eyes were stern, yet somehow gentle, their soft hazel hue glowing warmly.
“Come. Sit.” he said suddenly, smiling and gesturing to the chair before him.“I’m not here to antagonize you. Gods know you’ve been through enough hell these past weeks. I just need some answers.”
Edward was surprised. He had met Lord Black on only two occasions. First, at his selection trail, and second, at his induction ceremony. Yet such casual speech had not been used in either instance. Ivo found a chair, leaning back into it as he looked across at Edward.
“I am not a fool, Edward, and I do not take easily to slander and gossip. But in all my years never have I heard a tale quite like yours. Tell me, what did you see upon that wall?” And Edward did. He told him of the rain and the shadows and the twisting trees and of the mysterious figure. Ivo listened intently, hanging on every word.
“Is it not a woodland creature? Some undiscovered species which lurks within the depths of the ancient forest perhaps?” he asked, once Edward had finished.
“A creature invisible to all but me? One which scales our walls and evades our defenses at ease?” Edward leaned across the table intensely. “No! It is no natural beast. It is an agent of hell!” the watchman banged the table in emphasis, the sound echoing throughout the library.
“Come now, boy! Have you forgotten your training as well as your manners?!” Ivo snapped in annoyance.
Edward sank timidly back into his chair.
“Our great kingdom has a rich history. Ceremonies and sacraments, prayers and poetry. But we have long outgrown those superstitions. Reason and logic have replaced such fickle fantasies.”
“My lord, I only seek the truth.” Edward said, shaking his head earnestly. “But I have seen things, felt things, that cannot be explained.”
“Which only proves you lack an explanation!” cried Lord Black. He sighed with frustration, glancing about to be sure that no one was listening. Then he leaned in, continuing on in a hushed tone.
“I will not believe that one of my guardsmen, my “Sons of the Sword” fell prey to fear and shifting shadows.”
“My lord, what is a man to do but trust his eyes? How can I unsee what was plainly there?”
Lord Black’s eyes flashed with anger, infuriated by the audacity of such a question.
“Did you touch it?”
“No. No, of course not. But, my lord, I was trained in these very halls. I learned of a great many things. Of science and philosophy, of history and mathematics.” Edward met the nobleman’s gaze, locking with his auburn eyes.
“Perhaps there is a reason that every tribe, every culture, every people that inhabited these lands for the last thousand years believed in something beyond our world. A primordial Good and Evil who battle for existence itself.”
Lord Black grew quiet, smoldering as he stared into blank space. Then he looked up, slowly, calmly.
“You may have listened, but you did not learn. For if you had, you would see the error of your reasoning.” There was something about his tone, the finality of it, which struck Edward. A wave of doubt washed over him, tears welling in his eyes. Suddenly, it all seemed to fade, the sightings, the library, even Lord Black himself, all became distant. He was alone. The young man shuddered, his lips quivering with overwhelming emotion.
“Am I mad?” he said, the words barely audible in the stillness. The lord paused for what seemed like an eternity, considering the question.
“Perhaps.” he said simply. Then he stood, turning to leave. It was this final act of abandonment which awakened something within Edward, his fear curdling into rage.
“And what does that make you, then?!” he snarled. Ivo stopped, turning to face him.
“A failure.” the lord said simply. He bent down till his eyes met Edward’s, placing his hand upon the young man’s cheek. “I have failed you, my boy, and for that, I am truly sorry.” With that, the lord rose, and walked quietly away.
Edward was crushed. His mind was racing even faster than before, a muddled mess of doubt and dissolution. What had he really seen? What had he done? What would his family think of him now? He left the library, stumbling up to the castle walls in need of fresh air. He hated the wall-walk, but in this moment, its icy winds and empty skies were a comfort to him. Edward leaned against the jutting merlon, his arm clasped to his chest, breathing heavily. Gradually, his breath slowed, and his chest began to loosen. Edward looked about, trying to spot the nearest watchman. But there were none close by. In fact, it almost seemed as if there weren’t any at all. The young man began to pace, finding comfort in the familiar repetition. Then, his foot caught on something, and Edward tumbled to the ground, cursing as he went.
“Gods be–” the young man faltered. For the cause of his fall was not a jutting stone or loose plank, but a corpse. A massive, huddled corpse in a pool of blood. Edward turned to scream for help. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Perhaps he was wrong.
The watchman rushed to the body, turning it over. It was Oliver Grimm, his once-jolly face now pale and lifeless. Blood gushed from an open gash which ran across his chest. It was still warm, the dark, oozing liquid clinging to Edward’s hands. He stared at the body, unsure of what to do but mutter half-remembered prayers.
Amidst the nocturnal stillness, Edward heard a sound: a low, wheezing groan which sounded just behind him. But the young watchman did not yell, or scream, or wheel ‘round. For in that moment, Edward understood what neither scientist nor philosopher could ever explain. In defiance of all laws of reason and reality, he was in the presence of something beyond the known world. An unholy abomination. Evil incarnate.
Edward silently drew his sword and pivoted to face the beast. It shifted on its hind legs, chittering in amusement. Along the creature’s underside its black skin grew somehow darker, and within the folds he could see strange protrusions. Arms and legs, both large and small, reaching out from within the belly of the beast, as if to plead for mercy. Its mouth opened and shut absently, jaws dripping with blood. Edward gripped his blade tightly, pulling the sword back into a striking position.
“What are you?” he asked. There was no answer. Only silence. “What do you want, foul creature?” Still no answer. Edward called once again, this time quietly, as if to himself rather than the abomination before him. “Why do you haunt me?” Before the words could leave his lips the creature was silent. Everything was silent, the world around him halting its activity, as if waiting with baited breath for the creature’s response. With a rush of wind and a fiendish yelp, the abomination began to moan. A breathy, sickly scream, which seemed to suck the very life from within him, filled the air. Yet the sound did not issue from the creature itself, but from within Edward’s mind. He winced, holding his hands to his ears and shaking with pain. The sound grew louder and louder, striving to break free of its constraints and back into the air. Amidst a sea of mental turmoil, one word formed within the young man’s brain.
“Inevitable.”
Then it stopped. The pain, the sound, the eerie stillness. The two figures looked at one another, still registering the unexpected moment of serenity. Then, with a feral croak and a barbaric cry, they leapt at one another.
The rain fell like tears that morning. Tragedy had struck the castle of Highhall and the Raven’s Guard were in disarray. At the base of the castle walls, in a bloody mass of flesh and bone, two bodies were found. They were guardsmen, soldiers of the night’s watch, both young, able-bodied warriors. It was inexplicable and so rumors had begun to spread.
Perhaps they were rivals, dueling to settle a quarrel. Perhaps they were friends, lost to an unfortunate accident. Perhaps one was mad. Perhaps they both were. Perhaps they were attacked. Perhaps they had chosen this bloody escape.
No one would ever know. No one could. There were no witnesses, no final notes, no single shred of evidence, save for a series of reports from a young watchman. Sightings of a mysterious figure, an eldritch horror which roamed about the castle grounds in the dead of night. Ever-vigilant, ever-seeking, inevitable.
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