Black Blood

-B2- Chapter 27

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The only thing audible through the deathly quiet room is the rain against the window. The only thing illuminating the room is the black tall candle that has been half-burned for the past few hours. The smell of wood hangs in the room as if the planks were fresh from the forest.

My eyes glide for the hundredth time over the dozens of papers full of notes and sketches on the desk. Blood, black herbs, poison and, above all, a boy appears on every sketch. Each time the same boy, but each time just barely recognisable. As if the darkness hides his identity, his face. It's the puzzle I haven't figured out for months. The puzzle you can also call my daily nightmares.

They once started as a one-off dream that was too dark to really see anything. That was until they became more and more frequent; once a month, once a week, once every two days and now every night for a month. Each time that dark cold room reeking of death, the rats across the floor and all the sounds echoing against the stone walls.

I have heard the black-haired boy scream more times than I heard Elien cry as a baby. I have seen his eyes, veins and spine injected with a black liquid. Have seen him beaten up more times than I have and broken more boats than the average werewolf during his or her first shift. Every time those heavy shoes on the ground, the screams and laughter of the man doing it to him.

The dreams come too regularly and are too realistic to still think it's a coincidence. One time is a coincidence, two is strange and three is a pattern. For nights I've been staring at the papers, but I don't seem to be getting any wiser. I overlook something, but can't figure out what.

Frustrated, I tap the ash from the cigarette in the stone bowl and take another puff. It is one of the many puzzles that keep me awake at night, not that I would sleep much otherwise. My mind is too full and my body too burs to get much sleep. Despite the best bed in six and a half months, it is not granted to me.

The moment we left the elven village is now seven months and 27 deaths ago. Alisha, Novak and I had to ride non-stop for a month before we shook off the army of elves and my father. We lived for six months with the horses, in the forests and on the road. It was special when we had three meals a day and a roof over our heads. We got wet more often than dry, more often dirty than clean.

It was six months of living in mud, rain and darkness. We didn't see a living soul for days before we arrived in yet another deserted village. All my clothes could go into the dustbin. I ate more old and spoilt food than healthy and fresh. It was gruelling.

Despite the circumstances, the approach was effective. 27 names could be crossed off the list. One after another fell. It was like an express train we were living in. That express train also had its fun moments; long drunken conversations by the campfire, stargazing, deep conversations and seeing new pieces of the world. It was maintained by the company walking beside me.

After six months, all three of us were running out of energy and motivation. Alisha almost seemed to collapse due to the little sleep and lack of food. We had all lost kilos in the past few months. It was time to hit the road and seek rest. Sion Doele turned out to have the perfect home. After his death, he gifted us his wooden house on the outskirts of Vion, a small village bordering big mage towns. His wife and daughter moved to another house entirely voluntarily after his death and donated us their complete furnishings.

That was a fortnight ago now. Alisha seems to want nothing more than to sleep, Novak to eat and me, I like to lock myself in the study. The small room has only a wooden desk, a wooden chair and a wooden cabinet full of books. There are yellowed white curtains hanging in front of the small window and a small painting of a cow on the wall. I myself put Herbert on the floor. The sheep that walked with us for three weeks and then was slaughtered due to food shortages is remembered thanks to its fleece.

'Shouldn't you be sleeping?' I look up from the papers, pull my right sleeve further down and remove the cigarette from between my lips. Alisha stands in the doorway with a sleepy look, rubbing her eyes. All that hides her thin body is the nightgown and self-knitted cardigan.

'Yes, I'll be right there,' I lie. She makes a protesting sound and then walks on to the toilet. I take the last puff of the cigarette and push the fag out into the overflowing tray. Sighing, I look over the papers again, looking for what I am missing. Alisha walks past the doorway back to her room and seems to have completely forgotten I'm here.

'Who are you?' I mutter to one of the boys drawings. I grab a new cigarette from the tray, which I have to refill every night. The filter disappears between my lips as I hold the end in the flame of the black candle. As soon as the smoke reaches my lungs, I get up from the chair and walk to the window.

My eyes glide over the dark forest. If you look closely in the distance, you can see the edge of Vion. Novak is the only one who has visited it so far. The small village is filled with older mages who don't want to live in the cities. The houses are older, the land between them bigger and the stuff more authentic. It is a small village, about which little is known because nothing ever happens there. It is one of the last places my father would look for.

The moment I blow out the smoke and want to turn around, a bird lands in the tree opposite the window. The black raven spreads its wings, shakes its feathers and sits comfortably on the branch. It turns its head and looks at me without hesitation. The black beady eyes look straight at me as if they recognise me. I look back at the raven, but that doesn't seem to deter him.

Intrigued, I take a puff of the cigarette and keep looking at the raven. Ravens are not many in the green forest. It is mostly deer and rabbits that inhabit these woods. Ravens are more likely to find their home in the red forest. It remains a beautiful animal, large and imposing. I smile at the raven, raise my hand with the cigarette in it to greet it and return to my wooden chair.