XXXIV - Wolfsbane

  It was late morning when Finn came to her. The afternoon was quickly drawing near, but the dreariness of the winter day clung to the air and dulled any warmth that the strengthening sun may have provided.

  He approached her while she was eating an early lunch, an aged book in his hands. “I’ve come up with an idea,” he said.

  Sybil sat at a low table in Avice’s forge. She finished her bite of dried meat and turned her full attention to him. “Regarding what?”

  “Regarding the lycanthrope. I have an idea for how we can slay it.”

  Sybil frowned at this, and Finn placed the book in his hands on the table next to her meal. She had to move the plate aside to allow the tome enough space to be opened. Its spine creaked as he brought the thing to life.

  “I found this on one of Madam Avice’s shelves,” he explained while he leafed to the appropriate page. “It’s a bestiary containing many different monsters and their weaknesses. There are multiple pages on the Werewolf.”

  He stopped on a page that included a crude painting of the creature, as well as several paragraphs of text. “In addition to silver, the book also mentions a plant called wolfsbane, which is said to weaken lycanthropes upon contact.” He turned the page again and revealed a small painting of the plant, which was depicted as a flower with thin, vibrant petals of scarlet and violet. “The book says that wolfsbane grows in wetlands, and most commonly blooms during the winter. There is bound to be plenty of the plant in the swamp behind Fenwick!”

  “And you wish to go out there and find some?”

  Finn nodded eagerly. She had never seen him so excited. “Of course! It could be just the thing we need to finally defeat the lycanthrope!”

  Sybil frowned again. “Perhaps we should wait until Mr. Albescu returns. He said I should continue my training until he gets back.” When she saw he was unconvinced, she went on. “And besides, I doubt Madam Avice would be alright with you leaving the village on your own…”

  “I’ve done what Madam Avice has wanted me to do for months on end,” he said, his voice suddenly sharp. Clearly Sybil had struck a nerve. “It’s high time I do what I want to do.”

  “I’m not sure she sees it that way,” Sybil said. “She feels responsible for your safety, and would certainly blame herself should any harm befall you.”

  “But no harm shall befall me,” he said, “and Madam Avice will never even know we were gone. She will be in town for the rest of the day. We can return well before she does and she will be none the wiser.”

  “I don’t know…”

  “Please, Sybil,” he said. “I will do whatever it takes to help slay the werewolf, even if it means going against Madam Avice’s wishes, but I do not think I have the courage or the strength to do it alone. So will you help me?”

  Sybil hesitated for a long while. The more time that passed, the more difficult it became for her to turn him down, until she finally heard herself sigh and say, “Very well. But we’d best make it back here before either of our mentors do.”

  “Thank you, Sybil!” Finn said, suddenly beaming at her. “We should be off now if we want to be back before evening. I know a gap in the stockade that we can take to get there more quickly, and also to avoid passing through the gate and raising the suspicion of any of the guards.”

  “Alright,” she said, “just give me a moment to gather my weapons. We hardly know what we will encounter in the swamp, and I want to make sure I am adequately prepared.”

  “Do you suppose I should arm myself as well?”

  For whatever reason, the thought of Finn armed with a weapon made her feel strangely uncomfortable, but she decided that it was better than the alternative. She offered a reluctant nod. “I suppose a dagger would suffice.”

  Finn returned the nod, then went off to collect a blade. By the time he returned, a satchel slung over his back and a dagger strapped to his hip, Sybil had already gathered up all of her own equipment.

  The young man collected the bestiary, placed the book into his satchel, and then together they started for the forge’s exit. When they were outside, he turned and looked at her briefly. “Come. It’s right this way.”

  Finn led his companion through the outskirts of Fenwick and into a sparse copse that bordered the village’s stockade. When they reached the wall of wood, the youth began to tug at a number of the palisades until he found a loose length of lumber, which, with Sybil’s help, he was able to move out of the way, revealing a thin aperture in the stockade that served as a portal to the outside world. The space beyond was dark and gloomy, and it was evident that the canopy of trees behind the village made an adamant effort to block out a great deal of the sunlight that fought so desperately to make its way to the hungry, light-deprived ground.

  “How do you even know about this?” Sybil asked.

  “Madam Avice and I will take this way to go gather wood for her forge on occasion,” Finn said. “The Plague-fearing guards can’t force us to wait at the gate for hours on end if they don’t know we ever left.” He smiled eagerly again. “It’s a short walk through here to the swamp. Are you ready?”

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Sybil did not think that she was; in fact, she did not think that he was ready either, nor was she sure that he ever would be, but knowing that it was too late to turn back, she returned his smile with a weak one of her own and nodded. “I’m ready.”

  And with that, they took their first steps out of Fenwick, and into the murky embrace of the gloom.

  ___

  Hours passed. Time crawled by. Vlad felt various parts of his body fall asleep and regain consciousness as he continued to monitor The Dusty Pumpkin from his spot in the adjacent alleyway. Never once, in all his time there, had Amabel Cook departed from that damnable building. She rarely saw visitors, and any that did arrive during Vlad’s watch departed fairly quickly, long before arousing any suspicion in the Plague doctor. As the afternoon bled into the early signs of evening, Vlad remained certain that Amabel and Gaston were currently alone in the tavern. And he suspected they would remain so for at least the rest of the day.

  Despite his concerns regarding the woman, Vlad knew that his watch of her establishment would soon have to come to an end. He had meant it when he had said he would only allow himself one more day to observe her before he abandoned this approach and formulated a new plan of action. He still believed her to be involved with the lycanthrope, but it was quickly becoming apparent that he would not be able to prove it through his current methods, and he knew that he could waste no more time toiling in the shadows of that alleyway when the nightly threat of the werewolf was only growing stronger with each rise of the strengthening Celestial Curtain. Soon, he feared, the beast would be made so powerful that he would be entirely incapable of slaying it in its transformed state, but if he could not discover its identity elsewise, he would have no choice but to combat it under such a circumstance. As time continued to pass and he remained in that same standstill, he felt himself grow less and less confident in his current approach, and he feared that his investigation into Amabel Cook would never bear any fruit.

  Which is why when she finally left her tavern in the early hours of that cold, quiet evening, he had no choice but to follow after her, despite the looming threat of the ever-sinking sun.

  ___

  Sybil had not known gloom until she had stepped foot into the gloom of that terrible swamp. Darkness reigned there, rivaled in its intensity only by the putrid smell of various stages of decomposition and wafting gas. Weak trickles of light snuck beyond the gaps in the canopy and guided the apprentices through the more dense stretches of the thicket, but the inky murk of the wetland made certain to swallow up as much of the meager illumination as it possibly could. Sparse patches of snow littered the ground and glazed the tops of partially frozen ponds, but the majority of the frigid precipitation was kept at bay by the thick canopy above them. The swamp seemed like a completely different world from Fenwick, despite existing so close to the snow-kissed village, and Sybil felt as though she must have travelled significantly farther beyond the stockade than she realized. She existed in a realm of pure wilderness now, one even more alien and untamable than the weald surrounding the village in which she had, until very recently, spent her entire life.

  “Perhaps we should have brought a torch,” Sybil said as they walked. “It’s quite difficult to see in here.”

  “No need,” Finn said. “Our eyes will adjust well enough, and we will be out of this place well before nightfall. And besides—this stretch is among the darker parts of the swamp. It will brighten up a bit ahead when the canopy thins out some.”

  “It seems as though you have been back here fairly often with Madam Avice,” Sybil said. “Have you ever seen a flower that might look like Wolfsbane?”

  He shook his head. “Not that I know of. But then, this is my first time here in the winter. It’s likely the flowers were not in bloom during my previous visits.”

  She looked around at the swirling murkiness, and at the thick, dark trees with their long, gnarled roots which crawled up out of the various ponds and patches of soft, mushy ground. “Everything looks so similar in here. Are you certain we won’t get lost?”

  “You needn’t worry,” he said. “I’ve been back here with Madam Avice at least a dozen times. I’m sure I can properly navigate this place by now.”

  Sybil did not hold much confidence in his reassurance, but she opted to keep her thoughts to herself. The last thing she needed to do was upset him when he was her only means of finding her way out of that ever-twisting, ever-turning, ever-shifting swamp.

  “Is there anything in here that we need to worry about?” Sybil asked. “Aggressive animals, or anything of the like?”

  “None that you couldn’t handle,” Finn said. “If you can hold your own against the lycanthrope the way you did, then I’m certain you can slay near any other beast in the world.”

  Again she was doubtful of her companion’s words. “What about other dangers? I’ve seen plenty of upturned roots already.”

  “Those are easy enough to avoid so long as you keep an eye on where you step. A couple of times I’ve found myself stumbling into a quagmire that went up to my waist after wandering too far away from Avice, but I’ve always managed to free myself without too much trouble.”

  Sybil frowned. At last she put words to her misgivings. “Perhaps we should return to the village before we end up getting turned around out here—or worse.”

  “I’ve already told you that you needn’t worry,” he said. “If we turn back before finding wolfsbane, then we can’t guarantee that you and Mr. Albescu will be able to slay the lycanthrope.”

  “But we will be doing my mentor no favors if we get ourselves into trouble out here,” she said. “I’d rather not add to his list of woes. And besides, it’s very possible that by the time we return to the village with wolfsbane, Mr. Albescu will have already slain the lycanthrope, and our search will have been in vain.”

  Finn stopped, encouraging her to do the same. He turned and met her gaze, giving her his full attention. “Please, Sybil. This is my only opportunity to prove myself, and I beg you not to take that away from me. If I can contribute to the defeat of the werewolf, even in a small way such as this, then perhaps… then perhaps Mr. Albescu and Madam Avice will see my worth as a Plague doctor, and they will let me travel with you. To turn back now would be to tear that opportunity to pieces, and to scatter it into the wind.”

  As if answering his call, a winter gust swept through the thicket around them and tousled their hair and clothes as it whistled its way along the line of twisting, contorted trees. Sybil was at a loss for words; she understood that to press on only invited misfortune, but she could not very well rob Finn of his chance to escape from the life that he felt so terribly trapped within. In the end, all she managed to do was offer her reluctant agreement. “Alright. If it is that important to you, then we can continue on. I shall not suggest we return to the village again.”

  Finn smiled at this. His desperate countenance suddenly lightened into one of relief and joy. “Thank you, Sybil. That… that means a lot to me.”

  “Just so long as you promise that you will not get us lost.”

  “I promise,” he said. “Together we will find some wolfsbane, get out of this swamp, and put an end to the lycanthrope. And then our mentors will have no choice but to understand that I belong with you and Mr. Albescu, not stuck in Avice’s forge for the rest of my days, and I will be released to join the two of you in your hunt for Three-Fang.”

  Sybil returned his smile, but that same apprehension, which had never fully gone away, once again reared to the forefront of her tormented mind.