Footsteps in the Bog

The smell of pine needles and damp earth gave way to the stench of the bog as he rode east. He'd sold pelts in Westhills, using the coin to buy a sturdy mule better suited to the marshy ground of his ancestral lands. The animal, which he'd named 'Mudlark', flicked its ears at every buzzing insect, its plodding steps a monotonous rhythm that mirrored the turmoil in Egeus's own mind.

The man with the dirty blonde hair was deep in thought, he hadn't been back in five years. He'd sworn an oath that he'd never let these lands poison him again.

Yet here he was slowly working his way back to the lands he wished to never see again.

The lands of his family. The lands of bandits.

At least this time he wasn’t venturing back alone. The ranger had changed much since that fateful day where he had abandoned his family and their wretched business. The pincushion parishioner incident was the last straw.

He had he grown since then, physically and as a person, and now he had actual friends that rode with him.

Beside him on a hardy brown-and-white pony rode Eilwen, the dwarf woman was a firebrand of a cleric dedicated to Desponea the cat goddess with her ever-present bless’d mace, Aurokern , at her side. The gods could not have chosen a better hair color for the dwarf, her hair fiery red.

Worshipping animals like cats in a burrowing society like dwarves was looked down on, but Eilwen found that Desponea looked after her followers well - even if they were deemed heretics: especially if they were homeless and wandering.

“I never asked you to come with me,” Egeus grumbled.

“I know sugar,” the dwarf replied. “But I came along anyway, didn’t I?”

“And you brought Finlex along with us too.” Egeus sighed.

Finlex, a darkhaired human in a dark gray tunic, flashed a sheepish grin as he tried to stay on his mule.

“Oh, come on… we’re going into a den of thieves. You need a thief to counterthieve… ‘counterthieve’! Hey I just coined a new word!”

Egeus grumbled.

Finlex drove him insane, always trying to get him to ‘make small talk,’ as he called it - which the ranger despised - and the thief never knew when to shut up. Still, the trickster had proven his worth on more than one occasion.

Egeus held up a hand as he pulled on the reigns of his mount.

“What is it?” Eilwen asked, partially drawing her mace.

“Territory marker,” Egeus said pointing to a deer skull hanging from a tree with an arrow through the eye socket, a bow insignia had been scrawled on the bone in charcoal. Eilwen took charge.

“It’s on foot from here then. Finlex, cover our rears. Egeus, you know the way still?”

The ranger nodded. “Like it was yesterday.”

Finlex swung his dark hair in front of his eyes.

“Like it was yesterday,” Finlex mocked, shifting his voice down two octaves.

“Don’t chide me, thief!” Egeus snapped. “This is where I lost my home... or rather, discovered I never had one.”

Eilwen reached up and put her burly hand on the ranger’s forearm. He patted it.

“I never thought I’d be back here,” Finlex continued. “I swore to the gods above and below that if I ever was dragged back here -”

“That’s enough, Finlex!” Eilwen whispered loudly, her eyes glowing white with clerical power.

“You’re lucky you’re useful, thief,” Egeus said darkly as the trio entered the woods.

“Every tree, every leaf, was a reminder that no matter how I had grown, I was still drawn back to this place of misery...”

“Can it, already!” Eilwen grunted. “They might have scouts out here.”

Finlex didn’t reply; he just vanished, much to Egeus’s relief. Not for the first time he wondered why he was friends with the annoying rogue.

Egeus carefully stepped around a snare, as the image of an old, lost man caught on one such snare returned to him, the laughter as his family took shots at the swinging traveler with their bows.

Eilwen gazed up at him, her mouth twisted but she held her tongue. Now was not the time or place. The ground was wet and spongy while the mud stank of decay.

Squat huts on stilts above the murky waters loomed before them, as they exited the reeds.

“Well, well, look what the bog barfed back up,” a feminine voice said.

A girl with short dark hair stared down from a tree branch, arms folded with a bow over her shoulder. “Welcome home little cousin.”

“Cherisse. Still alive against the gods’ wishes, I see,” Egeus growled.

“Why in the hells are you back here? Who’s the short, broad, orc?”

Eilwen growled. “Come down here and say that, missy!” She said, warming up her mace.

The girl chuckled, now upside down and hanging from the branch - her long, dark hair hanging like a rug.

“I’m close enough - your breath probably smells worse than a bog… Hey aren’t you supposed to have a beard?”

Eilwen huffed striding forward before Egeus put an arm up.

“Pack away that tongue, Cherisse, and hold on, Eilwen - I’m here for a reason.”

Eilwen eased back reluctantly as Cherisse giggled. Egeus used to find her funny when they played together.

Now she just seemed cold and mean.

“I like her style,” Finlex said. “But she looks like she’s been eatin’ tree bark since she was a kid.”

Cherisse looked down surprised. Finlex waved.

“By the way, your other lookout was sleeping on the job,” the thief said smiling.

“Gave him a rap on the head to sleep a bit longer.”

Cherisse sneered, “Look at you Egeus, making friends. I always figured you’d die alone in the woods.”

Eilwen stepped forward. “Alright, enough. Get to the matter at hand, Egeus.”

Cherisse chuckled, “My, she’s got you on a leash doesn’t she?”

Ignoring the jibe, Egeus cleared his throat and spoke. “I want to talk to father.”

Cherisse smiled, still hanging upside down. “What if he doesn’t want to talk to you?”

“I don’t care what he wants. I need answers.”

“And what if he can’t talk to you?”

Egeus drew in his breath, “Cherisse please. We’ll find a way to communicate. Now let me see him.”

She smiled like a cat, still swinging. “The only way you’ll see him... is in your dreeeeeams...”

“Stop playing games!”

This time, Finlex put his hand on his friend’s shoulder and shook his head gravely.

Cherisse chuckled. “The gibbet claimed him, claimed him, claimed him...”

Egeus clenched a fist, he’d always imagined him returning home and finally confronting his father, telling him what he thought of him. But that wasn’t the reason he came, now he’d been robbed of that.

“Some family,” Eilwen muttered.

Eilwen put a hand on Egeus’s back, the ranger took a breath.

All their parting words and oaths and swears and angry arguments had dissipated into air and turned to dew on the noose.

“Who is the chieftain then?” Egeus asked. He had to press on, regardless.

“Why should I tell yoooooou?” Cherisse taunted in her mock little girl voice.

Finlex laughed, “Hey, uh, is she single? I might be warming up to your crazy cousin. Say! Can we have a clue?”

Egeus rolled his eyes.

“A game!” Cherisse chirped. “Of course! There were four founding brothers…”

Cherisse stated. “Now there are only two.”

“Your father?” Egeus asked. “Uncle Torvald died in a caravan raid before I left. So that only leaves Dagmar, and Ferdinand, and Ferdinand was never that smart.”

Cherisse flipped rightside up on the branch and rested her head on her folded arms, her long raven hair dripping off her head in waterfalls. Finlex couldn’t help notice her curves - and her acrobatics.

“Too easy,” she said.

“You can play cards against Finlex if you let us talk to him. You both cheat so it’d be a fair match.” Egeus huffed.

“I do... not...” Finlex muttered. “...Well, not all the time.”

“Oooh, deal, deal, deal!” Cherisse chirped.

The lithe girl leapt down from the tree Eilwen glowering at her.

“Follow me then,” Cherisse grinned.

Eilwen stuck close to Egeus. “You okay?”

“Ask me later, Eilwen.”

“Pa! The wayward nephew’s back, and he’s got a girllllllfriend.”

The town, hidden in the bog, had barely changed since Egeus was a child - running between huts with Cherisse and stealing the meager supplies that the subsistence farmers had collected in the springtime - avoiding traps and enchantments.

The little games were part of what made him who he was, though he would never admit it. Despite his disdain, the skills he learned in the bandit family had helped him survive and thrive, and he’d found a better use for them.

A large man with an unruly beard and holding a fine arming sword and wearing a bear-wolf cloak three times too big for him - no doubt all stolen from caravans - stumbled out of his hut, a jug of something in his hand.

“Egeus! You got some nerve coming back here.”

“Uncle Dagmar...” Egeus greeted darkly, hands resting on his hatchet and hunting knife.

“Talk fast boy... ‘Fore we feed the bog with your blood.”

The ranger sighed before he spoke, “Who’s still alive?”

“That’s what you want to know?” Dagmar blinked. “Why do you even care, you left: Told us you didn’t care what happened to us.”

“So mean,” Cherisse sniffed.

Egeus didn’t know how else to say it. “I heard Beua’s voice in an old church.”

Dagmar stiffened. “Don’t bring my son into this!”

Eilwen stepped forward. “Listen to him. Whatever was down there was not Beua, but it had it’s voice.”

Dagmar and Cherisse shared a look.

“You know something,” Eilwen prodded, “don’t you?”

“And what if we do?” Cherisse said.

“Because we’re trying to save your hides!” Finlex said, shocking even himself.

Dagmar gulped and regarded the dwarf. “You’re perceptive, cleric.”

Finlex had a hand on his dagger, but slowly eased his hand away from the hilt.

Egeus sighed. “Can we discuss this like relatively civilized people? Maybe?”

“Civilization has changed you, cousin,” Cherisse said. “I don’t like it.”

Dagmar lowered his sword, “Perhaps… Clan McHortel tries to solve its own problems, but… we may have a problem we don’t know how to solve.”

Egeus set his jaw, “What is it?”

“Come inside.” Dagmar muttered, sheathing his sword and ducking into the hut.

Cherisse sauntered past Finlex intentionally bumping him with her hip as she passed.

Egeus hesitated to enter after them as Eilwen gripped his hand in hers. “Together. I’m here for you darling, no matter what happens.”

Egeus nodded. “Together.”

“I’m with you too, buddy!” Finlex grinned.

Egeus gathered his courage, he would face his past finally, with friends by his side.

He went inside.

Dagmar’s hut was cluttered and smelled of stale ale, leather, and something acrid like burnt herbs. A single tallow candle sputtered on a crude wooden table, its light making the shadows of the room’s occupants dance like bog-will-o'-the-wisps.

Dagmar sat on a stool, the jug of home-brew forgotten beside him. He scrubbed a hand over his face, the bravado from moments ago evaporating like swamp mist in the morning sun.

Cherisse, now perched on a barrel, kicked her legs idly.

Dagmar spoke, “Remember how we founded this little kingdom Egeus?”

“At the point of a blade.” Egeus replied.

“Ah, yes, but also… remember there used to be others living here, those long ago times. You remember the tales? The sunken city?”

Finlex’s face went pale, the humor and sarcasm draining away faster than a drunk’s tankard.

Eilwen sucked in her breath as she stepped forward, “The Sunken city? The place the gods shunned and drowned beneath the floodwaters?”

“You’ve heard tale too, eh, cleric?” Dagmar asked.

“I am in charge of my parish library,” Eilwen said with pride. “And have read a good portion of the books.”

“Good for you,” Cherisse snarked.

Eilwen glared before continuing. “So the marsh is on the edge of the sunken city then? It exists?”

Dagmar nodded. “It exists, on days of drought you can see what remains more clearly jutting from beneath the water. And sometimes - if you know how to swim - you can brave the murk, and the crocs, and find something extraordinary.”

Dagmar’s eyes settled on Egeus, “Your father found such a thing. Perhaps… he should have let it lie.”

“Indeed he should have!” Eilwen exclaimed before Egeus could make a remark. “The wickedness within that city knew no bounds, the very stones tainted.”

Cherisse giggled, Dagmar scoffed, “We figured we were already rotten. What would we have to fear? How wrong we were. What Richard found gave us insight, but the city wants something in return, we’re all damned.” Dagmar stared at Egeus, “Even you.”

Egeus folded his arms, “I forge my own path.”

“Soooo, brave.” Cherisse cackled.

Finlex chuckled, “He doesn’t talk much, but when he does it’s usually dramatic and brooding.”

Cherisse giggled. “Yeah he’s been like that since I can remember.”

“I hate both of you,” Egeus grumbled.

Eilwen stepped forward, “I don’t believe Egeus is damned, but I do believe whatever…” she paused looking for the right word. “Remains, has reached tendrils beyond the marsh.”

“Bold!” Cherisse chided. “I see why you like her.”

Dagmar started to speak when there was the sound of a horn blowing outside.

“Silas! That’s the warning alarm.” Dagmar shouted. “Where was he posted?”

Cherisse’s face went pale, her playfulness gone as the words slowly dripped out of her mouth - as cold as glacier water.

“The water’s edge.”