"Consequence of Unbelief" by Rachel ´Saya´ Lamine

Consequence of Unbelief
By Rachel Lamine

PART I

There was a stranger in Arthos.  He had come, riding in on horseback, dressed imperiously in the fine garb of the Royals of the North, a long cape swirling majestically around his expensive jerkin and breeches.  Tall black boots of the best leather under Magarian rule adorned his feet, coiling luxuriously up his calf and climbing to a point at the knee.  Wide golden rings embellished each of his fingers, some inlaid with sapphires and diamonds and other precious stones, speaking of immeasurable wealth.  In each ear a silver stud poked from the earlobe, glinting beneath his black hair pulled back in a simple pony tail.  In an unorthodox fashion, he rode alone.  It was as if he were asking to be assaulted, for the roads around the sea were riddled with bandits and vagabonds.

He rode into the streets of Arthos, head held loftily, dark eyes perusing the crusty fisherman, their old carts piled high with silver fish, in regal disdain.  He reined in his horse as he neared the only inn in town—a dank tavern proclaiming the name of “Fisherman’s Bane”.  The words were scrawled hastily across an old piece of drift wood, while above, an ominous sketch of a strange, tentacled creature dominated the proclamation.  He swung down haughtily from his black horse, glancing about distastefully, before tying the animal to the tethering post.  His manner bespoke a conceitedness that the people immediately despised.

Inside, the décor was nonexistent.  A long wooden counter was situated at the back of the room while to the left four or five bare tables encompassed with lopsided chairs ranged about.  A door, aged and cracked with a rare brass door knob, sat at the back of the tavern, and could only lead to the four unkempt guest rooms upstairs.  The Stranger’s eyes, so used to the wealth and luxury of the Noble Houses in the capital city, were horror-struck by the site of this small, dirty abode.

An old man was seated wearily at the back of the room; his eyes drooped as if asleep, when in truth he was more alert than a wide-eyed toddler.  Many villagers whispered that he was addled in the brain from old age and long years on the open sea, and so he let them suppose what they wished, while hearing everything that was done and said in the village.  He liked it that way, and no one bothered him but his daughter’s son, whose silent company was a welcome treat on the lonely sea.  Now, he scrutinized the Arrogant Stranger as he spoke briskly with the inn keeper, aristocratic lips pressed together in a grim line.

“Would you like a room, sir?” The Inn-Keeper drawled, his grizzled eyes scrutinizing the Stranger distrustfully.  Not many outsiders arrived in Arthos, and those who did were generally drifters too lazy to pick up a job, or bandits seeking quick money.  A man as high-standing as this one was a rare site in the village.  The Old Man understood the Inn-Keepers distrust entirely.

“No,” he said, his voice loud and commanding in the quiet of the room.  “I have no wish to stay in a place so filthy.  I would most likely find lice in the beds.”

The Inn-Keeper’s weathered face hardened and he crossed his arms over his chest in defense.  “I can assure you, my proud sir, that there are no lice in my Inn.  If you have no interest in a room, then perhaps you had better leave.  I do not allow pompous posh-bags like you bad-mouthing my place.  If it is good enough for others it should be good enough for you.”

The Arrogant Stranger’s jaw tightened, and the Old Man watched as a look of outrage flashed across his dark features.  He was young and unused to life outside his sheltered Noble Houses.  Out here, alone, he had little standing with the people of Arthos.  “Under other circumstances I could have you jailed for such lack of respect,” he hissed, “but as it is, I have come not to pick a fight, but to gather information.”

“You do a superior job of peaceful inquiry, my good sir,” the Inn-Keeper muttered sarcastically.  “What is it you wish to know?  Not that I guarantee I will tell you much, given your cold greeting.”

“I come to ask about the sign above your door, ‘Fisherman’s Bane’ and the tentacled creature.” He paused, as if thinking. “Does such a monster exist?”

A laugh fractured the Inn-Keeper’s mouth, the thick lips parting to reveal a gap where his front teeth had once been.  “That?” He exclaimed. “To find the answer to such a question, I am not the one to ask.  Everyone knows of and fears the creature, but only one man knows how to find it.”

“And who would that be?” The Stranger asked, an annoyed expression churning across his angular face, but at the same time he seemed genuinely intrigued.

“The Old Man in the corner there.  Many a time he has ventured out to sea and come face to face with the creature.  Many say he went crazy out there, but everyone knows the monster is real.”

The Stranger’s eyes traveled across the room and came to rest on the Old Man in the corner.  His white hair and beard were long and tangled—it was obvious he found no use in a comb—and his skin, sun tanned and wrinkled, taking on the semblance of the toughest horse leather.  His eyes were still half closed as his chin sagged against his bony chest.  To the two occupants of the tavern it seemed as if he was asleep.

“Thank you,” the Arrogant Stranger said, eyeing the Old Man skeptically, “but he appears to be sleeping.”

At this, the Old Man lifted his shaggy head, his clear eyes catching that of the Arrogant Stranger’s.  He smiled, showing a line of crooked teeth, yellowed and cracked by age.  “I am awake,” he said, allowing his jaw to slacken.  “And you wish to know of the monster.”

“And what do you claim to know of this monster?” the Arrogant Stranger asked, his eyes speaking volumes of his contempt for this unruly fisherman.  He doubted the Old Man knew anything.  It was dubious, since he looked so out of his wits, his mouth hanging open and a trickle of drool forming at the corner.

“I know more than you, idiot boy.” The Old Man smiled again as the Arrogant Stranger’s eyes widened in shocked irritation.

His mouth set firmly as he recovered himself, before responding.  “You, Old Man, are completely senile.  Why should I listen to you?”

“I do not know,” the Old Man shrugged, settling back into his chair and letting his eyelids droop, “You wanted to know of the monster.  I know more about it than anyone on the coast.  I have seen it with my own eyes.  It is a dangerous thing, not something an aristocratic prig should be messing with.”

The Arrogant Stranger’s fingers twitched in fury.  “How should you know what I wish to do once I find the creature?  I don’t even believe in its existence, for all I have heard are wives tales and the accounts of foolish old fishermen with bowel movement complications.”

The Old Man cackled, his eyes flying open as he sat up to clutch his stomach at the hilarity.   “You, boy, have not the capacity for insults, so do not attempt them when they are so bad.  And as for the monster, you have not lived here as long as I.  I know the ways of the sea, for she is like a mother to me, more so than my fleshly mother who was taken by her when I was just a lad.  She is full of unknown creatures, far larger and more deadly than we can ever imagine.  She only releases her children upon the land when she has no use for them, and then they come up.  Those are the pitiful ones, the ones we see.  They are the smallest and most unwanted of their kind, and at the surface they find some sense of victory, because they can so easily feast upon us.  They can so easily dominate our world when they so miserably fail in theirs.  They are the disowned children of their mother, whom they love and hate just as much as we ourselves love and hate her.”

A look of utter disgust melted across the Arrogant Stranger’s face.  His dark brows were raised skeptically.  “Old Man, you are much more insane than I originally thought.  I know of the stories, but I do not believe them.  Not until I have seen the creature with my own eyes will I give them any credit.”

“You are vain, my friend,” the Old Man mused with a shake of his head, “but I am curious.  How are you to go about finding a beast that does not exist?”

“I shall gather information to its whereabouts as if it does exist, and I have my doubts about that, and pay a fisherman to take me to sea,” the Stranger shrugged, his eyes watching the Old Man narrowly.

“And what kind of man would chose money over his life, I ask?  None would willingly set out in search of the beast, for when it has been found it will strike and drag you under.”

“But you have seen it for yourself, or so you say.  If this is true, then why are you sitting before me today?”

A pained expression flickered across the Old Man’s face, his eyes growing distant and sad.  “I saw the monster exactly three times, each a year apart.  Every time, it took the son I had with me, starting with the eldest.  My three boys were stolen from beside me, dragged into its parrot’s mouth by its writhing arms.  Their screams still haunt my dreams each night.”

“Then why did you not pursue it, and destroy the fiend that took your sons?  You have more reason to be bitter against it than other men.”

“Yes, I have more reason to be bitter, yet I am not.  It stole my sons, yet I understand its bitterness.  Its own mother had cast it away, like a discarded play toy, and it was bitter at the world.  It wanted to take from me what had been taken from it.  Its actions were not justified, true, yet I could not return evil with evil, for that brings about nothing good.”

The Arrogant Stranger watched the old man intently for a moment, his dark gaze weighted and calculating, as if digesting this knew knowledge.  Then he sneered.  “Whatever, Old Man.  You seem like you know enough about this beast.  I shall pay you one-hundred in gold if you take me to the place this alleged monster stole your sons.”

 The Old Man’s eyes closed, but his head did not drop to his chest.

“Old Man, I said one-hundred gold.  Yes or no?”

Still, the Old Man said nothing.  His knotted fingers were clenched tightly in his lap.

“Damn it, Old Man, I’ll give you two-hundred gold if you will just give me an answer!”

“Forget him,” the Inn-Keeper called from behind the counter, “he’s loony.  Off his rocker.  Don’t listen to him.  We know the beast is real.  Just take my advice and get out of here before you get yourself killed.”

“I’ll take you then,” the Old Man’s voice was feeble as he spoke, his lips scarcely moving.  His eyes remained tightly shut.  “But no money.  I will not take your money for such a task as this.  Either you or I will—”

“If you value your life at all you won’t do it!  It’s suicide.”  The Inn-Keeper said.

“—die if we attempt to go out there.  If we find the monster.  But I shall take you, and maybe then you will believe.”

“It’s suicide.  Suicide.”

“Shut up, Inn-Keeper,” the Arrogant Stranger snapped, “I am trying to think.”

The Inn-Keeper swore and slammed his fist on the counter, but he did not utter another word.  The Old Man’s eyes remained closed, his leather hands clenched stiffly in his lap.  The shadow of a smile danced across his face.  The Arrogant Stranger stood before the Old Man, towering far above him, his body rigid, his face strained with indecision.  Suddenly, he relaxed, his elegantly ringed fingers reaching down to smooth his leather jerkin.

“Old Man,” he commanded, his voice once again loud in the dark room, “I do not believe in the existence of the sea monster that stole away your sons, but I shall go with you, for my curiosity has been piqued beyond my power to resist.”

“Very good then.”  The Old Man smiled and stood shakily to his feet.  “Tomorrow at dawn I shall meet you at the wharf where my boat is tied.  And after tomorrow, then maybe you will believe.”