In the Wall

Join Rosamund, a Fenblithian Trader, as her nights spent inside the Wall of Riestaten are disrupted by unsettling nightmares. Written in 45 AS.

 

I am a Trader – a Scriber, to be precise –, not a Hunter. But, since I was unfortunately at the heart of the Beast-spurred drama that ended Fenblith’s diplomatic mission to Riestaten, I have been asked to give a report for the Hunters’ Archives nonetheless.

 

We were in Wandorf, the largest and most influential town in Riestaten, on account of it being the one presiding over the river gate that decides which ships enter and exit the region. Our goal, to put it bluntly, was to convince the Riestaters to become more reasonable in their trading with Iseron, Modland, Waynairde, and Biaupier. As it stands, I do not think we managed, but that is neither here nor there.

 

I won’t waste too much ink on describing the traditions and beliefs of Riestaten and how they differ from ours. Suffice to say that the Riestaters firmly believe that sex is a central factor in determining the kind of work someone should be performing, with men taking sole ownership of positions of political leadership.

 

Distasteful as this is, it would not be much of a problem in and of itself. However, the Riestaters expect their trading partners to adjust to them, their men wishing only to deal with other men. Because we are dependent on Riestaten for grain, we have obliged them until now, but it has been a point of contention in Iseron, Modland, Waynairde, and Biaupier. To add to the tensions, the Riestaters are well aware of the value of their grain, and have historically charged extortionate prices to feed their neighbours.

 

With Fenblith’s still incredibly rich Starsteel deposits allowing it to trade across the global network, it could be feasible for us to get grain from elsewhere and feed not only our own region, but our neighbours, too, undercutting Riestaten. Increasingly, we have been asked to do exactly that. The thing holding us back is that, demanding as they may be, the Riestaters are our allies in the struggle against the Dark Ones, and it would be beyond wasteful to allow their grain stores to rot while we take food from elsewhere.

 

Thus, we went upriver to Riestaten – a diplomatic mission with representatives from Iseron, Modland, Waynairde, and Biaupier, led by my mentor, Master Catherine of Fenblith – in hopes of convincing our proud neighbours to become more reasonable in their bartering.

 

It was a tense affair. Both sides considered themselves to have the upper hand; Riestaten because it has veritable seas of grain within its massive, region-spanning Wall, our coalition because we could sail past those seas altogether. As such, both sides made a point of flexing their diplomatic muscles.

 

The Keepers of Riestaten – leaders of the so-called Servants who rule the region’s towns – refused us passage into the town of Wandorf, making us stay within the Wall they believe to be the physical manifestation of the Lord Father. It was perpetually dark, candles and torches our only lighting for days on end.

 

Meanwhile, not only had we selected Master Catherine to lead our coalition, we had purposefully selected women from all four of its member regions to join the negotiations. To this end, we had also brought a diverse contingent of Hunters, both in order to flash our Starsteel to remind the Riestaters of our trading power and to confront the Keepers with non-male warriors. All of them were members of the First, the now official Hunter Chapter of Fenblith itself, serving as the foundational example for the Chapters founded in other towns and cities. So formidable were they, that even after they had been forced to hand over all of their weapons, I still caught the men of the local builder-militia glancing at them nervously, eyeing their exquisite armour, freshly expanded with gorgets to protect their throats.

 

I could honestly spend pages describing the intricacies of the negotiations, largely held in our shared Deltastrait Tradespeak but sometimes breaking up into smaller groups using specific regions’ native tongues. However, that really isn’t the point of this report. It was important to give this context, though, as the tension hanging within the Wall fuelled the drama stemming from what happened during the nights.

 

The problem started with the sleeping arrangements. Alongside Wandorf, the Wall contains dozens of small rooms with single beds for the Riestaters’ guests. They are furnished prettily enough, a beautifully carved bed frame, desk, and chair providing some personal comfort. But they are also very cramped, and without windows they quickly turn unpleasantly musty, especially if you need to use the provided bucket to relieve yourself at night, even with the dried herbs hung from the ceiling.

 

Several of us – especially the Hunters, less used to prolonged stays in small rooms than my fellow Scribers and I – asked if we could not simply use the shared toilets intended for use during the day. Sadly, Master Catherine informed us that unless there was an emergency, she expected us to remain within our rooms until we were summoned in the morning. The Riestaters, she explained, made us sleep in individual rooms to prevent… untoward behaviour considered normal – and quite enjoyable – in Fenblith. Straying into the hallways would be considered scandalous by the Riestaters, whose builder-militia would still be about, and although the negotiations were consciously and even purposefully fraught with tension, this was the kind of thing the Riestaters would end negotiations over. Indeed, Master Catherine encouraged us to audibly lock our doors when going to bed, as a signal to our hosts that we intended to respect them, at least when it came to this.

 

You’ll understand none of us were too happy about this, but no one was so foolish as to go against Master Catherine. These were the sleeping arrangements we were given, and we would simply have to accept them, comfortable at least in the knowledge that although we were alone, no one could enter our rooms uninvited.

 

Or so I presumed.

 

I was already asleep, but I was woken by the sound of scratching and scraping from underneath my desk. I tried to see its source from my bed, but I had snuffed my candle, and the light crawling underneath my door, cast by the sconces on the hallway’s walls, did not reach far enough. And so I listened, trying and largely failing to hold in my breath so I could hear what was happening. 

 

I was terrified, my mind racing over the possibilities, and then… I woke. When someone knocked at my door, I gasped, but it was only one of the Riestater women, sent to wake me and clean my bucket and bedding.

 

The light outside my cell was blinding, and I felt dazed and drained, but I figured it must have simply been a nightmare, giving me a fitful sleep that left me poorly rested, made worse by the lack of daylight.

 

The second night, however, it happened again.

 

At this point, it was becoming apparent that I was not doing well. Julian, my dear friend and fellow Scriber, became quite worried, repeatedly asking me for more details on my nightmare, even after I had told him there was no more to tell.

 

Finally, he asked that dreadful question: what if it was a Beast?

 

It was a ridiculous suggestion. We were inside the Wall of Riestaten, probably the most formidable structure on the entire continent, built specifically to keep out Beasts. I told Julian he was creating his very own nightmares, now, and went to bed expecting my exhaustion to overtake me so completely that they would need to empty my bucket over my head to rouse me the next morning.

 

Instead, it happened again, and I woke utterly exhausted.

 

This time, it wasn’t just Julian asking after my well-being. Although everyone was feeling worn from the darkness and the constant negotiations, I was visibly beyond worn, and on top of suddenly struggling when having to switch languages, I was beginning to fall asleep mid-deliberation, prompting several other Scribers to ask after my health. Still, I refused to lend credence to Julian’s worries about a Beast visiting me at night.

 

That is, I refused to do so until I was approached by one of the Hunters.

 

Adept Norah had stood out to me right away. Even alongside the other Hunters, she struck a formidable figure, tall and broad-shouldered. She kept her hair in an intricate braid on the nape of her neck, revealing a symmetric pattern of geometric scarification protruding from underneath her gorget. She was, to me, the quintessential Hunter, and everything the Riestaters did not want women to be.

 

She was also my neighbour, sleeping in the room next to mine, and she shocked me by asking after who was visiting me at night.

 

I told her I had no idea what she was talking about. She looked askance at me, saying I had now woken her three times with the sounds of sudden movement and my creaking bed. She said she understood if I had found a Riestater to have some… clandestine fun with, but that it was clearly affecting my health, and that if I needed her to convince someone to leave me be, she would be more than willing to do so.

 

She said it with a smirk, but when she saw the horror and confusion in my face, it turned into a frown. I told her about my nightmares, how I heard scratching from underneath my desk before suddenly waking up in the morning, exhausted. Norah clucked her tongue and told me I should have told someone. I told her I did, but that Julian had just suggested it might have been a Beast, because he thought nothing else made sense.

 

She said he might be right.

 

I almost threw up at the thought, but told her that made no sense. After all, I was still alive – even uninjured – and I couldn’t imagine myself simply falling asleep and forgetting a Beast had entered my room.

 

Norah told me that over the past decades, Hunters had repeatedly discovered that there were certain shapes – sigils, she called them – that could warp our minds. They could make us feel exaggerated emotions or cause us to become disoriented. It was by no means a stretch, she said, that some minion of the Dark Ones – be they Beast or Darkheart – was capable of lulling me to sleep or making me forget I had seen them through the use of these sigils.

 

At that, I really did throw up. Thankfully, Norah’s Hunter’s reflexes allowed her to dodge my vomit, and she took care of me with a warmth belied by her impressive appearance. As soon as I had regained my composure, however, she took me to Master Catherine, informing her of her suspicions.

 

Master Catherine was unconvinced, I believe, but she agreed that I looked horrible and respected Norah’s expertise enough to raise the issue with our hosts. She took Pankratz, Keeper of Wandorf and with it the most powerful person in Riestaten, and his wife Kunegunde aside, informing them of my troubles and Norah’s worries.

 

They did not take it well. As our hosts, Pankratz and Kunegunde were responsible for our safety and comfort, respectively. Suggesting that they could have allowed a Beast to creep into my cell, not once but thrice, was taken as a grave insult.

 

With the negotiations hanging in the balance, I apologised, explaining I must have simply become somewhat delirious from sleeping poorly, something I lied I had struggled with in the past. With some grumbling, my apologies were accepted, and I was permitted to retreat to my cell.

 

Norah volunteered to accompany me, and she took me with her to our adjacent cells. Once there, she took a small stoppered tube made of metal from one of the pouches on her hips and showed it to me. She told me it was Wake Leaf, something the Hunters use when they have to push through exhaustion. I was to sleep now, but when everyone else went to bed, I was to snort a dose, and Norah would do the same in her cell. That way, whatever the Beast – or whatever it was – used to lull me to sleep and forgetfulness, we would be fighting it as best we could.

 

I asked what she was planning, and she grinned that she was going to come to my rescue, of course. She had no doubt the builder-militia would come running as soon as they heard her come to my aid, and either they’d help her slay the Beast or they’d fall into a stupor as I had and she would take their blades to finish the job herself. Just in case, she would tell her two female squadmates, who slept further down the hall, to sit ready as well. All I needed to do was take the Wake Leaf, wait, and trust her.

 

She looked deep into my eyes and asked if I could do that.

 

I swallowed, feeling my worries about the diplomatic implications of the Hunters breaking out of their rooms like that shatter underneath Norah’s gaze, and nodded without hesitation.

 

I slept well that day, but at night, after the others had gone to bed, I retrieved the small tube Norah had given me. Carefully, I took out the stopper, then snorted its contents.

 

It was as if the light of my candle suddenly burst into an inferno. I was sharply awake, more so than ever before. I went to snuff my candle and knocked it over onto my mattress. As I floundered to save myself from a fiery death, patting the fire out in a panic, I marvelled at the Hunters’ fortitude, allowing them to stay effective while under the influence of something like this. 

 

Then, I started waiting. Time passed in a hazed blur, the light leaking around the door doing nothing to appraise me of the hour as I struggled through the bizarre feeling brought on by the Wake Leaf. Finally, though, I heard something beneath my desk. My pulse spiked, sending blood rushing through my ears so fiercely I could no longer hear anything else as I jumped out of bed and backed towards the door.

 

Something shifted in the bottom of the wall, and a crack of light revealed itself. Then the crack turned into a beam as one of the large stones plopped gently onto the floor. Another followed, and another, forming a small passage into a hidden hallway behind the rooms, from which a small humanoid figure carrying a lit candle on a chamberstick now came crawling. Finally, I saw what had been visiting me at night.

 

A protruding potbelly was propped up by sticklike legs, forming a body the size of a child’s. A concave chest heaved with a softly rasping breath. It held its thin upper arms close to its body, its forearms held forwards. One hand was constantly furling and unfurling, fondling the air, while the other held on to the chamberstick. The Beast’s head was large, the skin of its face wrinkled by folds that gave it a horridly jovial appearance marred by a deepening frown.

 

This was my Nightmare.

 

My head swam. The Beast’s skin, I now saw, was covered in intricately connecting whorls and spirals, forming a hypnotic pattern that I could barely look at without losing consciousness, even with the Wake Leaf and my rising fear making my blood rush so fiercely it took a moment to realise there was a pounding at my door.

 

Norah was yelling at me to open up. The Nightmare, going from confused to startled, turned to reveal a back ridged by protruding vertebrae and began crawling back into the passage. At the sight of it getting away, something in me sparked, and I spun around and unlocked the door.

 

I was flung onto my bed by the force with which Norah pushed her way into my room, flooding it with the hallway’s light. Her eyelids were pulled wide apart, her eyes glowing wetly in the light coming from the secret passage, the Wake Leaf clearly coursing through her as well.

 

In a black blur of motion, she leapt across the room, grasping the fleeing Beast by one of its thin ankles and pulling it forcefully back, causing it to drop its candle, which thankfully went out. Norah jumped back to her feet, and then a blackclad foot rammed into the Nightmare’s snout.

 

With a mewling gasp, the Beast scrambled towards me. I screamed, scurrying backwards into the furthest corner of my bed, but Norah pounced on the Nightmare before it could get to me.

 

Wrapping her arms around the Beast’s waist, she pulled the Nightmare against her tightly, lifting it in the air. Then, with wild determination, she arched her back, forcing her weight backwards and down so that she slammed the Beast’s head into the floor.

 

There was a commotion in the hallway. Footsteps came pounding closer, and two men of the builder-militia appeared just in time to see Norah once more grab the Nightmare by its ankles as it tried to get away, pulling it in to ram her elbow against the back of its head. They wore warriors’ faces as they appeared, but the moment they laid eyes on the Beast, their faces went slack, leaving them frozen, staring blankly at the struggle.

 

Norah cursed. The Nightmare was fighting back, now, clawing and biting at her throat, kept safe only by her new gorget. Another Hunter appeared, then another, both summoned by the noise, but they went as slack as the Riestaters the moment they saw the Beast. Norah growled she could only guarantee my safety for a little while longer, and told me to run while I could. I sobbed, fearing the moment the Beast got loose, but equally fearing moving past it to get to safety.

 

Then two more Hunters burst through the doorway, eyes wide and wet.

 

The squadmates Norah had told to sit ready came to her aid like a storm. They were on the Nightmare in less than a heartbeat, punching and kicking it as they pulled it away from their struggling Sister. Norah scrambled up, not even pausing to check herself for injuries as she spun around and went towards the frozen Riestaters.

 

She grabbed one of the builder-militia’s blades, pulling it free from its scabbard. The weapon, a knife the size of a short sword, reflected the light as only Starsteel can.

 

Norah stepped back into the room as her Sisters forced the now screaming Beast onto its back. It struggled and spat, but the Hunters were relentless, pinning it to the floor of my room as Norah raised the blade with its tip aimed downwards.

 

For a single, unsettling moment, all was still as the Nightmare gasped for enough breath to let out another scream.

 

Then Norah rammed the blade down, staking it through the Beast’s concave chest and into the floor beneath, tearing its final breath out of its lungs in nothing more than a dry choke.

 

The moment the Beast died, both the builder-militia and the Hunters unfroze. They blinked, looking at each other in varying degrees of anger and confusion. Then they saw the Nightmare as Norah’s Sisters got up from the floor and stepped away from the growing puddle of ichor, and their faces turned to horror instead, curses and accusations coming soon after.

 

Norah ignored them as she stepped over the Beast and came over to me, still huddled into the furthest corner of my bed. She was sweating. Her breath came in forceful pants. Her face was covered in cuts and bruises, some blood trickling from her nose. But when she hugged me, telling me I was safe, I forgot about the horror I had gone through, forgot about the diplomatic disaster unfolding just outside my room, and simply felt safe.

 

The Beast was dead.