Edmund Rigby was preparing to retire for the night when he saw the figure. The priest nearly missed it at first. He had just blown out his oil lamp when he suddenly caught movement outside his window.
And whoever it was looked like he was making his way to a specific spot in the churchyard - towards one particular gravestone in the back. Rigby knew the spot well. He had laid roses on it only two days ago.
Rigby frowned. True, the town council had issued the edict banning Moira MacDonald and her family from entering the church and its grounds a few months back, but Rigby worried that there was little support backing it. Indeed, most in town felt that it was none of their concern - or worse, agreed with the MacDonalds. If that Lady Explorer and her friends hadn't arrived when they did...
He sighed. There was another option possible. But he would have approached me first, Rigby thought. He wouldn't risk being seen...but maybe he heard about the trouble though?
The priest grabbed the cudgel out of the small cabinet nearby, praying silently that he wouldn't need to use it and crept outside after the stranger. His initial impression was correct. Whoever this stranger was now crouched by the gravestone of one Meghan MacDonald. Rigby raised his cudgel slightly. Fifteen, maybe twenty feet separated the two of them now.
"Stand up, step away from the grave, and turn around. I warn you, if you be one of Moira's kin, you're not welcome here and you know that! Let the dead have peace and get you gone..."
"And if I'm not?" The figure rose and took one step back, but did not turn.
"Little good comes from sneaking in the night..." Rigby grunted. "If you're seeking any sort of shelter, I can grant you that, but I'll have no trouble here. Now turn around and we'll talk properly."
"Talk and trouble come suddenly as the wind does..." chuckled the stranger. "And little will stand against them when they are fixed on their task. So it is for the wind, so it will be for me..."
"What are you talking about? Did Moira send you after all? Is that it then?" The priest asked, his face a mix of confusion and anger. "Who are you? What do you want here?!"
"That would be telling, man of Theus..." And Thalo finally turned around, a feral grin plastered on his face.
"...Theus..." Eyes widening in fear, the cudgel dropped from Rigby's grasp. He raised his hand in a desperate attempt to make the sign of the Prophets' Cross to try and stave off the creature in time.
The flash of silver was the last thing he ever saw.
The Sidhe returned his sword to its sheath. Humming softly a tune never heard by mortal ears, he picked up the dead man's cudgel, then returned to crouch by Meghan's grave. He crumpled one of the roses, letting the petals fall through his fingers one by one.
"How uselessly sentimental..."
Thalo scooped up a handful of dirt and brought it to his lips, tasting it. "Faint...but still there. The trace of tears did water this soil."
He pulled himself up to his full height, sneering slightly. With a deft motion, Thalo plucked the long, black feather from his hat, then cast it skyward. There was a brief, bright shimmer of white light and then the caw of a crow answered him.
"Fly on, my pretty. Fly to old Moira and her kin. Lead them back to this place of stillness and death. Much work still needs to be done this night and we'll see just how serious those mortals are in seeing it completed!"
Another caw cut through the night in response. Nodding in satisfaction, Thalo gripped the cudgel, calling upon the Glamour again. With the spade now in his hands, he thrust it into the dirt by the grave and began to dig...
***
"Rigby..." An ashen-faced Owen could only gape and stare at the cooling corpse sprawled out on the ground before him.
When they heard the screech of the unholy bird, Moira and her son had followed it, the sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach growing more and more as Owen recognized where they were being led to. The only comfort Owen could take was that he had made Colleen and his cousins stay home this time.
"You killed a priest!" Owen sputtered. "How could you do such a thing?!"
"Priest he may have been, but he was no kin of yours, MacDonald. And as such had no ward against my blade." In the blink of an eye the crow perched on Thalo's wrist shifted and the Sidhe was soon tucking the black featherback into his hat. "If your Theus had any concerns about his man's loss, surely he would have sworn his own oath with me!"
Owen finally managed to tear himself away from looking at Rigby's corpse, horror still clear on his face. Tentatively, he approached Moira, who was now staring down into the now-open grave.
"...my mother's bones..." she murmured, transfixed by the sight.
"Aye," said Thalo. "Bait."
"Mother, please...I beg you!" Owen pleaded. "Think about what we're doin' here! Murder an' desecration already...there'll be more blood this night if we continue on this mad quest. Think about our souls here!"
The old woman stared coldly at her son. "Rigby broke his vows to Theus the moment he sided with the monster over us. As for my mother..." Moira's voice was low and hoarse. "...her sins brought this upon herself! So do what you will with her bones, Birdcatcher. The bastard must be finally caught!"
With the hint of a smirk, Thalo crouched over the head of the eposed grave. He reached down and, with barely an effort, freed the skull from the rest of the skeleton. Thalo the hid the skull in the folds of his cloak.
"Have you the items I requested, crone?" Thalo's smirk widened when he saw Moira nod. "Good. Hand me the nut first. Then thread the needle."
The Sidhe easily cracked the walnut open with one fist, then plucked the nutmeats out from the shells and ate them. Owen just grimaced in disgust.
"All that just for a snack."
Thalo's sneer never wavered. He reached his hand out to the old woman, the to halves of the empty walnut now resting on his palm. "Take these and listen well, Moira MacDonald..." The Sidhe's voice now seemed to echo in the night. "Hold back your tongue on any curse or epithet, for between these shells now you must whisper the name -- the true name-- of your brother. Press them tight...let not the name escape! Press them tight and stitch the shells closed with yon thread. Then hand the nut back to me."
Owen could only watch in dread as he saw his mother snatch up the nut shells without hesitation. Following the Sidhe's orders, Moira's face was a picture of loathing as she whispered the name that had been anathema to her and her family for so many years. She then pressed the shells together as tightly as she could and began to stitch, the needle impossibly passing through them as easily as if they were linen.
"'Tis been many an age since I last hunted just for sport..." Thalo's eyes glinted eagerly as he was given the nut back. "I look forward to this!"
"Remember our terms, Sidhe..." Moira glared. "Prey he may be, but my brother must be brought to me alive! Else you'll not get your precious information for your pet Lord. Now go!"
But Thalo didn't. The playful countenance on his face suddenly shifted to one of primal rage, his once beautiful features now twisted and sharp. Try as he might, Owen was too frozen in fear to try to stand by Moira, who, for once in this endeavour, was finally cowering at the wrath of this inhuman creature.
"AND YOU REMEMBER THIS, MORTAL! I AM NOT SOME MEWLING MAGGOT SPRUNG FROM YOUR DECREPIT CROTCH SOLELY TO TAKE ORDERS FROM YOU...I AM THE HUNTER. I AM SIDHE! I WAS HERE BEFORE YOU EVER CRAWLED UPON THIS MISERABLE WORLD AND I WILL BE HERE WHEN LONG SINCE YOU'VE CRUMBLED TO DUST! "
Silver sword now drawn, the Sidhe took one step towards mother and son.
"REMEMBER I DO THIS TASK FOR MY OWN BENEFIT, NOT YOURS. AND YOUR PETTY QUEST FOR VENGEANCE WILL BE BUT DYING EMBERS ON THE HEARTH SHOULD YOU DARE CROSS ME! "
Thalo swept his free arm in front of him and bowed. When he rose, the Sidhe was smiling, as if nothing had happened and this was all just a pleasant conversation.
"But I trust you will remember now, Moira MacDonald, and question not my skill in the capturing of your errant brother."
The Sidhe bowed once more and then vanished in the night.
"Mother..." Owen finally ran to his mother. "Oh Theus, what have we done?!"
"He--he wouldn't have hurt us... Not with the oath we bound him to!" But shuddering now in her son's arms, Moira sounded uncertain. She shook her head. "Cursed Glamour, that's all...just some trick."
"He killed Rigby! He killed a priest in cold blood...we have to tell someone! We have to confess--"
"No." The hardness was back in Moira's voice. "We tell no one. We didn't kill him. We are not to blame. An' he deserved to die anyway."
"Mother!"
"You say NOTHING, Owen!" Moira hissed. "We are not to blame!"
Eyes downcast, her son swallowed, then nodded. "If they find his body--"
"They can't find what isn't here." Moira picked up the shovel that was lying on the cold ground and thrust it into Owen's arms. She shot a glance at her mother's open grave. "Rigby was foolish enough to want to defend her. Let him continue to futilely do it in death. Now, get to work."
Setting the shovel down, Owen sighed sadly. He took hold of the corpse's legs and clumsily started to drag it over to the grave.
May the arms of Theus open to you. May His embrace keep you safe from Legion's talons...
Owen wasn't sure if the prayer was for Rigby's soul...or his own.
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"Ulf, just because you drank six tankards of Vesten mead and shout "I'm the Oncoming Storm!" does not --I repeat-- does NOT automatically make you a Berserker!" -- Fortunato Valari
