FOREVER KNIGHTS: #4 Battling Black Roses
ACHARIUS - What They Watch For

Meredith House, Merwood, Dread Hideout

ACHARIUS

Acharius returned to his cave and quickly changed from his bloodied shirt. Desperately wanting out of all clothing that smelled of Cimmerii. He was always careful to make sure no unusual odors drew attention to the cave.

Once he’d stripped all his clothes, he bundled them in one of the old burlap bags near the fire.

Then he headed straight for the room he kept carefully hidden behind a wooden wall he’d painted and textured to conceal there was a stone chamber beyond it. He peeled it open a few inches to peer within.

Mentally inventorying the items on the shelves. He took his time accounting for each of them.

They’re all there. Comforted by that he turned and returned to his Main room to collect the burlap bag of soiled clothes.

Cutting out into the trees he made his way close to the rode winding through Grier. Only there did he drop the bag. Snapping his fingers made the clothes light on fire instantly. Tossing red sparks as the flames licked the evidence of last night’s escapades. He watched it burn until certain there was no trace that remained.

The fire was near enough to the road that anyone who saw the burnt ground would assume someone had merely paused whatever journey to cook some brief meal.

Perfect. The evidence of last night’s killing was effectively extinguished.

He headed back into the Merwood.

Chastain crept downstairs, peering into the Main Room. Agatha stared out the window slit. Pulling her shawl tighter around her.

“If you’re cold, why do you sit so close to the window?” Chastain demanded.

Aggie jumped. “You nearly gave me a heart attack Girl.” A hand fluttered to her chest. She lifted her spectacle to scrutinize Chastain. “Whatever are you doing up at this hour?”

Chastain knelt next to the rocking chair.

“You should be abed.” Agatha smiled fondly as she caressed Chastain’s face and hair.

“Would you tell me one of your midnight stories? I can’t sleep.”

“Ssh.” Agatha pressed a finger to her lips. “Those are to be our secret.”

Chastain rested her chin on her palm, waiting.

Agatha sighed, picking up her mending and rocking, she spoke of a man that saved the life of two little girls from their evil Dread father who had drug them to the woods intent on sacrificing them to a demonic presence

Agatha glanced furtively out the window before freezing. Her words stopped and knitting clattered to the floor.

“What is it?” Chastain asked.

Agatha caught at her collar and pulled at the vine necklace beneath it. Tugging free a bit of wood she clutched in her fist. Her eyes roving the dark.

“Aw there!” She pointed. “There’s someone just there.” Putting the wood to her lips she blew hard. The shrill sound cut the air.

Chastain stepped behind the chair to peer out. Spotting the cloaked figure moving in the woods on the rise above the gate.

“Who is that? Is that Karina?” Chastain breathed.

“I don’t know who ’tis. But no reason for someone to wander this time of night.”

“That’s true.” Chastain gnawed her cheek. She glimpsed a tall shadow moving through the trees toward the smaller figure. And it was moving fast.

“Who’s that?”

“No one, Little Dear.” Agatha caught her hand and pulled her to her knees next to her albeit roughly. Forcing the window out of view as she clasped Chastain’s cheeks and forced the young woman to look at her.

“Agatha! That hurt! What are you doing?”

“I-I am sorry.” Agatha patted her head. Unconsciously peering out the window.

“What’s happening?” Chastain demanded.

“There. There. They are gone now…Whoever they were.”

“Who did you whistle for Agatha?”

“What?” She looked startled. “This?” She stared down at the piece of wood in her hand. “Why…for Margaret of course, Dear.”

Chastain’s eyes narrowed on the kindly old woman.

The next day passed in relative silence.

That evening, Margaret eyed her sister than their young girl and back.

At the midnight hour, Chastain wandered downstairs. Finding Margaret rocking in the chair before the open shutters. Sipping a cup of herbs. She settled the blanket better over her lap.

Striding past Margaret, Chastain slammed the shutters and flipped the hook in place to hold them. Dragging Margaret’s chair next to the fire.

“There! You’ll catch your death.”

Margaret’s eyes were wide on her. “What has come over you?”

“Did you not hear Agatha’s whistle last night?”

“No…” Margaret said slowly.

“Don’t you wear one too?” Chastain put her hands on her hips accusingly.

“This?” Margaret confusedly pulled the necklace from under her heavy woolen gown.

“Yes. That! What is that?” Chastain pointed.

“A whistle, Dear.”

“Yes. I see that.” She stomped in frustration. “What’s it for?”

Margaret hesitated. “I can play lovely songs on it.” She lifted it and blew softly. Covering a few of the holes on the side which resulted in an awful squawk.

Chastain grimaced and eyed the woman.

“What are you two about?”

“Nothing Dear.” Margaret caressed her cheek. “Go back to bed, Little Dear. Your imagination is running away with you.”

“Oh, is it?” Chastain’s hip cocked further as she studied Mags. “I’ve never understood why you two insisted on sitting next to that dreadful window in the dead of night…” Her face scrunched up in ire and her voice lowered dangerously. “So if I were still one of those and blow on it, who’d show up, Mags?”

Mags gave her an anxious look.

“As I thought... There’s no sense in sitting by that window. You’ll catch your death.”