Chapter 2: Where the Jaguar Lies
The Weever went quiet again for the Summer.
On the first Saturday of June (Year 100 of the ettin calendar), from John’s study room, Kurt extracted maps of the Outland, Subohemia and rough cartographic sketches of the ettinland based on information from the Weever. He dotted the maps with one of John’s fountain pens, marking each impenetrable border exit. Even if he managed to slink past the County sentries and border guards, the O.A. troopers still stationed outside the vicinity of Great Oak would capture and sentence him to a grim fate. Whether or not that meant the Groomslayer would be summoned was irrelevant: his journey would meet its end.
Another concerning matter was of an ugly black bird (or so Kurt had assumed was a bird) that had been perched about his property for a few months. The beast kept a distance from him mostly due to Kurt’s shooting off of explosive arquebus rounds whenever it would make itself visible. Kurt sketched the thing in his journal based on its fleeting appearances: It had long legs that bent forward; wings that drooped over knobby shoulders like a cape; its black feathers were more like a fur; and its face, a mystery, evaded Kurt’s eyes until the following Saturday. Kurt’s pulver ear could hear the quasi-bird murmuring in an incomprehensible speech between long stretches of silence. Since the Booths had first been erected in the apeland, more and more previously unknown sentient species had surfaced from the Wildermark. Governor Orbaulker was one of these species; a creature that Kurt had suspected to be a shapeshifter of some sort, for his limbs seemed to lengthen and his head swelled in between his public appearances: John had called him a ‘vaighling’: a species of superior intelligence to most humans; and physically stronger without the need of entering an Apegift Booth for new anatomical parts. A month of being watched by that odd bird, watched by the little shadow; and watched by the Weever’s Eye, Kurt was in dire need of a change of scenery to some secluded elsewhere.
His maps offered little assistance outside the relatively small borders of Great Oak County: all exits led to a dead end wall. There was one natural border though. If he worked swiftly, at night, after his post delivery schedule as to evade suspicion from that watching bird staked on his property, he and Canute could sprint past Jaguar Town. Jaguar Town itself was heavily militarized, but the steep hills leading to Mount Mockwitch were carefully avoided by O.A. troopers. As Kurt finished marking his map, his natural ear heard a sharp tapping behind the study’s window curtains. He placed the fountain pen in its velvet case and crept to the curtains, pulling them open. The pale face was nearly human, a light moustache beneath the nose, its yellow teeth clenched, grinning; empty sockets where glowing eyes might have been. The creature tapped its taloned toes furiously into the window again, splintering a lightning bolt shape into therein.
Kurt thrust the window open, drawing an arquebus from his side holster. The creature had vanished before he could fire a shot. Gliding away into the night, he heard it speak, as if relaying a message: it was in the same strange tongue he had heard before in dreams; but one word was in plain Inglish: “Apegift.”
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June (the month termed ‘Azzamoon’ according to the ettin-calendar) had finished with the fireworks of the Anniversary of the Elimination of Taboos Day Festival, celebrated every hundred days. On that day, Kurt decided to treat himself to a few drinks at a local bar. At least the raucous atmosphere and bawdy jukebox music would drown out the incessant popping and fanfare from the hours-long firework displays outside county border. Chappies, a bar and inn fifteen miles down from Temek Hill was famous for its floor full of tossed peanut shells, Telescreen Karaoke and the best whiskey in the Great Oak by Kurt's (and John’s) estimation. “This is some damn fine firewater, Hendrik.”
Kurt had sat himself at the bar-table tended by Chappies’ owner Hendrik Lamm. The two men had attended Temek High School together nearly a century before; and soon after graduating, Hendrik took over the family business of Chappies, the stout wooden public-house nestled in a glen; a running stream flowing from the snow run-off of Mount Mockwitch. No more scenic a locale was there throughout Great Oak County: the surrounding yellow green hillocks and blue green pines were a refreshing respite from the long stretches of brown hills and farmland that typified most of the County’s terrain. “In the hundred years since I first met ya, you haven’t changed a bit, Eisenforst. You know that?” said Hendrik finishing pouring Kurt another full glass of whiskey. Kurt supposed his old classmate was referring to the “damn fine firewater” line, but also, appearance-wise, Hendrik looked to be of a far more advanced age than himself. Kurt who seemed to be a man of about 30, his hair lacking any trace of gray, stood starkly against Hendrik’s ghostly white mane and wrinkled leathery skin, a man of the same age as he. Kurt really had not changed a bit.
Hendrik poured a customer in a green bowler hat a whiskey as the jukebox drowned out the distant fireworks with the classic tune “Ramalamadama."
Kurt gulped his sixth whiskey down and grunted. “A hundred years ago I thought I’d already be in Hell by now, Galvan. Looks like this is the closest we’ll get.” “No, you drunken ass, this is the closest you’ll get to Heaven on earth!” said Hendrik, his blue eyes gleaming in the lantern lights above. “You talk careless when yer drinkin. Besides...they say the distilleries are due to be shut down soon enough. The wastelings are cracking down. Enjoy this bit o’ heaven while you can.”
“See, Hendrik…I told you we were closer to hell." He eyed the other fifty-so revelers toasting and jigging behind his shoulder. Behind the jolly regulars sat a figure in a poorly lit corner of the room: a figure watching Kurt, clad in the black and blue sentry uniform of the Order of Azza. A long black veil covered the nose to the neck; wide electric eyes looking right into Kurt’s. “You know that fella?” said Hendrik cleaning a glass. “One sec, Lamm.” said Kurt excusing himself, scooting from his barstool. He made his way under the red and green lantern lights to the corner. “You here on business?" said Kurt to the sentry. The sentry looked to be about the same physical age as Kurt, and despite the face hidden behind a black veil, carried unmistakably a male’s body. He scanned his eyes at the rest of the man: The hair was shaved bald; the eyebrows were like two furry caterpillars; and the jaw behind the veil and general facial features was statuesque and regal.
The sentry did not give the impression of being a physically imposing man, but concealed years of hard-forged iron muscle under the uniform. The dark eyes looked akin to a prowling wolf’s deathly glare. “Kurt Eisenforst,” said the sentry in a solemn baritone.
“Behind that veil... I know you.... Etzel Galvan?” said Kurt.
“I’m here to kill you, Eisenforst,” said the sentry, the unwavering wolfen stare locked in on Kurt. Kurt nodded as if they were merely discussing the weather. He sipped his whiskey and said, “Disappointed; not surprised.”
The sentry shrugged. Kurt’s calm expression shifted to a pained one. “Of course...you are his errand-boy now...you work for the ettins...” Kurt felt at his holster. He was a quick draw. He could end it now. The sentry looked at Kurt’s hand, saying, “They gave me a device that can turn you into paste with a literal flick of my wrist. 'Pulver-Messer' it's called.” The sentry flashed a black knife with serrated edges like a sharktooth.
Kurt eased his hand from the holster. “You’re apegifted too by the looks of it...” said Kurt,annoyed.
“This is my apegift, Eisenforst. I kill you and I get her.” A hint of emotion in the sentry’s eyes fell to the peanut shells below. Kurt thought of when he had last seen Etzel Galvan, fifty years before. Their history went back to the T.S. War. Both were members of the child army regiment of Carolus Eisenforst. Etzel, along with twenty other boys, had been rescued by Martin Von as per the initial agreement of the Rural County Zone’s special semi-autonomous status. After John's death, Kurt saw Etzel from time to time in the Temek Town Centre, sharing a bottle or two of whiskey with him more than once. Around that time, Etzel became employed as a watchtower guard for the Von Herrenhausen ranch and was allowed only a few days of leave in civilian attire each year. Unbeknownst to Kurt, Etzel was promoted to the esteemed position of Bodyguard to Verity Von Herrenhausen. While Etzel was bodyguard to Verity, In the summer of the 89th year of the ettin-calendar, a two-hundred pound Jaguar was reported to be roaming the foothills and valleys of Great Oak. Countyfolk were alerted by the authorities “not to fret” and that the sheriff had summoned a first-class team of hunters to bag the beast. This included, they added, “professionals from within and without the County border.”
Ettins and their subordinates were barred from acting in any official capacity according to that flimsy R.C.Z. law, this regulation being quietly removed following the Jaguar Hunt. Many locals were not satisfied with the progress of the extraterritorial help. Within a week of the first jaguar sighting, two villages of fifty people each had been eaten entirely. Nothing of the villages remained but piles of skeletons hardly licked clean. Kurt had heard enough. He took the task upon himself to slay the killer cat. Tracing tracks, scat and amply using his pulver ear, he tracked the approximate location of the jaguar to a cliffside three days after he had set out. Below the location, a circle of pines created a natural boundary mark: within the circle was the picturesque alpine village of Pinethorpe. From his cliffside position, Kurt heard his target sniffing in nearby chapparal shrubs, along with R.C.Z. officials a half-mile away. Drawing closer, he soon spotted the creature: it was a miserable thing,chained to a pine, panting, gnawing on a human foot. It had the speckled orange coat of a Jaguar, but as Kurt drew closer, its form betrayed the telescreen reporting. It was a man. Perhaps not a man per an average assessment: its fangs, eyes, ears and coat were that of a cat’s. But as it stood on its legs, and growled to the approaching officials, it spoke in plain Inglish speech: “More meat. More ape meat, or must I beg?” The officials stepped in front of the jaguar-man: a trio.
“One was you,” said Kurt relaying his experience to the sentry across from the table. “The others were ettins...the Geissmeister; and Adatmen, formerly known as Erich von Herrenhausen Junior. I watched as you took that man by his chain, led him into Pinethorpe...if you and those ettins had spotted me I would have become ape meat for the jaguar as well...But, I followed as you all as you went down to Pinethorpe…you and the ettins, Adatmen and the Geissmeister, naked and tall as the pines they stood among. You all went in and then...the screaming...the eating; the drinking. The bones. Done using the jaguar, you three slaughtered him too... Posing for the Telescreens, a jaguar pelt draped over your necks, the two ettins were the heroes of the day...So...I know you,Etzel. I know what sort of filth you have become.”
“Martin von Herrenhausen is dead,” the sentry Bodyguard said coldly, ignoring Kurt’s accusing story.
“…it was bound to happen...but how?” said Kurt.
The Bodyguard replied, unblinking, monotone: “Orbaulker was tired of the slow enrollment for apegift booths. They don’t want to wait another decade for the R.C.Z. to become incorporated into the outland. Tomorrow, the R.C.Z. will officially become ruled by Ettin-Law.”
Kurt shook his head. “And so, they’ve sent you to finish me off as well?”
“Yes, Eisenforst, they want your head on a trophy wall. You have a record of insubordination.”
The Bodyguard pulled out a necklace connected to what looked to be a tooth. It was as long as his thumb and shone with a silvery glimmer. “That’s quickore...why do you have quickore?” askd Kurt.
“This was Verity’s...” said the Bodyguard in a near whisper.
Kurt shook his head. He knew little of Verity Von Herrenhausen whereabouts and deeds since Highschool. He remembered Martin telling him, before releasing him from his imprisonment, that Verity possessed an artifact like the Eye. The lump of ore in Kurt’s breastpocket shivered. The Tooth and the Eye had an apparent magnetic pull.
“Why do you have it then if it's Verity's?” said Kurt.
The Bodyguard tucked the tooth back into his shirt and said, “Because...Verity can’t hold it for herself now. It’s in safekeeping with me...” “Right...and why can’t Verity hold it?”
The Bodyguard winced,sorrow filling those dark eyes, the veiled face turning from Kurt and looking outside to the rising moon.
“Verity is no more.”
“Dead?”
“Worse...worse. They took her body. Changed it. Said it was justice, something she did. It wasn’t her fault though...they tricked her. She...she did what was right...but now, only a husk remains. A new Verity. A body that awaits a soul. It’s this body that I am to receive if I complete my apegift.”
“So...you kill me and Verity goes back to normal?” Kurt looked weary for a moment.
“No. If I kill you she will never get a chance to be normal...never. Martin told me...that, you possess an heirloom too. An Eye. If all the parts come back together, an ancient foe of the ettins will be resurrected. And we...Verity...and you can finally have things go back to normal.” “So, what do you propose? John---General Ormsvard attempted a similar plan and they murdered him,” said Kurt.
“Ormsvard was careless...too trusting of the Sheriff... Secretly, me and you, we go to Jaguar Town...my apegift prize waits there: Verity’s body...I'll take her without the apegift terms...they aren't as clever as they pretend to be...trust me.
Afterwards we'll take the mountain passes around Mount Mockwitch, and then head to-” Kurt finished the Bodyguard's sentence,“-Head to the Sequoias. To Grimnar. Complete the Weever's parts...But I’m being surveilled by Orbaulker...even if you manage to sneak over there, he's sent vaighlings to monitor me.”
“I know,Kurt. I followed your vaighling watcher in order to get here tonight. They too, are not as clever as they believe...but we need to leave now.”
Kurt looked at the veiled man for a few moments before nodding and said, "Alright."
The two stepped outside into the cool of night, Kurt signaling with a finger tap to Hendrik he would pay him back later. There was a tranquility outside as the drone of the jukebox faded with their uphill steps. The fireworks had ceased and the two were embraced with somber tidings by the yellow summer moon shining through the shadowy canopies overhead. Kurt listened for any footsteps behind them. He heard nothing except the rustling branches and the whining howl of a coyote. The Bodyguard pulled out the Pulver Messer knife.
Etzel’s deep voice muttered, nearly inaudibly. “I get one shot, Eisenforst. One shot to bring Verity back. They expect me to get the job done by midnight…what time is it?”
“Nearly that,” said Kurt reaching for his arquebus. “One shot before midnight…one kill. I won’t miss. If I don’t, the others will come for you and do the job. You understand? I have to use it before midnight or they will destroy what’s left of her! She’ll be gone forever!”
This last sentence the Bodyguard spoke loudly and clearly, startling Kurt.
There was more rustling in the canopies above. Chappies hummed in merriment. Kurt drew the arquebus.
Etzel’s finger was quicker.
An explosion colored the night orange and green.
Kurt dropped to the ground.
A soft crumpling thud followed Kurt’s fall.
Etzel’s imposing frame stood tall, letting the smoke-trailing used shards of the weapon drop to the ground.
Kurt’s eyes blinked. He saw a head. The rest of the head was like a leather sheet covering a pair of curled knives. It was the vaighling. The Bodyguard pulled Kurt up to his feet. “Get up, you’re just in shock. The Messer's blast does that to those without training."
Kurt was still mute, looking to Etzel’s veiled face with incredulity.
The Bodyguard continued:
“I had one shot....The vaighling was waiting for confirmation of your kill...thing is...Pulver can’t kill those devils...at most stun 'em...”
The head of the vaighling jittered on the ground; its black cape flapping, talons scraping. It whined in a scratchy moan: “Dumb-ape...you get nothing now...nothing...when my Lord learns...and he learns all...” The shining silvery tooth, Verity’s heirloom, was driven into the creature’s eye. It opened its mouth to scream, but just as soon as the Bodyguard brought the tooth down the head ruptured into flames. Its ashy remains were blown away by the cool nighttime breeze. “This quickore stuff is anti-pulver,” said the Bodyguard, the Tooth still clenched in his hand. “It can obliterate pulver bodies, and vaighlings are bred from the stuff...But vaighlings are also telepathic...and their Lord can sense if one is missing...so we don’t have much time to act...” Rushing to their horses, they rode off from Chappies and the glen. As they hurried into the black midnight hills, three little shadows watched them from under an old oak tree, a man in a red cloak close beside.