Shadows Of The Past
Beregond walked along the streets of Emyn Arnen, doing his best to follow the man beside him. The sun was behind blackened clouds that covered the sky in grey colours. Even worse, torrential rain whipped him mercilessly and strands of hair clung to his face and eyes. His feet kept stepping on puddles of water, making an almost deafening sound in his ears, and he could feel his toes numbing as the cold seeped through his boots.
Gritting his teeth, he pushed back a couple of locks in mild irritation. A treacherous shudder coursed through his spine, and he pulled the cloak closer around him.
“Are you all right?” a voice asked him.
Beregond looked up. Faramir had stopped walking, and he was now looking at the captain in evident concern.
“Fear not,” Beregond answered. “Let us continue on.” He patted Faramir’s shoulder as he passed by him. “I will not drown.”
Faramir shook his head and caught up with Beregond. “Should I remind you what happened the last time you were drenched in water?”
Beregond smiled wanly. “It was my own foolishness that caused that pneumonia, my friend. Hopefully, I have grown wiser now.”
“I would not count on it,” Faramir said.
Beregond opened his mouth to retort the tease, but he never found the opportunity. At that moment, a cloaked figure hurried towards their direction. Both men recognised the image of the tree and seven stars on the form’s breastplate. And when the man revealed his face, they recognised Captain Damrod.
“It is a relief to see you here, my lord,” Damrod said to Faramir. “I apologise for calling you here, but I fear it could not be helped.”
“I understand perfectly, Captain,” Faramir assured Damrod. “Please, lead on and tell me what is known so far.”
Damrod nodded his acknowledgement and beckoned the two men to follow him. “She was found two hours before dawn by one of the guards. He was returning to his home, since his shift had ended. At first he thought that it was a wretched drunkard, but he soon realised it was not so. He raised the alarm at once.”
“Where is she?” Beregond asked then.
Beregond got his answer when all three men turned around the corner. There was a large amount of people gathered just ahead of them, whereas several soldiers had already formed a small barrier.
“That is an intriguing image,” Beregond said wryly.
“Nevertheless, I do not blame their shock and curiosity,” Faramir said before walking on.
Damrod and Beregond followed closely behind. As soon as the three of them approached the crowd, the people instinctively drew back, allowing them in this way to pass. The soldiers bowed their heads and stepped back also, and so Beregond soon caught sight of what once was a young woman.
She was clothed, although her clothes were soaked in water and outlining her slender form. As for her hair, it was loosened, splayed and forming an eerie halo. Her arms were bent awkwardly at her sides, and the fingers were curled unnaturally. A large cut across her throat gave everyone a good clue as to how she met her death. Beregond knew how to identify knife wounds, and this one was certainly fatal. Yet it wasn’t that that sent a chill to his heart.
It was the face of terror that was reflected through her faded blue eyes.
Faramir moved closer to the body and knelt to have a better look. Beregond stood beside him, watching as Faramir took in everything: the position of the body, the look on the face, and lastly the wound.
Beregond could tell that his friend was getting more and more appalled and angry at this sight. Indeed, Faramir clenched his hands into fists to stop their mild trembling.
“Do we know who she was?” he asked, turning his gaze to Damrod.
“Her name was Adaneth, daughter of Calardan,” Damrod answered. “She lived on her own ever since her parents perished.”
“Did she have any other kin?” Beregond asked in turn.
“None, Sir. There was a neighbour who often conversed with her, but she is in no condition to talk to us for the present. She saw the body and that proved nerve-shattering.”
“Nevertheless, you should talk to her as soon as she recovers,” Faramir said.
“Of course, my lord,” Damrod said.
Suddenly, Beregond heard a soldier trying to dissuade an elderly man from walking within the circle that was formed around the body. However, the newcomer wouldn’t go away, and he even spoke angrily to the soldier to let him pass. Beregond instantly walked up to them, waving his hand in a commanding manner so that the argument would stop at once.
“Let him through,” he said to the soldier. As soon as the soldier complied, Beregond turned to the grey-haired man and bowed his head in apology.
“Forgive me, Tirnen. I should have warned them of your arrival.”
“As a matter of fact, you should have,” Tirnen said, huffing slightly. “I did not abandon the warmth of my bed just so I would be pushed away like some commoner.”
“I understand, Master Healer,” Beregond replied. “It will not happen again.”
“Good,” Tirnen said, and let his gaze drift on the form of the young woman. “Oh. That is unusual.”
“That is the reason we called you here,” Faramir said, standing up. “We are in need of your insight.”
Tirnen didn’t speak at once, his gaze still locked on the murdered girl. “Judging by the locked position of her limps, I can venture to say that she has been dead for about four to five hours, perhaps even more. It seems that that cut across her throat was her cause of death, but it is perfectly obvious that she was not killed here. There is no sign of blood on the ground, and I highly doubt it rained long enough to wash it all away. And…” Tirnen put on a thick glove and lifted one of the woman’s sleeves, revealing dark bruises on the now deathly white skin of her arm, “…she fought back. If I am to discover anything more, though, I will need to examine her further in the quiet of the rooms of healing.”
“The soldiers will carry her for you,” Faramir said. “Captain Beregond will come with you so you can tell him of your findings.”
Beregond nodded in acquiescence and chose three soldiers to take the woman inside the fortress. As the men lifted her, Beregond took out his cloak so as to cover the body from the prying eyes of the people around, and then ordered Damrod to have the crowd dispersed.
Their task here was done, yet their troubles had only begun.
At that moment, Beregond wished to be anywhere else but in that room. Tirnen had undressed the body and was now taking close examination at every detail on it as though he was looking at dust on his shelves – which was quite a lot, as the captain noticed while he kept looking anywhere but Tirnen’s direction.
Even though Beregond was currently giving a different impression, he was by no means squeamish about the sight of corpses and death. After all, he had lived through war and he had seen his own brothers-in-arms hacked to pieces without so much as losing a string of his nerve.
Still, this crime was quite different. There was a mystery about it which stimulated one’s imagination, creating all sorts of atrocities and intricate possibilities within the mind’s eye. It was appalling to think that someone was living and breathing five hours ago, only for the dark claws of death to grab them in such a violent way that all they could do was stare in terror.
“Captain.”
Beregond finally turned to face Tirnen. “Yes?”
Tirnen sighed and covered the woman with the cloak again, clearly seeing through Beregond’s unease. He removed his thick gloves and started placing back all the bottles and herbs he used for his examination. “I do not think I need to tell you that she was murdered,” he said. “As I do not think I should tell you that she bled to death after the culprit cut her throat.”
“No, indeed,” Beregond said, swallowing.
Tirnen nodded absentmindedly, still carrying on with his work. “However, what should interest you to know was that the murderer was right-handed; the angle of the cut said so only too clearly. Moreover, I managed to get out from her lips and nose several threads of cloth, whereas there was a strange fragrance on her face which should not have been there. This signifies the murderer surprised her from behind and closed her mouth quite forcefully so she wouldn’t scream. A man most likely, judging from the pressure applied to her, though not with much strength in him. Then she struggled, but finally she was subdued as the drug took effect – yes, the fragrance suggests that probability. Finally, the murderer was in no frenzied state, and he had no intentions such as violating her. There are no signs in her body that could indicate a thing like that.”
Beregond frowned. “What you are suggesting is that the murderer was someone who knew perfectly well what he was doing, and he was doing it in cold-blood.”
“Quite right.”
Beregond felt sickened at the idea.
“Who could be capable of such an atrocity?” he breathed out.
Tirnen placed the last jar on the shelf. “That, Captain, is up to you to find out.”
Beregond told of Tirnen’s findings to Faramir. Faramir, who was now sitting on the great chair in the main hall of the fortress, listened to everything Beregond had to say, his eyes closed and his head bowed as he took in everything. He didn’t say anything after Beregond had finished his report, though. Instead, he arose from his seat and started pacing the Great Hall, head bowed as he tried to contemplate matters carefully.
Beregond and Damrod were standing in attention, hardly stirring. Dûrinas, Faramir’s advisor, sat on a chair nearby to rest his old body. And all three now watched their lord closely, waiting for Faramir to speak.
They didn’t have to wait long.
“I never thought that there would come a day when I would hear of a man with such blood-thirst,” he said, sighing. He turned to Damrod, his posture noticeably weary to Beregond’s eyes. “Did you manage to speak with her friend?”
Damrod nodded. “She could not answer all our questions, but she could give us a fair account of all that she knew.”
“So what did she say?” Faramir asked.
“That she could not understand who would do such a thing to the victim. Adaneth was of a quiet disposition and no one seemed to have any qualms with her. In fact, she had every reason to be happy, for a young man had asked for her hand in marriage, and she planned to accept.”
“Do we know the suitor’s name?”
It was Dûrinas who asked that, his voice slightly cracked.
“An apprentice of carpentry by the name of Thavron,” Damrod answered. “He has already heard news of her death.”
Beregond sighed mentally, understanding perfectly well what the young man was going through. Nevertheless, he was still the First Captain of Emyn Arnen, and he couldn’t afford to be influenced by such feelings.
“Where was he at the time of her death?” he asked.
“With his apprentice at his workshop.”
Faramir raised an eyebrow at this. “That is quite the strange hour for tending to his work.”
“He said he wanted to finish what he hoped to be a wedding bed for himself and his wife, my lord.”
“I see.”
“What about other acquaintances?” Dûrinas asked.
“None who had a reason to kill her, or even the opportunity to do so. They all had alibis.”
“A most odd thing,” Beregond said. “Since she was attacked from behind, it means she might have known her murderer. He wouldn’t have wanted her to recognise him.”
No one seemed to notice Dûrinas as he locked his gaze on Beregond, a strange look in his eyes.
“Not necessarily true,” Faramir said then. “By catching her off guard, he also had more chances of success.” His brows creased to a deep frown and he crossed his arms. “I fear we are dealing with a predator. Someone who has had his first taste of blood and now he will not hesitate to kill again.”
Beregond felt his eyes widening at this. “We should increase our patrols, and the soldiers must be notified that they should keep a look-out on anything unusual. We cannot allow such a thing to happen again.”
“Indeed,” Faramir replied, nodding. “What say you, Dûrinas?”
The elderly man bowed. “You are a wise man, my lord. I am sure your father, whom I also advised in the past, would have approved of such a logical train of thought. However, if I may suggest something: perhaps we should not give so much detail to the soldiers as of yet.”
“Whatever for?” Beregond asked.
“Well, soldiers always want to please their lord, Captain Beregond. Surely you must understand this better than I do. What if some of them are ready to point the finger on an innocent man? That could prove quite distracting.”
“Do you doubt the soldiers’ judgement?” Beregond said, raising an eyebrow.
“Let us say that in their effort to protect this city, they might do so in quite the hastiness. Even if they do not act on any suspicions that might form in their minds, it will still prove an advantage to the murderer.”
“I think I begin to see your point,” Beregond answered, sighing.
“As do I,” Faramir said. “It will be done as you say. And let us hope that this matter will be over without any more fatalities.”
And with that, Faramir dismissed the captains and the advisor, unaware that his hopes would come to naught. For all the precautions and the vigilance that the soldiers kept, the murderer struck again and again, claiming the lives of eight people in a month.
The most curious thing was that the murderer didn’t care who would be his next victim. Whether it was a woman or a man, young or old, wealthy or poor, it was of no consequence to him. Indeed, there didn’t seem to be any connection to the deceased, something that quite puzzled both Beregond and Faramir. Beregond would have reached to the conclusion that the murderer was nothing more than a savage beast of the night but for the cruelty and ease with which the murderer performed his crimes.
That was also the reason Beregond wasn’t willing to permit any chances to slip by him. He made sure Lady …owyn and Faramir were escorted at all hours, by him personally or by any other guard he could trust. He even made a list of the names of the victims and tried to find any connection that could have been between them, no matter how indirect it was.
He came up with nothing. If there were any connection, only the murderer could see it. And that cost the lives of five more people by the time Beregond and Faramir finally came across their first clue.
It was Tirnen who found it. He was examining the last of the victims, a young man who had barely come of age. Faramir was standing close by and watched, Beregond at his side and escorting him. Tirnen opened the victim’s mouth to have a look inside, and both prince and knight were surprised to see the healer suddenly lean forward and murmur: “Well, well, what have we here?”
Faramir approached, eyes locked on the healer. “What is it, Master Tirnen?”
Tirnen didn’t answer at once. He first picked up a small piece of metal and then used it to fish out a piece of wrinkled paper.
Beregond noticed Faramir swallowing hard at the sight and he didn’t blame him. He felt just as sickened.
“What is it?” the knight managed to ask, trying to control himself.
“I do not know yet,” Tirnen said. Keeping the piece of paper in place with a gloved hand, he used the small rod to unfold the paper. When he was finished, all three tried to get a closer look.
There was writing on the paper, and it was quite smudged. Nevertheless, they could easily see a circle with symbols on it.
Everyone unconsciously took a step back, shuddering before they could help it.
“Dark sorcery,” Beregond breathed out. “How is that possible?”
Faramir sighed. “Though Sauron was defeated, many of his servants still linger on and use his foul craft.”
“But to even consider there is someone in Emyn Arnen prepared to use it…” Beregond’s voice trailed off, unable to complete his sentence. He looked at Faramir sadly instead. “Evil always has a way of poisoning its way back to our lives, does it not?”
Faramir nodded, his expression reflecting his own regret, and then he faced Tirnen. “Why do you think this was placed in his mouth?”
Tirnen scratched his white beard thoughtfully. “I do not believe it was intended to be there. There was no such thing in the mouths or stomachs of the other victims.” His gaze drifted on the man’s fingers, and he carefully lifted them so he could see the tips better. “Captain, give me that round piece of glass that is on the other table. Catch it from the edge, mind you.”
Beregond turned and caught sight of the object the healer had told him of. Grasping it carefully the way Tirnen instructed, he handed it to the elderly man, who held it close to one of his eyes.
A contemplative frown crossed Tirnen’s features as he still inspected the fingers.
“Master healer?” Faramir asked, eager to hear what Tirnen had to say.
“He put it in his mouth himself,” Tirnen replied. “There are ink traces on this hand.”
Faramir understood what that implied. “He probably knew he was going to die, even in the dazed state the drug must have left him.”
“So he used the only means he could to pinpoint his murderer,” Beregond said, catching up with his friend’s train of thought. “It hardly saved him in the end,” he added grimly.
“It might save others though,” Faramir said. He picked up the piece of paper with a small piece of cloth and looked at the circle again. “Strange…”
Beregond eyed Faramir in surprise. “What is it?”
Faramir still kept his gaze locked on the piece of paper. “I have seen this form of dark art before.”
“When?” Beregond asked, aghast at the revelation.
“Long ago, back in Minas Tirith,” Faramir said. “I am quite certain I’ve seen it in the library during my studies in my childhood. I was looking through some manuscripts and it was on a parchment which I had not seen before. But Gandalf immediately took the parchment away from me and warned me never to search for it again.” He paused momentarily, frowning at the memory. “I was taken aback to see him so fretful.”
Beregond shook his head. “So it must be something terrible indeed.”
“Terrible to us, but useful to the murderer,” Tirnen said then. “If we could find out what this circle and its symbols represent, we might be able to get one step closer to the culprit.”
“Agreed,” Faramir replied. “Thank you for your time, Tirnen.”
And with that, Faramir and Beregond walked out to and went the main hall, where …owyn and Dûrinas awaited them. Both the lady and the advisor listened to everything and, as soon as his narrative was done, Faramir announced that he had something important to confide in them all.
Beregond knew by now Faramir well enough to suspect what it was Faramir wanted to say. Nevertheless, it was Lady …owyn who spoke her mind, clearly seeing through her husband.
“You intend to go back to Minas Tirith. You will try to find the meaning of the circle.” It wasn’t a question.
Faramir nodded. “It will probably give us some insight on what the murderer’s motivations are.”
Dûrinas immediately shook his head. “I’d rather you didn’t leave, my lord. At these dark times, the people of Emyn Arnen will want to feel safe. They will need your guidance.”
“Yet we need those answers,” Beregond said.
“And we cannot afford to send someone else in my stead. I don’t know exactly which parchment I should be looking for, but I distinctly remember in which section it was,” Faramir said. “However, you need not to worry, Dûrinas. I am sure Lady …owyn and you will keep things in proper order.” He turned to Beregond. “Have someone prepare a horse for me. I will be leaving as soon as possible.”
“It will be done,” Beregond said and rushed outside to the stables.
Soon enough, Faramir’s stallion was outside in the courtyard, saddled and ready to receive his master on his back. Beregond whispered to it, trying to soothe the horse’s eagerness. Finally, Faramir arrived in his travelling clothes, a cloak over his shoulders and his blade buckled on his side. The horse nuzzled his master in greeting, a gesture which earned him an affectionate pat on his powerful neck.
Nevertheless, Beregond could see that Faramir didn’t wish to ride away just yet. His friend’s eyes darted fleetingly in all directions as though making certain that there were no unfriendly eyes or ears close by; then made a small motion with his head toward the gate.
After years of friendship, Beregond had come to know that signal all too well. Walk with me. Because of that, Beregond also knew that Faramir had a few last instructions meant only for him. So, the captain obediently followed Faramir, giving no notice when the horse started walking closely behind them.
“Are you certain you do not wish for any escort?” Beregond asked. “The hour grows late and the roads are dangerous during the night.”
“We have already agreed that I should leave as swiftly as possible. Besides, Minas Tirith is not that far.”
“Even so, I wish I could come with you.”
A sad smile crossed Faramir’s features. “You know that is not possible either. You have been banished from the White City. Banished because of me. And, to be perfectly honest, I do not know how long it will take me to find the manuscript. I need you here to try to find the murderer.”
Beregond finally realised what his friend asked of him. “You hope that more clues will crop up on the search.”
“And I will be more at ease if I know you are here to decipher them,” Faramir completed.
The captain nodded. “I understand.”
“Good.” The prince clasped his hand on Beregond’s shoulders. “Stay safe.”
“You too, my friend,” Beregond replied, returning the gesture.
With that last farewell, Faramir climbed up on the horse’s back. Moments later, he was gone out of sight, swallowed by the dark veil of night. All Beregond could do was to take the road back to his room, one thought after another piling in his mind.
However, when he arrived at his quarters, he was quite surprised to find the door unlocked. He went inside warily, prepared for anything.
“Father?”
Beregond relaxed at once, recognising the voice. Sure enough, Bergil walked into the main room, a broad smile tugging on his lips.
“Hello. Was the surprise pleasant?”
Beregond had to admit that it was. Ever since Bergil took up his training to become a soldier and thus follow his father’s footsteps, he often stayed at the barracks with the other boys of his age. So, the captain smiled broadly and walked up to him to embrace him.
“I thought you would stay at the trainees’ dorms tonight,” he said, one of his hands now caressing the boy’s hair affectionately.
“I wanted to see you,” Bergil answered simply, returning the embrace whole-heartedly. He looked up at his father’s face, a small frown settling on his features. “You look tired.”
“I am,” Beregond admitted with a sigh. “It was a long day.”
The boy’s frown deepened. “It is because of that murderer, is it not?”
Beregond couldn’t help it. He nodded.
Bergil immediately shook his head in disapproval. He pulled himself from his father’s embrace and guided him on a comfortable chair by the table.
“I will cook today,” he declared. He obviously expected Beregond would try to object, because he immediately placed a finger on his youthful lips in a mother-like gesture of: Quiet.
Beregond closed his mouth as quickly as he had opened it, accepting his defeat. He was rewarded with a smile and a pat on his shoulder.
“It will not take long. I have learned from the best,” Bergil declared, and he went to fill a small pot with water. His back was turned to Beregond, so he didn’t notice his father watching him with love and a touch of pride, a small smile tugging on his lips at the care and precociousness of his son.
It was painful to realise that the world of peace Beregond had fought for two years ago wasn’t meant to be.
Sighing, Beregond arose from the chair, making sure Bergil didn’t notice him, and walked towards his bedroom. There, splayed on his bed, was a map of the city, and on that map he had marked the location of every victim that had been found ever since the killings had started. Now Beregond stood by the bed, looking at the map and unable but to feel frustrated at the situation.
It was only then, as he looked at the map from that distance, that he noticed it.
His marks pinpointed the location of the dead people that were discovered by dawn, but they also pinpointed the location of something entirely different.
Sewer entrances.
Beregond knelt at once, taking a closer look at the map and berating himself for not noticing this sooner. Scanning the entire map, he verified his deduction, and now he knew, beyond any doubt, that that kind of pattern was more than mere coincidence. Leaping to his feet, he grabbed his cloak and hastily put it on. He was at the door in a few strides, and he had already turned the handle to open the door.
“Father, what is the matter?”
Beregond stopped in his tracks, freezing at Bergil’s voice. In his fervour, Beregond had completely forgotten about him.
“I think I have found a clue,” he said, facing his son. “I need to see for myself if I am right.”
“So you intend to go out on your own?” Bergil said, raising an eyebrow. He picked up his own cloak. “I think not. I am coming with you.”
Beregond’s eyes widened. “Bergil…”
“‘Never venture alone to a situation you are not familiar with.’ You always say that during lessons of combat to us trainees,” Bergil said. “And you have trained me well, remember?”
Beregond stared at his son for many long moments, not sure what to say. But, in the end, he could only admit that Bergil bested him. He had trained him well.
“Come along. And take your sword with you.”
Bergil didn’t have to be told twice. In less than five minutes, he was following his father closely behind, cloaked and armed.
TBC…
Subtitles
- Brother's Debt
- Fullmetal Body, Fullmetal Heart
- A Quiet Day
- In The Night
- Two Men's Faces
- Transfer
- Making Plans
- Shadows Of The Past
- Underworld
- The Price Of Immortality
- Departure
- The Key
- Enemy Revealed
- A Step Back
- A Step Closer To The Truth
- A Race
- Rush Valley
- Responsibility
- Izumi
- Time To Stand Still
- Wild Child
- Encounter
- Riddles In The Dark
- In Search For Answers
- A Teacher's Mistakes
- Complications
- Visits
- The Nature Of A Homunculus
- Dante Of The Deep Forest
- Kidnapped
- Fight At The Devil's Nest
- Innocence Lost
- Blood Spilt
- Recovering
- Bearers Of Ill News
- The Flame Alchemist
- True Colours
- Markings On The Ground
- The Mission
- Heading To Liore
- Change Of Plans
- The Scar
- Holy Mother
- A Mother's Face
- Final Moments