CONTENT WARNING: A murder, violence, shot of a dead body (no blood or gore or anything), Some pretty harrowing discussion of terminal illness, and a lot of dark discussion generally about death. Also alcohol consumption, but it's responsibly.
Reynold
My head is pounding. I awake with Father sitting by my feet drinking a cup of tea by candlelight; Oskar had gifted it to me, but I don't want to imagine how much it cost him. Alistair explains all that happened- The last thing I remember is being sat with the wolves and hearing my daughter's scream. Alistair had held off the witchfinders with his magic whilst he kept Róisín inside. Then I, in the form of the werewolf, led the entire pack against the witchfinders.
Not only that, but Róisín saw me as the wolf...At first it terrified me to know this, but she wasn't scared. She was curious and excited. I held her hand, and she hugged me. It was a weight off my shoulders to know she wasn't scared of my shoulders, but it did nothing to ease the fact the witchfinders were scraping every last corner of land on this corner of the Earth looking for the last of the supernaturals they thought they'd wiped out.
That on top of the usual things weighing me down did nothing to ease my anxieties. The Peterans still didn't know the truth about me, but I've held back enough from people- I need to tell them someday, but is it worth it? I can't repeat my past mistakes or my father's- but what good is it if one of them turns on me and kills me? Is Withernham better with a werewolf for a priest, or no priest whatsoever?
Coming to Lunvik...it was good to get in touch with Lunvin and with my lupine cousins, as well as seeing the ruins of the old place of worship. But every time I come back here, it makes me realise just how alone the three of us are in the world. If there are any of us left, they're nowhere near here. For all I know, we could be the last of the Lunvinchenaîne this side of the world...or even in the world at all.
"I'm glad I taught you what I could, Reynold, but there's so much I wish that I could have shown you this week...namely the Bloodmoon memorial."
"You and I can come back sometime," I say to him. "We can leave Róisín back home if you're worried about it being dangerous. I'd like to pay my respects there. And I know I have said enough about all of your mistakes, Father, but I've never told you that I'm grateful for both you and Oskar fighting in the Bloodmoon. You don't know how many lives were saved because of you and all the others who lost their lives."
There's a pause as Alistair sips what's left of his tea.
"Reynold...I know you do not enjoy violence quite as much as Oskar and I do," he says, with a slightly-unsettling chuckle, "but you yourself have plenty you may eventually need to protect. Someday, your people may see you as your true self. True peace just isn't possible with our blood, and sometimes we must break the peace to protect it in the long term."
"I know. I can't leave them in the dark the way I did with my own partner. And with the Jacobans under a new Eye of Jacob...I don't know what will happen."
I still have to meet Juniper, and I don't know if I'll want to. I remember how it went meeting Julian back in the day, and I picture it being much, much worse. Julian genuinely believed he was doing the right thing, and tried to turn it around when he came to realise his errors. From what Julian has explained to me, I imagine Juniper is someone who will happily break the rules to get what she wants- someone powered by ego moreso than a genuine desire to do what she thinks is right. Julian was completely convinced he was doing good- Juniper, I don't think she cares quite so much about that.
"It's a difficult decision, and whichever one you make is going to be wrong to someone," Alistair explains. "If you don't tell them to cover your back, you're 'hiding' things from them, and if you do tell them for their benefit you find the witchfinders with a sword through your guts. Either way, Reynold, you can't win."
"I'm a priest. I already know that," I reply, laughing.
Alistair sighs to himself. "Speaking of Oskar, I need to check in on him. I've been concerned for him. We practiced swordfighting some time ago, and he didn't seem himself. I just hope he's gone to the physician like I told him to."
I'm not surprised Oskar isn't entirely well. Having your entire body resurrected the way his has been must have caused so many problems. Hopefully with time he'll recover from it all, but I imagine it will be a long process.
I tell Alistair that I ought to sleep; we leave for Henford in the morning. I wish our trip weren't cut short, but we're only leaving early for my daughter's sake. Just as I snuff the candle out and lay down, I hear Alistair's voice at the other end of the sofa.
"You did well this week, son," he says to me. "I'm proud of how far you've come."
Alistair
Róisín laughed and spoke about the trip to Lunvik the entire way back, and I tried to laugh along as much as I could- but, much like my son, there's plenty weighing on my mind. I didn't want Róisín to see such things so early in her life. I still remember seeing my first witch be dragged screaming out of her house during my own childhood. When I ask Róisín if she wants to talk about any of what happened or if she has any questions, she doesn't say anything.
Not only that, but I haven't stopped thinking about what happened with Oskar during our swordfight. I tell Reynold and Róisín that I will be back later. Róisín excitedly asks if she can see her grandfather, but I tell her she should tell her mother about all she learned about her blood and the wolf pack she made friends with. I don't know what kind of news he's going to give me.
When I knock on the door, he seems overjoyed to see me, and bombards me about questions about Lunvik that I do my best to dodge for the time being. However, the moment he invites me to sit with him, an air of melancholy overcomes him, and my heart sinks lower into my chest.
"You were right, Alistair," he explains, in a downtrodden voice I've rarely ever heard from him. "A physician confirmed that my illness has indeed returned to me."
A plethora of emotions swirl in my chest. I try to stop my mind from predicting all of the futures where I no longer have my friend beside me in some way or form. I try not to think about how it makes me feel for now. After all, this is about him, not me.
Even in the darkest moments, Oskar has always loved his life. There's never been a time where he hasn't, and he's treasured every second of it- and now that had been taken away from him. He explains everything- the fact it was spotted earlier than it would have been back in his original time period, and the fact that Samuel Annorin had something to do with it. I try to hide my clenched fists. How I'd love to take my sword, march up to the lair of the Gryphon and run my sword through him myself, but I suppose everyone in Henford wishes the same. If there was anything that comforted me, it was knowing Annorin wasn't going to get away with what he did to Oskar.
"What am I supposed to do, Alistair?" he asks, with a hint of desperation. It feels strange, becoming the mentor to my former mentor. "Am I supposed to just do what I enjoy until I rot away to death in my bed? Or do I give what's left of my healthy life for a better cause?"
"What does that mean, Oskar?"
"Oh, I don't mean it like that," he says, with a hint of annoyance. "I just don't know if I see the point of sitting around doing nothing until I get too sick to move. I don't want to be in that situation, nor do I want anyone to see me in that situation...especially not Violeta. It hurt her enough the first time around."
Oskar and Violeta...neither people who I would ever want to be in a position where they feel they have nothing to lose- for the sake of both them and other people. The worst part is I can see why he feels the way he does. Do you want to potentially spend the last months or weeks of your life confined to bed, sick and in pain, or do you devote the end of your life to some kind of grand cause before you even get to that point?
"This won't be very helpful, but that isn't a decision I can assist with. Only you know what's best for you in that sense."
He gives a little huff and leans his face on his fist. I don't take it personally.
"Then I'll rephrase. If it were you, then what would you do?"
"But I'm not you, Oskar-"
"Just answer the question, Alistair."
"I'm not going to. I'm not influencing such a big decision one way or the other," I tell him.
Oskar lifts himself with a moody vigour from the sofa and demands I follow him into the kitchen. I know he hates uncertainty and I know he hates indirectness even more, but I can't tell him how to live the rest of his life, no matter how desperate for definite answers he might be right about now.
"Enough about me, then," he says, leaning against the kitchen counter. "What did you get up to in Lunvik?"
Oskar
I shouldn't have been so short with Alistair; he's only trying to help. I just wish I knew what to do- what would hurt other people the least. I don't want anyone to worry about me, and I certainly don't want anyone's pity- but would anyone really react any differently if I were to lose my life in some kind of grand and heroic fashion? Is there such thing as the right way to die, after all?
Alistair explains that he taught Reynold a large chunk of his blood and his culture- some of the language, the history, and of course, the magic. Should've done it a long, long time ago, but better late than never. Reynold and his daughter both befriended a wolf pack, and Reynold visited some old ruins. No time for the Bloodmoon memorial, he says. He also mentions that Róisín saw Reynold in his werewolf form- except I recall seeing a crescent moon the other night. I haven't seen a new moon since the start of the month. What prompted that shift? I thought Lunvik was abandoned save for Alistair and the wolf packs-
"Witchfinders? In Lunvik?"
"Reynold and I managed to chase some of them off. Reynold killed at least one of them, and the wolves another three or so-"
"And Róisín?"
"She's okay. Not a scratch on her. She was a bit scared, but she's alright now."
I'm glad Róisín is safe, and I'm glad to know that Reynold is armed with more knowledge...but I'm starting to think I need to take back to the night-time streets with a sword to deal with these people. I may not be my old self with a sword, but I'm still plenty better than any garden-variety witchfinder. Just because Annorin has gotten rid of one vampire, Volpe's army of followers, unwilling or otherwise, aren't any safer. And if any of these people come within an inch of Róisín, I'm more than happy to revert back to the brutality of the Bloodmoon days with them.
"I don't want you doing anything brash, Oskar-"
"Oh? Nothing brash? My granddaughter's life is on the line, and so is your granddaughter's. You can bet I'm going to do something brash- and I suggest you do the same."
I notice his demeanour change all of a sudden. "You can't just throw your life away even with this news, Oskar. It's still worth living. I promise."
"Of course it is," I reply, "but consider the fact that: one, I've lived a much longer life than most people- two, the witchfinders won't lay a scratch on me- and three, even if they did, a one-hundred-and-sixty-odd year old endangering himself so that people with magic might make it to their tens, twenties, thirties, forties...You can't argue with that, no matter how much you might want to. Even with everything we've been through, we've been far luckier than many have, Alistair."
Alistair looks down at the floor for a moment, with a pensive look across his face.
"This isn't me 'throwing the rest of my life away', Alistair. This is no different to the Bloodmoon- putting our lives on the line. Going in and knowing we may not make it out alive, but doing it anyway for the sake of vampires, werewolves and witches alike."
"Yes, but you were far less susceptible to being killed back then!"
"You can't make these kinds of decisions without properly thinking about them, Oskar. That's what I'm trying to tell you."
I invite him into the living room and pour us both a glass of red wine to take an edge off the tension in the room. I take a sip from the glass.
"I'm sorry if I came across as short-tempered, Alistair. It wasn't with intention."
"You aren't the only one, Oskar. You're going through a lot. I shouldn't have raised my voice."
The two of us clink our glasses together.
I don't know what the toast is to. Hope? Good fortune? Every witchfinder hung by a rope, or burned at the stake? Good health? Pfft. Who knows. The meaning of the future has completely changed for me. I know Alistair is concerned about me- he always is- but it can't just be about me, what I want, what I'll get from what's to come.
I have to think about what's best for everyone in the long run, not just myself. Alistair can harangue me about impulsitivity all he likes, but I've been thinking about this for long enough, and I know what I need to do- I need to devote the rest of my life to the safety and the betterment of the good people around me, for as long as I'm able. I haven't accepted my fate- I never will- but I at least have some direction with whatever time is left, and that's better than nothing.
I need to continue doing what I've always done- making a better world for those who deserve it, and for those who matter. For Áine. For Eli. And especially for little Róisín. The only comfort that comes of this is that a the uncertainty is no longer. I already know how my story ends, but I want my family and magic-folk to live long and fulfilling lives, as I have- and I need to do everything I can to ensure that happens. For some people, the unknowing is exciting, not frightening or stressful- and I hope that the people I love can experience excitement at some point in their lives. There's nothing quite like it.
Tomorrow, when night falls, I will take to the streets and fields of Henford with my sword once again. I suppose I'm a little excited about that, come to think of it. Perhaps, somewhere, Bloodmoon Oskar is still hiding in there somewhere- and if he is, the witchfinders will come to regret it.
Gideon
In my curiosity, I took to Henford whilst Daniel was out, with two hopes in mind- that I'd either catch him with Volpe so I could take a shot at the slimy bastard, or that I'd catch him with Micah and ask him a few things. From what Daniel said to me, Micah was trying to look after him, and I wanted to make sure this was true.
However, the man I see him with isn't Volpe, and I highly doubt that it's Micah.
From this distance, I cannot make out who it is, and I feel a little guilty when I see them getting closer. At first, it warmed my heart to see Daniel with this partner he was talking about- but it hurts to know Daniel didn't tell me everything. Was he ashamed that he'd fallen in love with a man? I thought to myself. I would never judge him for such a thing. All I wanted was for Daniel to be happy...
...that is, until I recognise the man once I focus on his face a little more. If I'm not mistaken, it's Samuel Annorin's son, the one who used to get rightfully spit on everywhere he went as a younger man- and then I realise why Daniel kept it from me. Why? Why would Daniel fall for a man that could tear him apart within seconds? Was it the money, I wondered? Was it his way out of witchfinding in his eyes, if he could ask the Annorin boy to help him get by?
That isn't how I raised him. The Reyes family has always worked hard for what we have. All of us were fully capable of a day's work and so we didn't want or need handouts, especially not from people whose pockets are lined with the blood of everyday folk.
I keep watching. I can't believe what I'm seeing, and yet I cannot look away out of sheer fury. I'm going to have to give the Annorin boy a piece of my mind. No noble's son is going to take advantage of my own.
The overprotective father in me takes over, and I march straight up to the Annorin boy.
If you were any good at protecting him, he wouldn't be in Volpe's grasp.
"You! Get your filthy gilt hands off of my son!"
He turns to me with a smugness across his face. Does he think he's better to me just because he was born with a silver spoon in his mouth?
"Father?! What on Earth are you-"
"Daniel, what are you doing fooling around with this man? I thought I raised you better than this!"
The man rolls his eyes at me.
"And just who you think you're rolling your eyes at? I know who your father is!"
"And I am not my father, sir," he responds flatly, with a slyness in his tone.
"Oh, of course not. You just live off of the money he made from the blood of regular folk!"
"I made all of my money through the same honest hard work you demand out of your son," he spits. "I've not spoken to my father since I was a teenager, and he's no longer my father anyhow. He disowned me."
"Honest hard work?" I try and fail to stifle and laugh. "You've had everything handed to you on a platter since you were born. Bloodlines like yours are always built on the deaths of people like us! There's blood on the hands of every single generation!"
"Oh, I see," he replies, with a sickening holier-than-thou air to his voice. "So that's how it works, is it? Guilty at birth? Condemned to hang for the horrific crime of...being born to the wrong man?" His mocking laughter suddenly shifts to something much darker, but my son interrupts.
"Eli isn't anything like that, Father! Don't tell him about 'blood on the hands' when you're the one who's killed hundreds of innocent people!"
...What?
It takes everything in my power not to turn around and scream at him when he says that. Instead, I fall silent.
I can't disagree. I can't tell him that it's in the past. I can't tell him that so has he, because he hasn't...not yet. The young man's eyes turn wide at my son, and narrow at me.
"I love your son for who he is. He isn't making any money out of me, I'm not taking advantage of him, and I don't plan to harm him in any way. There are some of us in this world who don't like doing harm to innocent people."
Before I can respond to him, Eli turns around and takes his leave, bidding a soft goodbye to his beloved.
Daniel's swearing and cursing goes in one ear and out of the other one. Just how much has Daniel told this man? I try to breathe away my annoyance before I ask Daniel anything.
"A few questions, Daniel...First off, was the young man telling the truth?"
"Yes! Eli's father disowned him! He's had nothing to do with him for years!" he yells, almost deafening me.
"And you told him I was a witchfinder, didn't you?"
"Why does it matter? You can't escape what you did-"
"I know I can't! You don't need to remind me!"
My voice echoes through the trees, and Daniel turns to look away from me. I shouldn't have shouted at him like that. This isn't Daniel's fault.
"...And does he know about you, Daniel?"
He doesn't respond to that one.
"And when do you plan to tell him?"
Or that one.
"Do you ever plan to tell him?"
At last, a sigh breaks the silence.
"When I find my way out of it all...that's when I'll tell him. Now you're done stalking me and my partner, can you leave me alone?"
"I wasn't stalking you, Daniel!" I say, through gritted teeth. "I didn't know you were with your partner. I was hoping you'd either be with Volpe or Micah, so I could give the former a piece of my mind and ask the latter a few questions."
"One, if you so much as laid a finger on Volpe, you'd be swarmed by his disciples within seconds. Two, you've got no reason not to trust Micah. Yes, he's a murderous witchfinder just like the rest of them, but at least he's covering for me as much as he can. It'll buy me time to figure things out."
"Anyway, it's getting late- Micah's probably waiting for me. I'll see you sometime tomorrow, Father. And in the meantime, don't try stalking me again anytime soon."
I don't know what I'm supposed to do. Daniel is right. I'd give my life for my son, but if I die, then Volpe will only come for both him and Josiah, and if I survive, he'll kill all three of us anyhow. I was a rare case of a witchfinder who was no longer a witchfinder and still alive. On occasion, people do get a change of heart- and many of them end up with a knife embedded in it as a result.
I know that Daniel doesn't want me tracking his every move. He's a man grown now, but men his age are malleable as clay. The longer he's a part of this, the bigger the chance I'll lose him to Volpe's ideologies.
Daniel
Micah and I don't find a single witch tonight. I'm wondering if that's on purpose. Either way, I'm in no mood for this tonight, not after Father's actions today and the way he treated Eli just for being Samuel Annorin's son. There's a coldness in my chest. I don't want him to break away from me because of what my father did, though I guess it isn't likely. Someone who's tired of being considered to be just like his father isn't going to think the same of me.
Even if he is trying to protect me, he doesn't need to when I have Micah around, and there isn't anything he can do about Volpe. For now, there's nothing that can be done about him, but I remain hopeful. The discussion turning to Samuel Annorin reminds me that any noble with a gilt reputation will eventually spawn someone brave enough and clever enough to tarnish it.
Micah is telling me all about how he wanted to genuinely help me find a way out of all of this- and maybe, with his charisma and his influence on Volpe, it might just be possible, if not lengthy.
"I can't promise it'll be straight away," he tells me, "but someday. I know the influence Volpe has on young men like you, Daniel. Even if you don't agree with him now, he'll find a way to bend you to his will. You have a beautiful and kind soul. I can't let that happen to you. Let me take the brunt of Volpe, Daniel. I'm old and numb enough to withstand it, but you deserve to be happy and safe away from all of this."
For now, all I can do is go along with him. Micah is the only comfort I have amongst these people-
His eyes open wide. A guttural sound erupts from his throat. I gaze down, and the deep red begins crawling through his uniform before spluttering out of his mouth.
I jump back, landing in the grass. I freeze. With the slash of a blade, the shadowy assailant slices Micah's throat there and then.
I didn't see this person. I didn't hear this person. Neither did Micah.
My breaths pick up, and I can't control my shaking. Micah drops dead in front of me, collapsing limp into the grass. Just a second ago, he was talking to me. He was smiling. Walking. Breathing, and now- and now-
I can't bring myself to look at the assilant. I wonder if it's one of Volpe's witchfinders, one who might have suspected myself or him. That's until he forces me to look up at him, and points his sword right at my throat.
He was always so warm when we spoke. He always told me about how much he appreciated that Eli had found a young man like myself. Now, I'm starting to believe all of the horrific stories that I've heard about him.
Eli doesn't know about me yet. If he does- No. I can't. I can't lose both Micah and Eli.
Micah was my only chance out of this mess. I would have told Eli. I would have tried to aid the fight against the witchfinders somewhat, and now he's dead. The only person I trust out of any of them.
Oskar has no idea what he's done.