Tales after Dusk 04

Fiddling with his cup, he hesitates, "I'm not sure, exactly. There are so many things I want to see and do... it is nearly impossible to put them in order."

Orane watches his hands shake slightly. Instinctively she reaches out to comfort him, placing her hand over his. The small act of contact sends her heart racing. She is stunned by her body's reaction; recovering quickly, she ignores it. Immediately he looks up at her as she speaks to him, "You're nervous?"

He manages a small nod.

She smiles, squeezing his hand reassuringly, "Do not worry. I know it must be a lot to take in, all that change, but you'll be amongst friends."

As Zeke looks her over, their eyes lock. He can feel his heart begin to pound, his palms sweat. He clears his throat, standing suddenly, "I should get to work. Please, finish eating."

Orane feels her cheeks begin to glow red as she watches him leave the table. In the daylight it is easy to see the movement of his muscles under his threadbare shirt. She eats slowly, allowing her eyes to follow his every movement. After last night, she finds herself looking forward to spending time with him this afternoon and evening. For a fleeting moment, she wonders what it would be like to kiss him. When her skin starts to burn, she occupies herself by clearing the table.

Zeke sheers the ram, who is patient and holds still for him. He takes the fleece and lays it on the floor next to the loom, where he sits down and begins to comb it so that all of the fibers align. After a while he takes a chunk and begins to spin it into golden yarn on the wheel.

Careful to stay out of his way, Orane takes a seat on the window sill so that she can bask in the sunlight while she watches Zeke work. So that she doesn't feel so awkward about watching him, and perhaps so that she has an excuse to keep her eyes on him, she sketches the man again, this time taking great pain to embody the concentration and focus on his face. Once she has finished that, she writes a brief entry about Zeke.

After a few hours of work, he finally finishes the golden yarn. Unraveling the length of it, he carefully measures it into thirds before he cuts them apart with a hot knife. Taking the end of each strand, he attaches them to the wheel again and begins to spin them into a long rope stock. Orane stretches and wanders into his small kitchen area, finding the makings of a sandwich while he splices the new rope into the long piece. By the time he is finished, Orane has a small lunch for them to enjoy.

Zeke tries not to eat too quickly, but his jitteriness shows through. He is excited but nervous about leaving his home. His mind begins to wonder how he will fit into the world outside, where he will live and what he will do with his time. As he thinks about who he will spend time with, he begins to wonder if Orane has someone of her own. When she looks up from her meal and discovers Zeke staring at her, he rambles a bit to quell his anxiety. "I will lower you down first, then I will bring the rope back up and spice the harness into it, and lower down the ram. After you untie him, I'll bring the rope back up for me. I have an idea to get me back down along with the rope, so that mistress won't have it to use."

"Oh? How is that?"

"Well, if I untie the harness it will add another six feet or so in length. Instead of tying the rope to the crank, I will just use the extra length to keep pressure on the rope. I'll adjust the drag on the crank so that it will lower me slowly and once I reach the bottom I should be able to just pull the rest off."

"That sounds like a good plan," Orane smiles warmly at him.

He blushes at her praise. As the awkwardness between them grows, they finish the rest of the meal in silence before Zeke returns to his task. He brings the ram back out into the room so that he can measure his chest with the rope. Carefully, intricately he weaves the golden rope harness over the ram's head, around his chest and belly until it fits snuggly against the ram's wool; it blends in so well that it is impossible to see by the dim light of the fire, it is only when the sheep is petted that one can feel it.

The mid afternoon sun hangs in the sky. Orane doesn't know if it is Zeke's nerves rubbing off on her, or if she has begun to have some anxiety of her own. She is anxious to be out of the tower and safely on the ground with Zeke and the ram, so that they can make it back to camp before nightfall. Orane gathers up her cross bow, hooking it to her belt before putting her cloak back on. She raises her leg to step onto the window sill when a warm, rough hand catches hers, to help her up. She looks down at Zeke—he has a tight smile on his face.

"Thank you," he whispers. He tried to say it louder, stronger but the moment his skin met hers, his heart began to race so hard that he couldn't catch his breath. In the sunlight, her red hair seems afire on top of her head and her deep green, kind eyes convey mysteriousness.

She winks at him, delicately stepping out onto the catwalk, "Do not thank me yet, we aren't in the clear." Trying not to look down, she slips her foot into the loop and grasps the rope firmly before kicking free of the perch. She gets one last look at Zeke, who watches her with awe, before he blushes and disappears to lower the crank.

There is a sharp jerk before the rope begins to descend. Orane makes the mistake of looking down; her heart jumps into her throat when she is able to see exactly how high up she is. On the ground she can see the figures of four of her men. She has to squint to distinguish who is who. Her nerves dissipate as she slowly gets lowered near to the ground, where she is met by Luther, her second in command.

"Now what in the hell's eternal fire have you been doing up there?" He barks at her, wrapping his arm around her waist.

Orane kicks the rope free of her foot before Luther lowers her the last three feet. She rolls her eyes at him—not many have the courage to talk to her like that, "I'll explain in a minute."

She gives the rope a flick to let Zeke know that she reached the bottom. There is another jolt before it starts to raise—only to stop suddenly after a few inches. She looks up at the tower curiously, shielding her eyes with her hand from the blaring afternoon sun.

Zeke's heart is pounding so fast. He leans over the edge of the windowsill, looking below to see five figures. Orane, with her bright red hair, is easy to spot. His hands shake so bad with anxiety that he can barely cup them around his mouth, "The crank is jammed. I'm going to have to take it apart. It might take me an hour or more."

Orane senses a slight franticness in his voice, as if he is worried that they will disappear. She cups her hands over her mouth and calls back to him, "Be quick about it—I'll be here the whole time."

He waves an arm in acknowledgement. After a moment, he disappears.

Orane turns around. Luther has an exasperated look, arms crossed over his chest. His short cut, graying hair add a severity to his handsome, aging face. The three men behind him try to act casual by staring at the ground or the distant trees but it is obvious that they don't want to miss their conversation.

"Please tell me you killed whatever golden beast is in that tower," Luther states, though he knows the answer.

"Ah, well..." Orane fidgets with her crossbow, unclasping it from her belt.

"You do realize," Luther starts, giving her that look.

"Yes, I know. I know!" She says, disappointment in her voice. She had a mission, a goal, one simple task to carry out—and she failed. She chose to fail. "Look, the man in there has been working on a plan for the past seven years to get him and that ram out of the tower. He was probably still a year off of bringing it into fruition without any help—he needed one full morning of making the rope, then with our assistance he can lower the sheep to the ground, followed by himself and the rope. He pledged himself to me, as long as I don't harm that sheep and quite frankly he is perhaps the most useful resource we have. He has known the witch his whole life and while he probably doesn't realize it, he knows all of her capabilities. With the sheep in our possession, we can be assured that she will come to us and with his help, we can defeat her."

Giving her that look one last time before he uncrosses his arms, Luther sighs, "Fine, start from the beginning."

Orane takes a seat in the shade, Luther and the other three men joining her. She recounts the previous night and morning to a detail, with the exception of a few blushes and curious glances between her and Zeke. Slowly but indefinitely, the sun creeps across the sky. Occasionally Zeke hollers down to them, expressing his frustration but promises that he is almost done. When the sun finally lays down to rest behind the blanket of the trees and the darkness of dusk hovers over the land, Orane and her men hear a noise. 

...

Zeke puts the arm back on the wheel, wiping the sweat of frustration from his forehead. Of all the times for the crank to get jammed, it had to happen today. Though he is tired and hungry it pales in comparison to the anxiety he has suffered the past day. As he finally rises to his feet, he is disappointed to see that the sun is gone and darkness looms outside. Ever since he was little and even more so since he was locked away in the tower, the night always elicits a small amount of fear in him. He quickly walks to the window, trying to peer down to the base of the tower but there is no moon tonight and he can see nothing. Worry creeps in on him that Orane has left him to suffer a life alone, in his tower. He shouts out into the vast blackness below, "The wheel is fixed, are you ready, my Lady?"

He doesn't hear anything, but he sees a wiggle of the rope, alerting him to her presence. He runs back to the wheel and hastily cranks it to bring the rope back up. His muscles burn, tired from exhaustion and his dry mouth is in desperate need of water, but he doesn't stop. Next to him stands the ram, enjoying his free reign of the tower for a change.

It seems like an eternity before the wheel stops cranking; Zeke reaches over and pets his friend, his face beaming with excitement. Tonight is the night—he will leave this wretched place and never return. His feet will touch the grass in a matter of moments. He stands and turns towards the window, but before he can take a step forward, his heart drops. His smile disappears along with the blood from his pale face as his mistress steps off of the plank.

"Did you not hear me shouting to you?! You stupid boy, I have been waiting forever!" Her slightly aged face is twisted in a disapproving sneer; wild, peppery hair piles over her shoulders.

It takes a moment for Zeke to fully process what is happening. In an instant, he wonders if he had simply dreamed up the past night. "I—I'm sorry mistress, the crank broke," he manages to stutter out. Quickly he herds the ram back into his pen, afraid she might see the harness against his fur.

"I nearly broke my back trying to get on that rope, why is it so short?" She demands.

"You're—you're a day early, mistress. I wasn't expecting you until tomorrow." He walks back, standing before her, eyes downcast and shoulders slumped.

"Early?" She squeals, before her voice softens seductively, "Well, I had planned on spending the night here tonight." She walks slowly towards Zeke. She raises her hand to caress his cheek. For the past few months her demeanor towards him has started to change. Instead of treating him with a hateful irritation, she has made it clear that she will get what she wants from him.

He instinctively flinches away from her; the instance he does, he knows it was the wrong decision. He tries to back away from her but his body doesn't respond. The witches face darkens. As she raises her hand, Zeke's body floats above the ground. With a simple flick of her wrist she discards him against the back wall with a sickening crack.

Lying in a crumpled heap on the floor, he tries to push himself upright despite the tipping room. He blinks fiercely, his vision jarred. When a sharp pain flies up his arm it gives way, sending his body back down to the floor. He thinks he feels more pain there, but it is hard to tell as his entire body aches. Zeke struggles to remain conscious. He can barely see his mistress walk towards him. With a swift kick to the gut, she makes his eyes open wider.

"That will be the last time you reject me, Repugnant. Next time, you will either do as I say with fervor, or I will dispose of you for good. Now, before you pass out," she sneers at him, walking back to the catwalk, "Lower me down so that I may go."

Zeke somehow manages to rise to his feet, fear and determination pushing him clumsily across the room towards the crank. When he tries to release the lever with his right arm, but the sharp pain that shoots along it affirms that it is broken. He lets it spin a little faster than normal but with the condition he is in, his mistress is lucky that he didn't just let her drop. Soon, darkness begins to creep in on him and with his last bit of consciousness he watches the golden rope disappear out the window.

...

The hurried owl like hoot came so suddenly, that Orane and her men were barely able to disappear from sight. They had waited, all afternoon and evening and even after the sun disappeared for Zeke to fix the crank, to no avail. All five of them holding as still as death, Orane's heart almost stops when she sees the cloaked figure of the witch float by, only an arm's length away.

The witch stops at the rope, looking at it peculiarly. Her voice is like a glass of ice cold water poured down the spine, "Repugnant? Repugnant!" She shouts.

A moment later, the shadow of Zeke appears, "The wheel is fixed, are you ready, my Lady?"

The witch grabs the rope and flicks it hard with her hand. As Zeke disappears, it takes some effort for the woman to get her foot up into the stirrup.

Orane instantly knows that Zeke doesn't realize the witch will be at the end of the rope. All of them hold their breath until the witch is cranked far enough above the ground that she can't hear their whispers.

"I thought she came every seven nights," Orane barely sends enough air past her tongue to make a noise.

"She does, ma'am," replies Luke, who has been scouting the tower off and on for a few months now, "You could set a clock by her, but...well, she is a full day early."

The group waits in silence, all of their eyes on the tower. Once the witch enters, there is silence. Several moments later, a loud crash brings Orane to her feet. She steps out towards the tower. Worried for Zeke, she feels responsible for him and if he is in harm's way, it is her fault. She feels as if she let him down. Luther grabs her arm and pulls her back into the shadows.

"You're no good to anyone dead," he whispers hurriedly; he only lets go of her when he knows she will stay.

Her whole body tense, Orane tries her hardest not to run out and claw her way up the tower. Seconds tick by, followed by minutes until finally the witch reappears on the catwalk. The rope seems to lower her faster than usual until within an instant she reaches the bottom. She flicks the rope and a few seconds later the entire thing comes crashing down, twisting into a neat little bundle before her feet. The woman picks it up and throws it over her shoulder before heading back the way she came.

All five of them wait, not daring to move a muscle and barely breathing. After what seems like forever, an all clear hoot comes from one of the men keeping watch in a tree. Orane walks out of the shadows and quickly over to the base of the tower.

"What are you doing?" Luther demands, following her.

"Something isn't right, I have to get up there. He could be injured," she feels the rocks with her hands, finding the ridges that fit into her palms.

"Now just wait a moment," Luther pulls her back again. Orane shoots him a dirty look but he grasps her firmly, "You need to remember why we are here. We are not here for that man, we are here to kill that sheep."

"So you just expect me to let him die up there? All alone? I know what it is like to have your life ruined by that witch, but even after we've killed her, I still have to live with myself. Now you're too old to climb that high without a rope and the rest of you are too fat and out of shape, so unless you have a better idea?" She waits irritably for an answer.

Luke elbows Mikhail who jumps before grabbing a rope. He hands it to Orane, "This is not strong enough to hold any of us, but it is light enough that you can carry it with you. When you reach the top, drop it down and we will attach the thicker rope. You will have to crank one of us up."

Orane threads her arm and head through the loop before turning back to the tower; Luther gives her a little boost, whispering softly, "Remember our purpose. If he is too badly injured, you kill the sheep and get out of there, understand?"

As she reaches up, she ignores him. Methodically she climbs, hand after hand, foot after foot. Half way up her fingers start to cramp from the strain of pulling her weight, but she forces herself forward. She thanks the darkness that she is unable to see how far she has come but pushes on towards the growing light from the window, her body screaming the entire time. When she is almost there she can feel her foot starting to slip—she makes a wild grab for the sill and barely manages to grasp it before her feet dangle free beneath her. With the last bit of energy, her burning muscles barely manage to pull her up and she ungracefully flops over the window.

Orane crouches on the floor, her hand hovering over the knife in her belt as she assesses the situation. The ram remains behind his fence. The table is askew from where Zeke crashed into it, the chairs scattered about. As her eyes slowly scan the room, she doesn't see him at first. It isn't until she creeps towards the crank to tie off the rope, that she discovers him curled up in a ball behind it.

Ignoring the worried hoots from Luther below, she drops to her knees next to Zeke, unsure what to do. He is bleeding profusely from the back of his head. His left arm is tucked against his chest—from the way his right arm seems to be protecting it, she fears that it is broken. Gently she places her hand on his face.

"Zeke, Zeke? Please, open your eyes. It is Orane."

There is no response. She puts her shaking hand under his nose—he is still breathing. Even though she knows that there is nothing that she alone can do for him, she is reluctant to leave him. Forcing herself to continue, she ties the rope off to the bottom of the crank. Letting a length of it loose on the way to the window, she heaves the remainder of it out into the night. Impatiently, she stands there, waiting, until finally she hears a hoot. Orane pulls the rope, the resistance on it is more than she expected. She isn't sure if it is because of her climb or the actual weight, but it doesn't take long before her arms burn with pain and she gets tired. Glancing over to the expanding blood puddle around Zeke, her adrenaline begins to pulse faster and she continues pulling the rope as fast as she can. Finally, a large knot appears. She hastily unties it; the new rope is about the thickness of her wrist. Just to make sure that she doesn't drop it, she yanks a length of it into the room and threads it around the leg of the table. Pulling it back out to the window, she forces herself to take her time as she tip toes out onto the catwalk to thread it through the first pulley. It is a rather difficult task to pull the rope behind her and cautiously pick her way back to the second pulley, but she manages to accomplish it.

She has to throw her whole body's weight into pulling the length of the rope back to the crank, unable to help the fact that she is now panting with the effort. Once she manages to secure it tightly, she runs to the couch and lifts a corner of it up, freeing the remaining rope which slithers out the window. Leaning over the sill, she lets out a loud hoot.