Tales after Dusk 04

A few seconds later she gets a response. She makes haste to the crank, but discovers that Zeke is in the path of the lever. She doesn't want to move him, for fear of injuring him further, but she has no choice. It takes a substantial amount of effort, but she manages to slide his body along the floor and out of the path of the lever, leaving a streak of blood the entire way.

It takes her a little bit to figure out how to adjust the reducing gears so that she can lessen the amount of effort needed to turn the wheel, but as soon she begins the repetitive motion quickly starts to wear on her body. She turns and turns and turns; the muscles in her arms scream for relief but she ignores it. Just when she is about to give up, she hears Luke out on the catwalk.

"Slow down, my lady, I'm here," he makes a groaning sound as he crosses the catwalk—Luke is afraid of heights, but of the choices of men below, he weighs the least. Unable to surpass his fears, the shimmies across the beam like a caterpillar until he is close enough to fall into the window.

He scans the room curiously while getting up, but when his eyes land on the streak of blood leading to a seemingly dead man, he quickly rushes over to him. Kneeling next to Zeke, he leans over him to inspect the damage, "Head wounds always bleed a lot—I don't think it is that bad, but we need Professor to stitch him up to stop the bleeding. He might be out for a while though."

"I think his arm is broken too," she says softly. As Luke looks down at it, Orane makes a beeline over to one of the table chairs. She lifts it up and smashes it down onto the ground, causing Luke to shout out in surprise. Grabbing a towel off of the table and returns to them to make splint for Zeke's arm, "We're going to have to lower him down and take him to camp, we can't keep bringing everyone up here. Do you know how to sheer a sheep and spin yarn?"

Luke looks at her for a moment—anyone else he would laugh at, but not Orane, "I can sheer, but Mikhail can run a wheel, I'm pretty sure."

She nods slowly, "Right, here's the plan."

...

Orane sits on the edge of the catwalk, one hand resting on Zeke's chest; he lies with his head near her leg, unconscious and barely balanced on the beam. Her heart races. It took a lot of effort, determination and skill to drag him out onto the beam, but her breathing quickens from what she is preparing herself to do next. Taking one deep breath, she calls out to Luke.

"All right, tighten up the slack a little...there, that's it," she ensures that there is just enough rope hanging down so that she won't hit her head on the catwalk. Making sure the rope is tucked tightly across her back and under her arm pits, she rolls over onto her stomach, letting her legs dangle in the air. Before she has a chance to reevaluate just how stupid this plan is, she lets her body slowly slide off of the beam. Her momentum drags the body of Zeke too; as he is pulled over the side, the weight of his body slams into Orane, causing them both to swing violently back and forth.

"Are you fine?" Luke calls out the window.

The rope digs into Orane's back; she reaches out, wrapping her arms over Zeke's arms, so that she can keep them pressed tightly against his chest, preventing them from raising above his head and his body from slipping through the rope. They continue to swing back and forth like a pendulum.

"Just lower us, quickly," she replies.

There is a jolt before they begin their decent to the ground. Trying to keep her mind from worrying, she talks quietly to Zeke, even though he can't hear her, "Just hold on. Soon, we will be on the ground. I know that this probably isn't how you envisioned your maiden trip out of the tower, but...well...this isn't exactly how I pictured this ending up either," she pauses, turning to look down, before looking back up and squinting at the rope, hoping their knots hold. It was a lot longer than they needed, so Luke tied two loops in the end. They threaded Zeke through one with the knot at his back, Orane through the other. The pulley groans a little under their combined weight; she can only hope that it can withstand the weight of the ram.

Her heart pounds so hard she can feel it pulsing in her eyes. She doesn't like the feeling of her feet dangling in free air and she is nervous about how much blood Zeke lost. Thankfully he remains unconscious, because he would no doubt be in a lot of pain from his arm getting banged around. When they are almost to the ground, she whispers, "Please, Zeke, don't die. I can't do this without you."

The sound of an owl hoot startles her; Luther gently rests his hand on her back. Soon she feels solid ground beneath her feet, while Zeke lies motionless in a heap before her. Luther untangles him from the rope before giving it a swift flick, to let Luke know that they made it.

It takes both Luther and Rollo to get Zeke's body over a horse.

"Where is Mikhail?" Orane asks.

"He went back to keep watch, in case the witch comes again," after he secures a rope around Zeke to the saddle, he turns to Orane, "What brilliant idea have you come up with now?"

The sarcasm in his voice doesn't go unnoticed by Orane, but she chooses it ignore it, "There is not enough time, I will tell you later. Go tell Mikhail to get on the rope and have John crank him up. Then catch up with us—we will head back to camp so that the Professor can look him over," she says while mounting her own horse. She doesn't wait for a response before she leaves, leading the way for Rollo to follow with Zeke in tow. 

...

The first part of the ride is slow and antagonizing as the horses pick their way over the rocky terrain in the dark. Ages pass, the moon seems to stalk them as she follows her own path across the sky. Eventually the hills give way to a much flatter forest, allowing the animals to quicken their pace. When they finally hear the soft noise of a waterfall, they have reached their camp.

The man they call the Professor is anything but—he is a smart and vastly knowledgeable man, with a morbid interest in the human anatomy. Though his nickname would imply that he is an old man, he is only a few years older than Orane herself. He was due to be executed when she saved him; his heinous crime was dismantling a human cadaver so that he could get a better understanding of how the body worked. While he didn't kill this particular man, the idea of letting him go unsettled most of the prison guards. He, like John, Rollo, Mikhail, and Luke all owe Orane a debt that they will never be able to pay with anything short of their lives. Though most would look at these men with fear, Orane sees skill and cunning. She did not spare their lives lightly; each decision caused her a great deal of consideration, but in the end their abilities and loyalty outweighed the crimes they committed.

Luther, on the other hand, was charged with the task of looking over Orane by the King and Queen when she was still a young child. As the Advisor, they thought it a good idea that he form a lasting relationship with her when she was young, giving her someone that she would be able to trust, confide in and turn to in the event of their deaths, though no one knew that the King and Queen would meet such an untimely and early end. While she is now grown up, he still keeps a watchful eye over her as a way to pay homage to her parents.

The camp is small, just enough to outfit their group. Though it is nothing more than four canvas tents, it is still more luxurious and perhaps better stocked than the average home. Luther reaches the camp just minutes after Orane and Rollo. Once she has secured her horse, Orane grabs the reigns of Zeke's, so that she can steady it. With Zeke's large frame draped over the animal, it looks small in comparison, as if it were simply a large pony. It takes a lot of effort for Rollo and Luther to slide the man off; they half carry, half drag him the remaining twenty feet into the Orane's tent.

It is divided into two good sized areas; the first, houses a long, rough table with benches, a small wooden stove and a few cushioned sofas. Being the largest and best furnished it doubles as a meeting area, dining hall on rainy days and other accommodations as necessary. Tonight, it is also the infirmary.

Rollo and Luther manage to slide Zeke's body onto the table, face down. His black hair shines in the candlelight, thick with fresh and dried blood. The slow rise and fall of his back is barely noticeable. Orane keeps placing her hand under his nose just to make sure that he is still breathing.

The Professor wanders into the tent with his doctor's bag in tow. He wipes off his glasses before leaning over to peer at Zeke's head. Dipping a cloth into a bowl of warm water, he cleans the head wound first so that he can see what he is dealing with. Bloody water soon trickles onto the table and through the cracks to the dirt floor before seeping into the earth.

There is a large gash on his scalp that keeps bleeding. After carefully cutting away some of the hair, Professor retrieves a spool of thread and a curved upholstery needle from his bag. Carefully, neatly, he begins to stitch the wound back together.

Rollo clears his throat, taking care to keep his eyes off of the blood, "Perhaps I will go rearrange the tent a bit and set up an extra cot for him."

Luther, who notices that Rollo is a bit more pale than usual, nods in agreement.

Rollo shares a tent with John; they get along better with each other than the others. It might seem like an odd fit, as they are almost complete opposites. Rollo is a large, burly man. He is loud and rambunctious and isn't a stranger to a fight. John, however, is quiet and keeps to himself; he would rather spend most of his time alone, scouting the woods than outright causing trouble. But despite their differences, they seem to have come to a respectful understanding with each other.

Mikhail, Luke and the Professor share another of the four tents. Mikhail and Luke took to one another like old school friends. Professor joined them because they weren't afraid of his peculiar experiments, unlike Rollo.

The last remaining tent is Luther's; being the oldest of the group and the highest in rank next to Orane, he retorted to the others that he should get his own tent because he is the only man that isn't a criminal.

As the Professor finishes stitching and begins to examine Zeke's arm, Luther sits down next to the table. He pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers, taking a deep breath which he releases into a sigh, "Now, Miss Orane, would you care to explain your new plan to me?"

Orane looks at her old mentor, slightly turned off by the air of superiority and irritation in his voice. She turns her back to him and begins to wash the dried blood from her hands while she considers his affect. He has a right to be frustrated with her; Luther has been with her every step of the way since the witch killed her parents. Once she told him that she intended to find the witch and kill her by any means possible, he remained at her side. Everything was going according to plan—find the medium that amplifies the witch's power and get rid of it, then it would be easy to get rid of the witch. They discovered that the witch's source of power always stemmed from some sort of golden animal, from which she carried a piece of it on her person. From all of the stories they have come across, they know it has been an eagle, a rabbit, a horse, a deer, and now they know that it is a ram. After finally tracking the witch down they followed her for months, learned her routine and deducted that the creature was in the tower. The mission was simple enough: kill the creature. That was, at least, until Orane didn't uphold her end of the bargain.

"Luke and Mikhail will sheer and spin the ram's wool in shifts so that they can accomplish a full length rope within six days. Once they have done so, we will get all three of them out of the tower and back to the castle. When the witch discovers her precious ram missing, she will spend time finding us, there by diminishing her powers even more. Upon reaching Reddington, we kill her." She dries off her hands on a towel, looking at Luther.

"I see. Well, let us hope that we have better luck with this plan than the last," he knows he is pushing her nerves with his comments, but he doesn't have the ability to ignore her shortcomings.

As Orane opens her mouth to give Luther a verbal lashing, Professor interrupts, "I am done. The break in his arm is very minor, there are no bones sticking out. I would think that he can use it a little but he will have to keep it in a splint—it should set up in about a week or so, but it will be tender for a while. We should set him some place soft to rest, until he wakes—is Rollo done setting up the tent yet?"

Luther raises to his feet, peering out the front flap of Orane's tent, "No," he replies.

"We can move him to my bed for now," Orane retorts, "Until he wakes," she adds.

Luther looks at her curiously for a moment. He wants to object, but he has no viable alternative. He is worried about the attachment she seems to have formed to this man—no doubt, Zeke has a handsome face, but he has no title, no prospects. He is definitely not worthy of a Queen's affections. Deciding to voice his concerns, he opens his mouth, but quickly shuts it when Orane gives him the terrifying, sharp look she has developed over the past few years. Though he is not intimidated by her, he knows that once she sets her mind on something not amount of arguing will deter her.

Luther grabs Zeke's shoulders while the Professor grabs his feet. They manage to lug the beast of a man to Orane's bed, in the adjoining room of the tent.

"I have some stew on the fire, would you like some, Miss?" Professor asks.

"Perhaps later. I think I shall wait for him to wake first."

He nods, adjusting Zeke's head so that it is on a pillow before he turns and leaves. Orane sits in a dusty, plush chair and props her feet up onto the foot of her own bed. Though she pulls out her journal and opens it, her eyes stay on Zeke.

Luther lingers at the door way for a moment. He wants to be upset with her, but he isn't. Not only were her parents his previous employers, they were also his friends. He vowed to keep her safe in whatever she chose to do and though he wants revenge against the witch that killed them as much as anyone else, he is reminded each day that the little girl he raised into a strong, tough young woman has the conscious and morality of the best of men. Though he wants to tell her how proud he is, Luther sees himself out without a word.

...

The first thing Zeke feels is the throbbing in his head and arm; he clenches his eyes shut to try to force the pain away. The bed underneath him feels softer than usual. He is surprised that he managed to drag himself up the stairs and under the covers. But something seems off. The smell—he inhales deeply. It is a sweet, rustic smell, like what he imagines a mysterious woman would smell like. He feels something tight against his left arm, a bandage. Slowly he brings his right hand up to rub his eyes; his fingers trace along what should be his coarse cotton blanket, but instead is a soft, furry pelt.

He opens his eyes, rubbing them with his fingers. There are no wooden beams radiating from the peak of the tower like the sun, but rather he sees the coarse dark recesses of canvas held up by wooden poles. Quickly he sits up but the room tilts and the throbbing in his head gets worse. As his eyes gradually come to focus, he finds himself in a small square room, dimly lit by a single lantern hanging from a post. The floor is covered with old rugs, a lone plush chair sits empty at the foot of the bed, next to a large wooden chest. The bed itself is nearly twice the size of his, plenty of room for two people and covered with soft grey fur pelts that are stitched together to form a blanket. Above him hangs a wooden hoop, from which a gauzy black fabric drapes down to the floor, covering the entire back of the bed, but open on the front and sides.

As he slowly swings his legs over the right side of the bed he looks down to find his left forearm neatly wrapped in a bandage with wooden splints all around it to prevent any unwanted movement. In front of him behind a cloth door a soft firelight glows. He takes his time getting to his feet, worried that he will fall and make noise. Holding his breath, he carefully places down each footstep, trying hard not to make a sound so that he can peek out at the room beyond. Sitting silently in front of a small open front wooden stove is Orane. Her feet are curled up under her, her sketch book in her lap, pencil caressing the paper. She is too far away for him to see what she is drawing, but he can only imagine that it has to do with why he is here and not in his tower.

Zeke slides his good arm into the slit in the canvas, pulling it back so that he can step out into the other room. Instantly, Orane looks over. She closes her book and stands before making her way over to him.

"How is your head?" She asks, worriedly. Her eyes examine his face, searching for an answer before he has a chance to give one.

"It...hurts," he replies honestly.

"Do you feel dizzy?" She reaches out and places her hand on his shoulder, as if to catch him.

"Not really. A little light headed, but...where am I? What happened?" Zeke looks down into her eyes; her face is shadowed from the light of the dancing flames in the stove, casting a new shroud of curiosity over the woman he has known for only a day.

She takes her hand back, shoving them into her pockets as if she is unsure how to act around him, "Well, things didn't exactly go as planned. For some reason the witch showed up a full night early," she turns and motions for him to sit down on the small couch before the stove. She drags over a wooden crate and sits down on it.

Zeke starts to remember what happened, "Yes...she was angry with me."

"Why?" Orane asks curiously. Her piercing green eyes latch on to his as if she is prying the information directly out of his head.

He doesn't want to say exactly, because he is disgusted by the fact that his mistress can do with him as she pleases and he can't defend himself. Zeke tries to skirt the subject; his voice is quiet while he stares into the fire, "She had wanted to spend the night in the tower but...when she got angry, there wasn't anything I could do. She threw me across the room like a doll. I was barely able to lower her out of the tower—I don't remember anything else."

"We were all waiting at the base of the tower and hardly had time to hide when she showed up. When I heard the commotion—I knew something wasn't right. After she left, I took a rope and I scaled the wall; that's when I found you unconscious next to the crank. There was so much blood," Orane clears her throat, pushing away her agony that she almost caused his death, "I cranked up Luke. He helped me get a rope around you and we got you to the ground. It was a long ride back to camp but Professor fixed you up. It has been about three hours since we saw the witch."

Zeke forces a smile onto his face, "Thank you, my lady." Having spent almost all of his life alone, it is a rude awakening for him to feel so weak, so inept.

As if she understands what he is feeling, Orane leans forward and places her hand on his, "Don't let it bother you. She is a witch and a wicked one at that—her power is almost as limitless as her evil and she has taken countless lives from this world. With your help, we will be able to put an end to her destruction."

When he looks up at her, he finds his worries dissipating, as if he believes in what she says whole heartedly. She is nothing like any of the women he has read about in his books. She is strong and sure yet kind and gentle; her mere presence commands respect and her actions earn it. Zeke feels his heart bewitched by her, leading him to question what mysterious powers she holds.