T. Church - Return to Canifis

The ash tree? Was it ash, or willow? How Eloise hated the children getting the sun on them. That was why I planted it there.

“Thank you for doing so, Sally. Your sister would be happy if she knew.”

“ If she knew? So your travels have not yet persuaded you of the existence of the gods or an afterlife?” Sally laughed and he saw her look to Doric and Castimir, who sat opposite-somewhat stiffly, he thought, uncomfortably so. Castimir laboured with a biscuit, chewing slowly and deliberately, while Doric lit his pipe.

“Come Sally, our mawkish talk is making my friends uncomfortable,” he said, hoping to lighten the mood. “Although I feel I must answer your question, for that was a tradition of our debates, was it not? A question asked had to be answered. Yes, I believe in the gods. I think I always did. But I just don’t believe they care for mortals. I have seen too much ill in all areas of the world to think otherwise.”

“That I can believe,” she answered. “You don’t have to go far these days to prove such a hypothesis, alas.” Her voice trailed off, and Ebenezer saw the looks of his friends grow interested.

“What is happening in Varrock, Sally?” he asked. “What is this Wyrd that keeps taking people?”

Sally took a sip of her tea, avoiding his stare.

Ebenezer was content to wait.

“I first heard of it some months ago,” she said slowly. “Farmers from the east said that children had been taken from their beds at night, and devoured. Later on it started happening to adults, to farm hands. Strong young men who would fight a wolf, if it threatened.”

She lowered her cup.

“But it’s been said no one ever fought this thing,” she continued. “It kills with absolute impunity. Always in the night. Some have seen it, or so they say. It has been described as a giant bat, with fangs that drip blood, or poison. Some people say it is a woman. It has taken indiscriminately-men, women, children, the old and the young. Some vanish never to be seen again, other times remains are found, but still no one has an answer to stop it. Some say it has taken over a hundred souls since it first arrived in our lands.”

One hundred!

“What you say matches Theodore’s description to the letter,” Doric growled.

“Then it is true?” Sally asked.

Ebenezer nodded. “Theodore confronted her two nights ago. She took a tailor’s child and killed the father. Her talons are poisoned, he believes. She also slew a man last night and left his body on public display, with a message written in his blood. The message read, ‘I am coming.’ Theodore thinks it was her, anyhow.”

“‘I am coming,’” Sally repeated with a shiver. “It’s not just this that is scaring people, however. Have you heard of the prophecy of the High Priest of Entrana, made a century ago upon his death bed?”

“Theodore mentioned it in his explanation,” Doric said. “Something about a true king returning.”

Sally nodded. “That is what makes people afraid. They think it is Drakan, and that soon he will cross the Salve and take Varrock. Others believe it is tied to the legend of Arrav and the Necromancer. This Wyrd seems to me to be a thing from Morytania.”

“That is what Theodore believes,” Ebenezer agreed.

Sally shook her head.

“I haven’t seen Theodore since he first came to Varrock with your request for the steam engine.” Her expression relaxed. “I would have liked to have seen it working.”

“It worked better than we could have hoped,” the alchemist replied. “And speaking of science, what else do you have to show me? Your recent letters have mentioned phosphorous.”

“Ah, phosphorous is the least of our efforts. We have had some success in our experiments with the Kinshra’s black powder, but for that you must be patient. Albertus Black will be here shortly, and I know he is excited to show you what new inventions we have come up with. Only when he is here, and you have both shared a drink, will I unlock the door to the wine cellar.”

“That sounds like a very good idea,” Doric said. “I favour a strong red myself.”

Sally laughed.

“Then you are out of luck, master dwarf, for the wine cellar holds no wine. It is where Albertus and I carry out our research.”

Doric gave a brief curse and rolled his eyes-to the amusement of his friends-when suddenly the front door opened with a loud bang.

“That is him now,” Sally said in excitement. “Albertus is here!”

Albertus Black was a white-haired old man only three years older than Ebenezer. His sideburns crept down his face and met at his chin, where they ended in a short, ill-kept beard. Age had withered him to the extent that he was barely taller than Doric, no more than chest height compared to Castimir, and when he shook hands with Ebenezer, the alchemist was startled by how frail his old friend appeared to be.

“I am glad you have come back, Ebenezer,” Albertus said. “I had hoped to sit with you again for a time, and to talk about the past.”

“Not you, as well?” Sally chided. “We’ve already been over Eloise and her grave. We’ve even talked about the disappearances and killings that plague Varrock.”

“Oh, please!” Albertus said with sudden vigour. “She does go on, doesn’t she? Often I thought it would have been best if I had gone with you twenty years ago. It would have saved me years of nagging. No wonder poor Erasmus died so young.” He sat at the table, next to Castimir, and eyed the wizard with a hint of suspicion. “Do you know young man, I am only twenty years old? Yet look what she has done to me!”

Sally laughed and scolded him for a fool.

“If your bones weren’t so brittle, you would be out, Albertus Black!”

“So you don’t believe in this creature then?” Doric asked cautiously. “The one that is doing the killing?”

“No,” Albertus said without hesitation. “It is the imaginings of peasants drunk on cider or religion. Possibly it is a contamination in the wheat-sometimes that can happen with ergot. And if that is the case, coming at a time when this ridiculous prophecy is talked of and spread about, then is it any surprise that a fearful figure grips the imagination of a folk weaned on legends of vampires and werewolves from over the river? No, it is all stuff and nonsense, and would never stand up to the scrutiny of a scientific mind.”

“You remind me of when I first met Ebenezer,” Castimir said, turning to his friend. “Didn’t we argue about the gods? You believed that Saradomin, Zamorak, and Guthix were all elements of the same god. You are fortunate Theodore didn’t declare you a heretic.”

“I believed that they were like fingers on the same hand,” Ebenezer explained. “Although I have seen much since that time, only six months ago.”

Near enough to make me reconsider my opinions, perhaps.

“I too believe they aren’t as people say they are,” Albertus huffed. “Since time immemorial we have listened to High Priests of Entrana as they lay down laws that govern our lives, setting calendars and dictating marriage ceremonies. And, of course, collecting money from the masses. I have never been to Entrana, but I expect the Holy Isle is a wealthy place indeed!”

“So what do you believe in?” Castimir asked politely.

“Science. Theories to test and then to predict. Let me show you.” The old man struggled to his feet and approached the cupboard that stood against the far wall. From inside he took a copper globe with a pump protruding from the bottom. Gently, he laid it on the table, wheezing from the effort.

“Now, master dwarf or wizard, would one of you be so kind as to use the pump?”