I didn't think I'd find any sleep on this starless night, but even after staring at the door to our room for hours, nothing happened, and eventually, exhaustion overtook me, even over Quiet's constant snoring.
We had two rooms in the inn, each with three beds. Ninefingers, Sebastian, and the old man slept in the room next door, while I shared one with Crosseyes and Quiet — who was anything but quiet at night. It was a dreamless night. Until my eyes shot open at the sound of the door creaking softly.
I bolted upright, my mind immediately flooded with all sorts of delusions — the Rider had come, the other monster had come to reclaim his pouch — but then the candle in the visitor's hand flickered, and I recognized his face.
"It's you, old man!" I whispered with relief, careful not to wake the others.
The old man blinked, looking slightly confused, as if he had forgotten why he had come in the first place, and then he saw me and smiled. He stumbled over to me, nearly tripping and catching himself on the doorframe at the last moment. He grinned crookedly, closed the door slowly behind him, and shuffled over to me, placing the candle beside the bed.
I watched him in his clumsy state but said nothing. He sat down on the edge of my bed, ran a hand through his hair, rubbed his eyes, and sighed.
"You know..." he began quietly, "there are reasons why I never tell you where I am." He didn't seem angry, just... drunk and a little annoyed.
I nodded curtly. "You were drinking again."
"Yeah, yeah," he said, waving a dismissive hand, "but I'm always drinking. No, I had other things to do. Important things."
"Then why did you come?" I asked.
He looked at me for a long time. And sighed again before ruffling my hair. "Just in case, I always tell Sebastian where to find me... if I don't forget to do it. But he's only allowed to come for two reasons."
He held up his index and middle fingers and said, "Either one of you finds a shooting star on the ground, or" — the middle finger went down — "you're in serious danger."
His gaze suddenly turned serious. "Please tell me it's the former, Corin."
I suddenly felt safer. The demons of the night and the horrors of the day faded in the presence of the old man. Even though he was a drunk and a flirt, and a terrible, just horrible, uncomprehendingly bad merchant, he had been the closest thing to a real father I'd had in the past year. I knew I could trust him, just as I trusted Sebastian.
I slowly shook my head. "I saw the Rider."
He tilted his head. "The Rider?" he asked.
I explained it to him. In front of the others, I hadn't had the courage or the energy to dig up the story from the depths of the past, but now, here in this quiet night, the words flowed easily from my lips.
When I told him about my mother's nightly visitors, he almost looked amused. When I told him how one day something else came to visit us, he grew more serious. He didn't interrupt me once, listened to every word, and waited patiently when I struggled to find the right ones.
When I described the Rider and his horse, I saw a flicker of doubt in his eyes. When I said my mother had been sold, I saw pity. And when I told him how he touched my heart, changed me, and how I met him again three years later as promised, the pain and emptiness I felt, I saw something I had never seen in him before.
True concern — not the kind he showed us when he took us in — but a deeper, more profound concern for my very life.
When I finished, he said nothing. Quiet was still snoring in the background, and Crosseyes slept, his body rising and falling gently in the candlelight. Nothing had happened when I spoke the reality of the demon; no curse or lightning had struck me. I felt relieved.
The old man, however... ruffled my hair again. He put on a weak smile. "Ah, Corin," he said, "I'm in deep shit."
I grew uneasy. "W-what do you mean?"
He stood up and took the candle. He looked out the window, into the cold and dark night. "There were so many beautiful women I hadn't been slapped by yet... oh well." He looked at me and nodded seriously.
"Wake the others. We ride in half an hour."
Three-quarters of an hour later, the old man's wagon rattled through the gates of the Green Rose. We hadn't packed much — just a few things we'd bought in the city and the crates the old man had loaded onto the wagon. The stolen pouch was still with me. The guards had initially refused to let us pass, but after a few whispered words from the old man, the gates creaked open.
The rest of us sat in the back of the wagon, most of us confused and shivering in the cold night air. Of course, they all had questions and doubts — but no one tried to argue with the old man. Not just because of his authority, I was sure, but because they were my brothers.
And sometimes, we didn't ask questions.
The flowerbeds and fields surrounding the city, so vibrant and alive during the day, were eerily still in the darkness. The night was silent, and nothing seemed to break that unsettling quiet — until Ninefingers couldn't hold back any longer. He was idly carving the edges of a crate with his knife, his face twisted in frustration and boredom.
"I know we're not turning around but... we're really leaving because Corin thinks he saw a ghost?"
I shot him a furious glare. "The Rider isn't a ghost! He's real! I saw him!"
"Why didn't you steal his pouch, then? You love stealing from dangerous people. No wonder you're scared..."
"That's enough," the old man interrupted suddenly. We all froze, surprised. He never stepped into our arguments. He'd once told me it was natural for brothers to fight. The fact that he was telling us to be quiet made my blood run faster. He turned around, not just to look at us, but to scan the empty road behind us.
"I know you all believe different things. You think the Thirteen are just legends from far away, you think the royal academy is some kind of paradise for the young, you think the worst thing that could ever happen to you was your childhoods. But this is different," he said, his eyes locking onto mine, "and even if Corin hallucinated the whole thing — which, even though I wish, I don't think he did — the Rider isn't something you should even dare to believe in. He's real, and saying that he's just a ghost won't save us."
We fell silent. I didn't even give Ninefingers a triumphant look.
"You talk like you know him," Sebastian said.
The old man nodded. "I do."
"Who is he?" I asked, crawling over the crates to sit right beside him. My nose was practically in his face, and I could still smell the alcohol on his breath. But he looked at me with a focus I'd never seen before, as if he were inspecting my very soul, searching for something deep within.
Finally, he turned his gaze back to the road, where the horses steadily trotted into the darkness. "That was the Plague."
A wave of shock rippled through us. Quiet swallowed audibly, Crosseyes shrunk into himself, Ninefingers nicked his finger with his knife, Sebastian's eyes widened, and I couldn't believe what I'd just heard.
Sebastian quickly pulled out the deck of cards and searched for the Plague's card. He held it up for the old man to see. It depicted a dead sheep, it's body rotten and covered in flies, lying in the mud. "This Plague?" he asked incredulously. "One of the Thirteen?"
As much as I wished it weren't true, the old man nodded calmly. My thoughts raced again, and before I knew it, I was frantically scratching at my skin, my fingers trembling.
"The Plague they say is the origin of the Weeping Mother?" Ninefingers asked.
The old man nodded again. "That was the last plague, but yes, the same Sealcycle."
Crosseyes leaned forward nervously. "Is it also true he's responsible for the extinction on the Foaming Islands?"
Again, the old man nodded. "Yes."
"Mh, mh!" Quiet grunted, pointing to the card.
"That's true too. I know you think they're just legends... but not everything people believe — or fear — is made up."
"Then... What did he do to me?" I asked, my voice trembling.
The old man closed his eyes. "Probably the Seal of the Host... I don't know much about it myself. But if that's the case, you can't see him again, even be near him." His expression grew serious, his shoulders tense, and he gripped the reins tighter, as if he were ready to fight the whole world for me — for us.
"You should have told me sooner. I could have tried the Seal... no, the salve, though even that might not have worked. A Seal of the Thirteen is powerful. But another Seal of the Thirteen might... no, I don't know. We'll have to figure it out."
He looked ahead again. All tiredness had vanished from me. There was a bit of hope, we'd make it out unscathed just yet.
But suddenly, the world changed. The air grew heavier, the silence of the night became unbearable. And I felt it. "He's coming..." I whispered.
Then, we heard the hooves.