Goland and Robert, the Cardinal of Iscariot were on a journey to hunt a monster. For sport mostly. It was originally intended to be a much shorter visit, but she had no control over the whims of a legend.

  Goland was poor company; she never knew what to say. The road was long and all she could do was fill it with silence. His eminence craved good company, proper conversation; Goland knew he did by the way he would try to fill that silence, at first with remarks of the landscape and monsters skulking by - Goland would agree. His eminence seemed unsatisfied by this and soon he switched to questions. He would ask her of her experience in the wars, her time on earth, her past loves and she would tell him gladly, but once she had answered, the conversation would lay flat, dead as roadkill - of which Goland had left much in their wake - and his eminence would grow tired of questioning her so one-sidedly. Silence crept onto their backs like a cold blanket. She was painfully aware of its presence at each passing moment.

  They had travelled far from Kerioth - a week east behind them now (four days if they rode hard with no carriage) - and would travel further still. The road had thinned and was now no better than a trail; the passing travelers had waned too. The last town on this path lay ahead. It was a small outpost that had no name Goland knew of - presumably a farming town, or mining, or both. It was controlled by Iscariot and guarded by their troops and therefore under the rule of Robert, the boy by her side. Goland marched faster, eager to reach their destination and end their silence.

  They should have reached it first thing this morning, but the sun was already slipping below the auburn treeline and shining off the decaying leaf litter below that crunched under their boots with no town in sight. It was slower going when your horses were dead. Gone, wolf food, bones, likely cracked open and licked thoroughly by the young, sick and elderly of the pack that couldn't score the good, fresh, horse meat. The oil-wolves came in the dead of the night. Goland and his eminence had set up camp in known oil-wolf territory, believing themselves to be safe - a belief which rested on their flame staying alight, but when Goland woke to sniffs and growls, only embers remained. By then it was too late. She managed to protect his eminence, but the horses were taken first, of course they were, a free meal never goes untouched, and now Goland was the horse. The carriage on her back, its weight easy at first, but a terrible burden for a full day. It carried hundreds of items, ranging from tools for an emergency to comforts for the cardinal. A duty of her failure. So the silence was filled with grunts and squeaking carriage wheels.

  ‘Your eminence,’ Goland said, her words slow and sluggish with the realisation that this was the first time she had tried to start a conversation, the first time she had spoken without being spoken to, but before she could even start she was cut off.

  ‘Rob,’ he said. ‘I have told you more than once to address me by my name, which is Rob in case you have forgotten.’

  She cringed, the heavy wooden carriage forcing her to hunch over as she walked with iron wheels bumping over stones behind her. ‘Your eminence, I really shouldn’t. I would understand if it were for discretion, but on this trail there is no one to hear. So I should address you properly.’

  His eminence was not a fugitive in hiding - the opposite really, he owned the country - but they had chosen to hide their identities to not be needlessly attacked or mugged. Or just to avoid beggars. Ideally, his eminence would have aged to at least twenty, but that was now impossible for him without going insane. At over a thousand years old, he could not risk again above his teens. TO hide her identity, Goland wore less armor than usual, only what she could hide under her cloak (of course the rest was stowed within the carriage including her spear) and his eminence wore plain, but high quality clothes, black pants, matching leather booths and an open necked white shirt that displayed the few chest hairs a young teen owned. You could see the true age in the eyes, those piercing white eyes. Not an off-white, like the “whites of the eye,” but iris’s brighter than a morning cloud.

  ‘This is no matter of discretion,’ he said. ‘I have given you an order and you will follow it.’

  Goland went to protest, but those radiant eyes were glaring at her as they walked side by side so all she could do was nod.

  ‘Now tell me what you wanted to say,’ he said, rolling his hand as if he had zero interest in what would pass Goland’s lips, but she knew better. He walked a little closer to her and leant his ear in. After spending months by his side, she could tell he was terribly excited for some conversation.

  ‘I think that perhaps we should maybe, possibly consider turning back toward Kerioth after we reach the next town.’ The second half of the sentence came out in a nervous blur that she forced out before it retreated back within herself.

  Rob spat on the ground. ‘Never. Not before we at least hunt something good. Why would you even suggest that?’

  Goland’s cheeks flushed, but she did have a good reason. Their trip to visit the home country had already blown out far past its expected end date. Originally, it was just to confer with the arch-bishop, but his eminence was ever willful and once hunting got on his mind there was no stopping it. And who was there to tell him no, to remind him of his duties? He is the boss. More than that, Goland knew something was happening in the holy land, likely unfolding at that very moment – something they should return for. A meeting had been called; the entire holy order summoned. It was rare, but typically insignificant; movement by the revolutionary rebellion or some whispers in a city to be exterminated. The call would typically only be answered by half the order, or less. However, this time was different. Goland did not know the details - while she was far from the weakest holy knight, she was a strong contender for least influential - but she did know it was important, gravely so. The type of meeting you would die before missing, or die for missing it. It would happen soon, meaning she would probably miss it regardless, but that made her no less anxious to return.

  What she could not tell his eminence was her final order: “Ensure all cardinals are accounted for in the Messiah’s Land by the meeting,” but what could she do if Robert refused? He was the boss.

  ‘I believe this hunt could turn out more dangerous than we believed.’

  He made a phst sound. ‘Need I remind you that I was, and still am, a great warrior? I predate every holy-knight still serving in the order. I am hoping for danger.’ The effect of his small speech was dampened by the squeakiness of his fourteen-year-old vocal cords. ‘Not to mention you are my guard, so you should have no problem guarding me.’

  To this Goland fell back into her silence. Leaves crunched beneath their feet, wheels squeaked behind and birds retiring for the night let out their final caws. The sun had set. The silence, however, did not last long.

  As they came over one of the road's many crests, a faint fire light could be seen in the distance accompanied by rhythmic drumming. And cheers, she heard that too, it was a party. A small sign on the side of the road came into view. Goland raised her hand and ignited a flame from a single finger. The sign read:

  Bryn Sturgis of Iscariot

  Last stop before the Ravine

  Port Condri (abandoned) 19 miles north

  As they marched forward the cheers and drums grew louder. There was a distant crash followed by laughter. The moon had shown its sullen face and looked fondly down at the cardinal, his short brown hair and red brushed cheeks illuminated by its cold glance.

  ‘Slow down travelers,’ a gruff voice called from the darkness. Goland came to a stop, the iron wheels ceasing their endless chatter and two men stepped out from behind a nearby bush. The first of them ignited a torch and Goland saw they were not knights, yet armed. One carried a short sword and looked almost like an honor-knight with his light, leather armor. The other wore plain clothes, but had several throwing knives about the hip. Likely hired mercenaries. Adventures paid to guard the village from monsters and worse.

  ‘What’s your business here?’ the knife wearer asked.

  ‘We’re on a hunting trip,’ Rob answered.

  The adventurer nodded, unbothered by this answer or by the fact a child answered on behalf of an adult. It did not take much to put together the younger you looked, the older and richer you probably were. The man with the sword pulled out a scroll of paper and had a long look down its contents before turning to his partner and shaking his head. ‘They’re good; don’t resemble anyone on the list.’

  The knife adventurer did not seem surprised. ‘What happened to your horses?’ he asked, looking at the carriage on Goland’s back.

  ‘Wolves. Know where we could get a replacement?’

  ‘Yar, plenty in town at the moment. We’re at the end of harvest season, so folks will be headed back towards the capital soon. Some will sell a horse or two if you got the life to pay for it.’ His eyes turned greedily to Rob, a child.

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  ‘Thank you,’ Goland said and with squeaky wheels chasing her feet, they moved forward.

  The town was small, its center only a few buildings. Fire light and music streamed out of the largest building in the middle of town, a single story pub with a triangle roof and batwing doors. There was also light coming from the only two-story building in the town, a hotel where Goland would likely find all the rooms booked out. There were a few others around; a stable, a meeting hall and what appeared to be a general store by the name of “Took’s” with the longest front porch Goland had ever seen - all of them dead to the night.

  The boy's stomach rumbled. ‘Let's find dinner.’

  ‘It looks rather rowdy inside there,’ Goland said, nodding towards the tavern, which beamed drums and cheers. ‘The company in that type of establishment is far from refined your eminence, I would suggest we stick to the meat I have stored and set up camp-’

  ‘Quit your blabber,’ he said then snapping towards her, ‘and for the last time my name is Rob, call me that or nothing at all.’

  From his body a crushing aura streamed out, forcing Goland to wince. Even his subconscious use of reverence was immense; making her wonder if he needed a guard at all.

  Rob’s face softened into something that looked like regret, and as sweat formed on Goland's (too large) forehead (it looks neanderthalic) he turned away. ‘Let’s go.’

  They moved over the hard packed, dirt road towards the pub. Goland instinctively went to the hitch posts around the side to tie up their horses. Tie myself up, it would do me good in learning to be a proper horse.

  At a time when most horses should either be stowed in the stables or at their masters paddock, there were four mounts still hitched, likely forgotten in drunken stupor by their owners. Then even more peculiar, a boy no taller than Rob was by their side. He seemed oblivious to the approaching knight and cardinal, brushing a shaggy, black horse while feeding a grey donkey with his other hand. The boy was filthy, smeared with ash and dirt. His clothes were tatters held together with sowings of random, multi-colored, materials with his hair hung over most of his face and down his neck. He looked like a neglected street rat if Goland had ever seen one. However, I saw them in my previous life, where young meant poor. In Purgatory, no young man was poor. Goland was not a genius, but neither a fool and it would take purgatory's greatest idiot to believe this man was truly the child he appeared to be. Robert responded in a similar way to Goland. He straightened up and eyes went wide, she could almost feel his hair standing on end, his heartbeat racing. What is another ancient doing out here? Hunting? She didn’t think it was possible. She had also heard of warriors of old slipping into the edges of the world, riding out their days and scraping for repentance.

  The boy finally noticed them. He turned and swept the hair from his face and where Goland expected to see radiant white eyes, she saw humanity. The iris was fresh, black as tar and young. He could not have been older than two-hundred. Then why stay young? There is no benefit; Rob stays young to stave off the madness that would consume his mind if he aged too far. Perhaps a trick. He could be trying to appear ancient, or just a fool flaunting his wealth. The horse caretaker took only a few seconds to look at the cardinal and the woman with an oversized carriage on her back before turning back to his horses, stroking their noses.

  Robert approached, Goland followed.

  ‘Evening,’ Rob called, ‘what brings you to these parts?’

  The kid did not even look to give his response. ‘Travelling.’

  Goland felt ice drip down her back. This kid was too arrogant for his own good. Did he not see the cardinal’s white eyes or feel his immense aura? To be disrespectful would be death and a painful one at that.

  ‘Where to?’ Rob asked in a friendly enough voice. ‘My friend and I are in need of some new mounts and would be interested in purchasing two of yours.’

  This did get the boys attention, but in the worst way. He glared through his shaggy hair with furious eyes. ‘Get lost. I would never sell my friends.’

  Robert approached further. The boys were about the same height and would not look too different if the horse keeper was clean. Almost like orphaned twins raised by different families; one ruled countries for a living, the other groveled beneath their feet. But this boy does not grovel.

  Boy. That word kept sleeping into her mind. She knew logically it was impossible for a child to actually be out this far. Any true fourteen year old would have sold their lifespan up to at least twenty to be at a proper working age, but there was just something about him, this kid. Goland realized it was the arrogance and the unbridled anger that only a true teenager could hold. He must be strong, to still be standing where he is. Robert had still not released reverence, but the aura was overflowing from him, even Goland was struggling to keep her head up in his presence.

  ‘Alek!’ a deep voice called from the tavern’s porch. ‘What’s taking you so long?’

  A tall burly man was silhouetted by the pub’s light inside. He smelt of ale and when he stepped into the moon’s glow Goland saw alcohol flushed cheeks. He wore a blonde braid with tattoos on the shaved sides of his head.

  Unlike the boy this one wizened up quickly. The alcohol in his system seemed to disappear instantly as he was slapped by the cardinal’s presence. I doubt he knows who, but he can tell it's someone of impotence standing before him. The man cautiously approached the small group. ‘What’s going on here? Anything I can help you with?’

  Robert turned to face the towering shadow. ‘Are you with him?’

  The blonde looked at the boy then back to Robert. ‘Well, yes I am, but-’

  ‘Then be quiet and let me talk to your master.’

  The tall man seemed offended, but at the sternness of Robert’s voice, he kept his mouth shut.

  ‘We will pay fair,’ Rob said, turning back to the kid. Goland could see the corners of his mouth had turned up into a smile. ‘I see you have plenty of luggage attached to your mounts. We will throw in the carriage here for two horses which should make your travels smoother.’

  There were several large bags on the ground around the horses. They looked heavy and Goland wondered how much longer they would be able to carry on without a snapped back. But then what about herself and the cardinal? Would they part with their own carriage and all the good’s inside? It was not her place to say.

  ‘Are you deaf?’ The boy asked in a completely calm voice. ‘I said they're not for sale.’

  Something snapped. Goland could almost hear it deep down in the cardinal’s soul. He was prideful; no matter how much he wanted to convince himself of humility, no matter how much he insisted on being called Rob, this was the truth. How could he be anything but prideful? All Goland could think now was that her hunch was correct. This boy is a fool and a pretender. Even now she felt no aura, no coating from him. He was as weak as a new entry. A lamb on the dinner table.

  Robert exploded, reverence streaming freely from his body.

  The man on the porch let out one strangled, ‘Wait-’ before he was forced onto his knees, head bowed.

  Goland had to ignite her coating to its maximum, releasing her own reverence just to stay standing. Still she could feel her hand tremoring, her skin sweating being so close to one who had touched divinity. This is bad. She grit her teeth. I can maintain this, but can his eminence? This much reverence, this much lifespan. If it goes on any longer, Robert will age into madness. Goland shuddered at the thought; the town will not even remain to witness our end. The boy, he needs to go. If Goland got rid of the insolent kid, then it would be over. He should already be weakened to the point of a sniveling mess by this reverence, but the boy was not sniveling. He stood tall and true, looking the cardinal of Iscariot in his cold white eyes. Goland didn’t feel even the slightest coating from him.

  What dark art is this? How could anyone endure this without their own coating?

  A threat, some voice in Goland’s heart answered, but that voice was dim and distant. An imagination of her sub-conscious.

  The two boys measured each other for a moment then Robert dropped his reverence down to a gentle hum and the world took a breath.

  Silence was all that remained.

  The man on the porch stayed on his knees. Goland breathed as quietly as she could despite her desperation to make lunging gasps. The once ruckus pub was eerily still and the birds dared not chirp.

  ‘Would you reconsider my offer?’ Robert asked.

  ‘Why would I?’ Alek asked. ‘Nothing changed.’

  Robert laughed. ‘You speak true. Nothing changed.’

  ‘If I may,’ the man cut in. His voice was courageous and forward, but Golan could hear the hidden terror underneath. Robert measured him, but the man continued. ‘My friend meant no disrespect. We have had a long and perilous journey where we… went hunting a great monster so tensions are high.’ Robert’s eyes lit up at the mention of hunting. ‘How about I buy you and your lady friend a round inside? I'm sure after some food and drink we will be more willing to discuss your offer.’

  Robert did not respond to the man, but turned back to the boy. ‘Does he speak for you?’

  The boy took a moment in silence and just when it looked like he would insult the cardinal again, surely committing suicide, he nodded.