Chapter 9 Road to Ashton Venue Part 3: Diedmons Roue

She dragged him inside the cubicle shed, sitting him against the wall, pressing her finger up against his neck. Dublub… Dublub. Alive, but that wasn't the point of concern. She rolled up his sleeve, a black substance had traveled up his arm and was still advancing, moving ever so slightly away from her hand, her heart stopping briefly as it averted her touch.

"Out of all things, why this?" She hurried, throwing off her jacket and setting it beside him. Shedding him off his clothing revealed yet another growth was traveling up his leg. Immediately she knew what it was.

Erebus the Wandering Shadow, an entity only described in stories as a being devoid of any other purpose besides consuming life. Its host lost to whatever period it spawned, forever cursed to continue its journey to find its master while spreading a plague that would eventually consume its victim, preventing its body from ever being complete. The only cure was to drain the blood of the victim, cleansing the monster's tainted essence from its host, a method considered too inhumane to perform, too barbaric, and uncleanly. But necessary, if said life is to be preserved. Death by fire was the preferred method of eternal relief.

Taking out a short but sharp knife she quickly made an incision across his forearm, gliding through his skin an immediate flow of blood pooling at the bottom and gathering on her jacket, a mixture of red and black, a shade of maroon.

She looked back up towards Gryce, still unconscious. "Okay, okay now the leg." The black substance had gathered faster than the one on his hands, most likely because of the size of the wound coiling around like rope, cold to the touch. Ripping the victim of its warmth, the substance would eventually reach the brain, the result never being recorded.

Making another incision just above the calf, the easiest part of the procedure was done and a race against time began. The true danger came from the amount of blood the victim lost and the resilience of the foreign substance.

Those agonizing seconds of being able to do nothing besides watch as the color in his body changed, Gray and sickly it was necessary for the person to be on the verge of death, making the victim an unworthy host. Just outside the barrier of moonlight, Marie knew it stalked the edge, unable to come in any further but enough to watch. Every noise became absent but she heard a beating drum, she couldn't think of anything else besides the timing, the timing had to be perfect, as soon as the blood turned crimson Red, stitching up the wound needed to be done in seconds. Gryce's only saving grace being compared to many was that she was a hairstylist. At least in Ashtons' Venue in times of emergency would perform when medical professionals couldn't. With steady hands and precision, a silk roll and needle were the only way to ensure his survival. In case of emergencies, she had both.

Doctors were a rare breed, especially those who could keep a steady hand, there were many times when the Winslow family's barber was used as an infirmary as her mother was included as one of the few. Stitches weren't a problem, neither was the blood, she had full confidence in her ability and knew that when the time was right she'd be able to do it, and as soon as she noticed the blood changing she went into action but stopped; noticing him twitch ever so slightly.

Her attention was drawn to his finger as if a sudden jolt of life had struck him. Traveling up his arm until it stopped at his head then as his body bounced, a voice detached of anything worldly, beyond anything comprehensive to the human ear spoke through the mouth of Gryce labored but strong.

"Let this man die." It said its eyes trained down. A terror that could only be compared to that of a child, realizing that their greatest fear was real, that something was truly lurking inside shadows, underneath their bed, whispering to them at night. Standing in front of them, only a response filled with tears and hiccups was what she could muster.

"Why are you here?" She sobbed, frozen, unable to move, everything besides herself had stopped... It didn't respond but instead looked away towards the door. "Why are you here!" She repeated this time shouting loud enough for her voice to echo outside and come back as a whisper.

"I am your guiding light I am-"

"I know what you are! I know…" A lump in her throat shot up, forcing it back down. "That's not what I'm asking, why are you here!."

"To prevent your demise, my child, if you succeed in saving this man, what will you have to gain? His kind is responsible for your father's death is he not? "Will your mother be next? Will you become the last Winslow because of a Visitor? The choice is yours, all it takes is to drop your hands and wait for the inevitable."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Do I need a reason to care about your well-being, Ms. Marie Winslow? The longevity of your life brings me nothing but salvation in these dark times Toblitche has fallen on. But, things will get a tad bit brighter once the death of this man is fulfilled, you can rest assured of that."

"I don't trust you, I don't trust a single thing you say"

"I've watched you for many years, just as all my believers and worshippers. You have made a grave sin but I can forgive such transgressions if you just let this man die. That's all it takes."

"I don't trust you."

"Trust is nothing when in the world of faith, all it takes is a leap, I will be your ground, the assurance in your heart, the fire that ignites it."

"They had nothing to do with what happened… it was our fault."

"Denial"

"No, no, it isn't true. I know it isn't, you're messing with my head!"

"Leap."

"I won't"

"Take it"

"Get out of here!."

There was a brief pause accompanied by uncertainty clouding her train of thought. Unknowingly gripping the knife tighter stopping as it continued, releasing her grip slightly.

"You will die. And you will die because of a choice that could have been avoided, because of your stubbornness it will be long, drawn out, and you will suffer. Do you still decide to make this choice? Even knowing the outcome?"

"Why are you acting as if you care about my choice."

"Every choice matters no matter how insignificant you may think, you may think you're doing right saving this man but you don't know the outcome do you? But I do, I know it all. You realize that don't you?"

"I don't care, I'm not listening to anything you have to say"

It grumbled incomprehensible words under its breath, a disapproved gaze. Yet, it changed, its mood and demeanor loosening as it nodded.

"Fine," It said, "As soon as this finger fal-

"What are you doing?"

"Giving you a chance isn't that what you wanted."

"What changed? I don't get it."

"You don't need to. Just take it, you've won, take pride in your victory."

"But I didnt-."

"Hush and listen, once this finger falls," It raised its ringer finger, "He will come back, he will be confused, on the brink of death, but he will live as long as your attentiveness prevails."

Marie stopped herself from saying anything else, nothing seemed right about this and it was clear that there were ulterior motives. The Eye of Rendition was all about discerning its words to your interpretation but always under the guise that its intentions were righteous. That had changed, nothing about this could've been righteous. So discerning became broad, too broad to understand anything past deception.

"Then are you ready?"

She snapped back out of thought grabbing the roll of silk and needle. "Then good luck." The finger dropped and time flowed, the color of his blood became crimson red and the needle flowed through his skin.

"What… what are you doing?" His labored voice pierced through her focus.

"Saving your life." The last stitch was done on his arm and she moved on to his leg.

"Shane… Shane told me to find you." His leg jerked away as the needle pierced through. Grabbing a hold it again she straightened it out, forcing him to stay still.

"That's good, that's good, just keep talking." Half of it was done.

"Why'd you do it?"

"I'll tell you when you get better alright? I promise" He closed his eyes and leaned his head back.

"Okay… It's a promise."

***

I sat on the edge of where the moonlight started and the darkness outside began. The smell of Iron stuck to me, dried blood covering my entire body. Didn't bother me though, you get hurt, people in general just get hurt a lot and blood just becomes another fluid. Don't know if that's good or bad but it's still better than freezing up when forced to deal with it. Besides, there were more dire things to think about.

Ending up here was a mistake through and through, from here to Ashton Venue was farther than both of us could handle. I wasn't even convinced if he could make it, losing so much blood I'm not sure what was tying him to this world, or why out of everything it was so adamant about letting him die. I'd imagine it in my dreams, a soothing heat when it was around, comfort when Grandma got into one of her fits. But that was thrown away, those years of devotion tossed aside, when he arrived. I think I was the only one who saw it, an eye, just above where Gryce was found, inside a gray cloud, only on him. The stories I heard described Ichemound, The Eye of Rendition to be something that once gazed upon, you'd feel enlightened but all I felt was disgust. Disgust of what I'd been praying to all those nights, what we'd all been doing in the name of it. We were heretics just like everyone else, nothing that could instill that much fear, that much horror could do any good. So I burned it down. He wasn't supposed to be there but of course, he'd shown up right when I'd driven up the courage to do it. A decision that now looking back could've been driven by it.

I ran, and ran, and ran and before I knew it, I'd fallen inside the black spot of the forest, an entrance and exit to a random part of the wilderness ending up here. A few hours later he ended up in this town, through a similar hole, a coincidence that I could hardly consider a spur of chance. I wasn't sure where its influence started but its hand had swayed one of our actions to make us end up here.

"So did I make the right choice then?" It was that question that churned my stomach. What was its intention in telling me that? I didn't know, but I wanted for the sake of my heart that saving a life was the right choice. Let it be the first choice I make that's devoid of its influence. Though, ever since I got here its presence had never felt stronger, something about Diedmons Roue, attracted it, even me.

I'd heard about this town before, in name only, one of those forbidden subjects I never touched on during teaching times. A heretics field was what Grandma considered this place, and wasn't the only one. I wonder what she was thinking right now, I tried my best to avoid the subject of my mom for the time being, I can't imagine, I don't want to imagine how she looked then. But I can't go back, not after what I did, not for a while at least.

Moreover, my reason for staying was beyond something as simple as leaving the entrance or just walking out from any point. Once you were in Diedmons Roue you were stuck. Unlike him, I didn't come here voluntarily, fell, and ended up in the town square. Each time I tried to get out, they'd send me back to a point when Diedmons Roue people were still… here. Something told me the answer out of this place was tied to back then and my first visit was to the chapel—a church that didn't have the Eye of Rendition as its idol but a cross: the place where heresy was held, the most resilient of them all, the house of Christianity.

I checked one more time on Gryce before I went out, checking his pulse, weak but still active. I'd given him a few sips of water that I took with me and that was it for now. As far as I knew there was nothing in this town that we could eat, not that I would trust anything here but it was still a point of concern. I thought about moving him somewhere else but looking around it didn't seem like the density of the fog was lighter anywhere else.

My experience with Ichemound and the Eye was extensive, and its properties were something I considered myself knowledgeable about. During teaching times, kneeling in front of the statue of the Idol Grandma would give us a small amount of gray dust that stung our palms. Coarse-like sand, a way for us to be more connected to it, was supposed to be its essence and extension of itself. Once ingested images of the past would rush past us, an exhilarating experience by the end of it you felt enlightened. The fog here reminded me of that feeling.

Ichemound and the Eye of Renditon were the same really, depending on who you asked, and how radical they were. Being separated was what my Grandma believed, I thought, the latter. Their stories always started the same, a problem starting at some random point on the island then once they came the problem was solved immediately. Their knowledge, and wisdom, elevate the minds of those whose presence graces them for years to come, Ichemound being the center point of grace being the city that received the most of it, no surprise becoming the capital of Toblitche with Solomon Grimmer being the king to rule the city for eternity. A gift Ichemound and the Eye granted him to continue spreading their name. An eternal purpose, a goal everyone in the sect dreamt of! But now...that felt like nothing more than a distant, sad dream…

I choked up a little bit thinking about it. I was handling it well, better than I thought I would but It was hard… for me to ignore it for long. I'd invested a lot of time there. I was happy just doing that, but now, every time I think about it all I can picture is that thing in the sky or that voice. That voice… even thinking about it made me cry and think I'd been praying to it. It was so wrong, all the people we punished, why couldn't this have happened sooner? Why did I have to seek salvation in a being so terrifying?

My legs felt weak as I approached the church, falling on my knees in front of it, a wallow of tears falling on the back of my hand. "This is wrong." I whimpered, every part of me refusing to continue "But I know it isn't." I held my chest, my heart, clouded in a disgusting gray continuing to be tethered by its influence. The chants I memorized, but now there was nothing more I wanted than to forget them. How does that work, how could the way I think change so quickly? What's the point of it to begin with?

Oh yeah that's right, it started when Dad died

"Hello there miss." A voice came from beside me, catching me off guard as I rolled on my back crawling away.

"What? What do you want?" I blurted, wiping my tears, stammering up to my feet as a wave of light and heat blinded me momentarily.

"I'd just happened to be passing by and was stopped by a crying girl care to explain why?" He smiled from ear to ear, his bright white teeth peering through his thin lips. Pale skin; similar to one of the Schnee but objectively different from the distinct dryness of it, like the skin of a reptile, rough and scaly, clear lines diving each piece. A voice gravely like Mr. Beckmans but much more unpleasant to listen to, restrained by the pleasant memories I had of Jim instead feeling more uncomfortable than anything. Like at any moment, he would grab me with those three-pronged hands and squeeze.

"Who are you?" I murmured just loud enough for him to hear as he took off his hat holding it against his chest.

"Mr. Buschart-but the people here just call me Gray."