What Makes A Monster - Chapter 19
Eral fe Hanase delivered books to all five of the men before they killed themselves.
The unexplained serial suicides began over six months ago, when Lord Kedsan, in the middle of the night when the whole town had long gone to sleep, jumped from the top of the Time Tower. He was one of the very few water manipulators in town, so there was no way for him to break his fall. For those who witnessed his body in the morning, it was horrific and traumatising. For those who heard of it from the grapevine, it was horrific but juicy gossip. Violent deaths or suicides even, were not common in the least, here in Detzlane.
Lord Kedsan’s demise was at first written off as an accident. A misstep. Then, upon further investigation incited by complaints by his wives, considered to be murder. But in the end, it was ruled a suicide. Apparently, his suicide note had been found in his study a week after his death, but Eral was not privy to the details. According to the grapevine, Lord Kedsan had written pages and pages of vague apologies along with a goodbye letter to his family. What he was apologetic for and who to, the townspeople could not guess.
Eral still remembered, a few days before he made his final jump, handing him two volumes of Four Hands on Deck, a racy erotica, sandwiched between The Science of Gears and The Illustrated Collection of Edible Wild Plants lest his wives get suspicious of his literature choices.
The lord had smiled at him awkwardly, his dense green moustache wavering as he accepted the bundle of books. He had given Eral a generous tip that day but shooed him away quickly. Because of it, Eral narrowly avoided running into the lord’s son returning from school. Perhaps that was Lord Kedsan’s own way of showing mercy.
His demise along with the eventual ruling of suicide was the topic of most gossip for the following weeks. At least, until the bank manager drank poison and ended his life. And after him, it was the vice mayor and his valet who both slit their wrists and bled to death one day after each other. The last one, or at least the last so far, was the president of the public transport committeewho took clue from the bank manager and likewise ingested a poisonous substance.
Five suicides; three by distinguished noblemen of the Sugratzye clan and two by well-known commoners within the space of three months.
Detzlane, a town which had been uneventful in every way except for its supposed association with the Ancient Witch, had become very hectic in the recent months. The frequent deaths had brought about a dark cloud to hang over the whole town. Everything was subdued and everyone was paranoid and suspicious.
Some wondered whether it was all the curse of Chennae. When things were good, she was the Immortal Guardian, when things were bad, she was the Ancient Witch. The townsfolk loved blaming Chennae for all thing good or bad. She was considered both divinity and a convenient scapegoat.
Eral couldn’t think highly of such a habit; to blame everything on someone they couldn’t even be sure existed at all. He supposed cursing and praying was similar in that regard when one was unsure of a culprit, one lay all responsibility at the feet of someone whose existence they couldn’t sure of.
Sure, the legends said that Chennae lived in the Reaper’s Forest to the west of them, but surely one could only be ancient for so long. Eral suspected that she was long dead.
It was a month after the last suicide, when people were finally forgetting the yet-unexplained horrors that had befallen the town, that the West End baker’s daughter, Dinae’s body was found outside the town gates.
“Maybe the Reaper’ll take pity and you’ll be next, retard!”
A tree branch hit Eral’s forehead. He stumbled back and clutched the bundle of books in his arms tighter. He should have known to take the underground tunnel this day. Since the news of Dinae going missing had reached the other worried parents, school lessons had been cancelled. They had found him to vent their anger and worries on in an ideal location; beneath the bridging of two abandoned buildings. It was a path rarely used by pedestrians and few airboats had reason to fly here overhead.
“Useless cripple!”
Their laughter reminded him of the howling that could often be heard at the edge of the Reaper’s Forest. Unpleasant and foreboding.
Splash. Fruit juice squirted onto Eral’s face. He tried to shove the books into the dry safety of his jacket as he looked for a way out.
“Go die, you freak!”
This time a rock hit Eral chest. They were in a crueller mood than usual.
“It’s all your fault Dinae’s dead!”
“You cursed her like you cursed Hanase and everyone else!”
“Go join your Ma in hell!”
And so, his last thread of tolerance snapped. Eral threw the books aside with rage pounding through his veins as he charged at them headfirst, fist raised.
It would hurt for days to come but…
They should not have mentioned his mother.