Old things weren't supposed to disquiet Alexander.
Age had, to him, ever been a marker of affable traits. Age meant reliability, stability, certainty. Age, in things as in men, was proper and venerable. Age ought not invoke revulsion nor perturbance from any man with more than a spoonful of life experience.
And yet, looking out as the mountainsides of southern Carpathians flashed by him, he couldn't help but think these lands were not merely ancient. Ancient lands weren't covered by an all-consuming, greyish fog which made lakes of their valleys. Ancient lands didn't sprout such jagged, forking clifftops. Ancient lands didn't have curtains of emerald pines lining their hillsides, so thick they resembled a forest of ages primaeval more than modern woodlands…
Primaeval – yes, that was a better way of putting it. Wilding, primaeval lands…
Small wonder he could never hope to fully tame them. Especially not on his own.
"You'll be droppin' off at Sulfurești then, young mister?" came the croaky, cigarette-stained voice of a wiry old bus driver. Though Alexander's face betrayed no emotion, he felt a tinge of amusement at the man's comment. Young mister… curse it, I don't suppose he's wrong. I certainly don't look that old. But neither do I feel all that young.
Then again, he did have a slightly shorter frame than most men his age, and an unusually youthful face to boot. He'd met people who, following a casual glance, had surmised he was still in his late teens.
That was, until they saw his eyes. Eyes ever betrayed him.
"Indeed," Alexander confirmed, shifting in his seat to look at the driver. "How often do buses come and go?"
"Twice per week, same time as now," the man replied, lifting his left hand to show off the time on his wristwatch – it was half past eleven. "Not much traffic in these parts no more, young mister. Work dried up years ago. I'm pretty much the only fella' who still keeps these folks connected with Sibiu." He paused, then, more hesitantly, added, "'Specially now, what with the vanishings."
Alexander never passed by a chance to gleam new information from people. "Vanishings?" he inquired, feigning ignorance by putting on a cautious, wary tone. "What do you mean?"
"Eh, I probably shouldn't gossip 'bout it," the driver replied in a voice which betrayed just how eager he was to do just that. "But there's rumours that folks've been goin' missin' in the mountains 'round Sulfureşti. Six of 'em, last I checked, all within two weeks."
"Accidents happen all the time. Perhaps they are merely stranded in the mountains," Alexander suggested, throwing out the bait with customary caution. This was the first time the man had tried to start a conversation with him, and Alexander couldn't exactly blame him, considering he'd donned his working attire for the journey.
"I don't know 'bout that, young mister. Last I heard, 'twas four separate incidents, all independent of' each other. Not to mention, the town itself… well, it ain't the same's it used to be, mister, y'know?" The driver's voice gave away he wasn't sure himself about just what he was implying, but Alexander understood his sentiment perfectly. I do wish my intuition was wrong about these things more often.
"Not the same? How so? Is it something about the people? The mood in the air?" he prodded a bit deeper. At that, however, the driver grew quiet, and Alexander could see his eyes darting here and there in the faint reflection of the front glass.
"Well… forgive me for sayin' so if I'm wrong, young mister… but I sort-of guessed you'd know more 'bout all that than me," he eventually replied – and as he did, there was the barest hint of a question to his words. A slight stab of guilt shot through Alexander. How many times will your overestimate people's naivety in these matters? Especially in lands such as these.
"I cannot say I would know anything about these missing persons," he chose his words with care as he gave the reply. Alexander preferred not to lie when he didn't need to.
"Of course, of course mister. It's just that… well, I's figured, how you look…" the driver shook his head, cutting off further rambling. Then again, Alexander couldn't exactly blame him. A man dressed head-to-toe in black, carrying a heavy leather suitcase and an oblong dark duffle bag, was not a sight one tended to associate with ordinary – nor pleasant – individuals. "My first thought was you's come to replace father Anton, seein' as that coat o' yours looks so much like a robe."
"Replace him?" Alexander inquired. "Did something happen to the local priest?"
"Well… people say he too has gone missing, young mister," the driver eventually replied. "Least that's what I heard last time I went to Laszlo's place for a bite. But it ain't like…" the man stopped himself again, and Alexander could practically hear the cogs creaking along in his skull as he struggled to change the topic. "But anyway, I doubt you're after consecration comin' all the way to Sulfurești, are you, young mister? What brings you here, ifin' you don't mind me askin'?"
"Work," Alexander tried to make the curt reply more polite.
"Work?" the driver countered, puzzled.
"Work," Alexander affirmed. "I have a contract to see to."
The driver remained quiet after that. Instead, someone else turned to address Alexander from beneath his seat.
"You ought to prod him more," an echoing, crystalline un-voice, a mirror of his own true voice, sounded through his skull. A pair of light-blue eyes rose up to meet his own then. A large, jet-black raven cocked its head to the side, expecting a prompt reply.
"No point in that, Huginn. This man can't tell us anything we haven't gotten from the precinct already," Alexander countered, answering the raven with thoughts of his own. He immediately sensed displeasure from the bird, and though its features remained ostensibly avian, Alexander could swear he saw the creature frown.
"Regardless of your presumed assignment here, need I remind you that any and all secrets I uncover could prove valuable?" Huginn countered. "We still have five minutes before arrival by my estimation. There is no reason for you not to continue your interrogation. And there is even less of a reason to allow me to finally stretch my wings!"
"The reason for both of those is simple," Alexander replied, extending a gloved hand to crack his index finger with his thumb. "I've already unnerved the man more than I'd intended. Further interrogation, or your sudden appearance, would merely exacerbate his anxiety. Remain seated and quiet a few moments longer."
Beneath his seat, Huginn puffed up and jerked his head sideways – the closest he could manage to a human scoff – but remained silent all the same. For better or worse, his contract with Alexander held him to obey should the latter uphold his end of their deal. So far, that dynamic had worked out for both of them.
Just.
The bus continued rolling down the narrow mountainside road, descending into the sea of too-thick mist below, and for a while, Alexander could see nothing through the suffocating grey curtain. Then, slowly, the outlines of buildings came into view, giving him the impression of entering a new, submerged world.
Alexander pushed open a window next to him before the bus had come to its rumbling halt, then rose, suitcase in one hand, kit swinging over his shoulder. There was a lot to do and little time to do it. As the door swung open, allowing him to exit, he offhandedly addressed the driver one more time.
"Could I ask you to return tomorrow at the same time? Rest assured, I would pay extra for your detour."
The driver threw him a sideways glance. "You won't be stayin' then, young mister?"
"No," Alexander replied, prompting a shiver from the older man.
"Well, I'll see what I can do 'bout it. Gotta talk to the director 'fore I –…"
A sudden burst of cawing strangled the man's response as Huginn flew out of the bus, perching on the branch of a nearby tree. The driver yelped, eyes swiveling from his passenger to the bird as he hurriedly crossed himself.
"The hell is that thing doin' here?" he exclaimed, voice shaking.
"Whatever it pleases, I'm afraid," Alexander replied, throwing his companion a look of disapproval which, as ever, was promptly ignored. Mumbling to himself, the driver closed the door of the bus and hurriedly began turning the vehicle around. It didn't seem like he was expecting anyone to board.
As the bus vanished back into the all-consuming fog wall, Alexander extended a hand for the raven to perch upon. "Could you not have used the window?" Now that they were alone, there was no need for either of them to engage in communion. He appreciated that – after all, there was no need to overuse their powers wantonly.
The raven descended upon him, claws digging into his greatcoat's silversilk without piercing it. "Come now, how come you are the only one who gets to have dramatic appearances?" Huginn crowed. His real voice, despite also mimicking Alexander's own, had an oddly metallic, inflectionless tint to it, as though he were speaking through a leaden pipe. Even so, Huginn was far more coherent and fluent than a raven had any right to be.
Alexander didn't respond, turning instead towards Sulfurești's main road. More mud and soil than asphalt, it wound along a lazy, shallow mountain stream, splitting the town roughly in two. And though the mists obscured his view considerably, he could make out no movement. In all, the town seemed to him a husk more than a home.
"So? Shall we interrogate the mayor first thing?" Huginn inquired, perching comfortably on Alexander's shoulder. He shook his head instead.
"I want to see how thick this town's miasma is. I gather we ought to take a stroll, see how things stand. Then… Well, then we can go for a drink."
"Except you don't drink," Huginn surmised sourly, "and I doubt they sell good mead around these parts." In response, Alexander scratched the raven's neck, then pulled a sack of dried meat from an oddly-adorned pouch strapped to a thick leather belt. He dangled a strip before Huginn, who snatched it avariciously and started snapping bite-sized snippets off in a distinctly non-avian fashion.
"One for now," Alexander declared, letting the sack vanish back into his pouch, "one for every conversation where you keep your beak shut. I shall see about the mead depending on your performance."
"You're a cursed slaver, you know that right?" Huginn crowed in Alexander's voice before returning to his meal, prompting a small smile from his contractor.
"I have been called worse. Quiet now," he concluded, stepping forth and into the misty vale.
Sulfurești, like so many other towns in Romania, had seen eras come and go with but a scant few changes. Most houses he could see were old-fashioned brick-and-mortar homes, spacious if not particularly large and right at home in a historical re-enactment. They had seen the Ottoman hordes invade and withdraw, the passions of the revolutionary age rise and abate, the horrors of the world wars ignite and crumble and the misery of communism overflow and recede. Through it all they had stood, silent, dour witnesses to mankind's thousand follies.
There were no visible shops, no service centres, no public spaces. Even cars were few and far between, most of those positively ancient Dacias. That was not to say that the town felt abandoned, quite the opposite in fact – the front yards of individual lots were well kept and tidy, no trash littered the street and most houses even had a fresh layer of plaster draped over them. But for all the signs of use and order, the town felt… withdrawn. Curled up in some shell from which it wouldn't – or, perhaps, couldn't – emerge anymore.
As he walked, Alexander noticed a handful of people, most of them tending to their estates or off on some kind of chore. None of them acknowledged his presence, though a few did hurriedly scamper back inside their houses as he passed, occasionally throwing him glares of ware and worry.
He had seen these reactions before, on more than one occasion. Six years ago, he would see them practically everywhere his duty carried him. They always presented him the same, wordless testimony.
Fear. These eyes would always speak of men living in fear.
A small object suddenly shot out towards him from one of the winding side alleys. He caught it with his boot on reflex, his mental alerts ready to sound off, before recognizing the object as a small, scratched and worn chequered football. Looking up, he noted a pair of young boys in oversized shirts spying him from the alley with a mix of curiosity and dismay.
A lump formed in his throat at seeing children, but he pushed it back into the pits of his stomach.
"S-sorry, sir," the taller, skinnier boy spoke up in a tone which children usually reserved for their parents after an "incident". "Could ya… y'know, could ya give it back, please?" The smaller, dark-haired boy said nothing, eyeing Alexander with unease.
Leisurely, he kicked the ball back at the boys, but didn't turn away. "Do you boys not have a playground around here?" he asked, looking at them without meeting their eyes. No need to disturb them more than they already are.
"Well… yeah, we do, but…" the taller boy mumbled.
"'Tis next to the forest, and the forest's gone haunted," the younger boy declared, glaring at the stranger. He spoke Romanian with an accent identical to Alexander's own.
"Michal!" the taller boy hissed at him, grabbing him by the sleeve. The smaller boy shook him off.
"What? Ya know I'm right, Toma! Ever since the woods began to whisper, mom's forbade us from playin' near the trees! Why'd she do that if they wasn't haunted? It's ghosts I tell ya!"
"It's not whisperin'! It's…" Toma paused, throwing a nervous look at the black-clad man who remained patiently standing to the side. "Anyway, let's go!"
"One moment," Alexander spoke up, though internally he too would have preferred for the children to leave. But a contract was a contract, and his duty required him to utilise every available resource as best he could. And children, especially in his field of work, often as not gave the most useful answers.
He reached into his pouch again, but this time, he produced from it a slim black wallet, pulling out a pair of twenty-leu banknotes. "Would you boys take me to Laszlo's inn? I have some business there, and cannot afford to be late. I shall be sure to reward your help."
The boys took note of the offered reward, but Michal's expression quickly turned from surprise to suspicion. "What business, sir?"
"An investigation," Alexander replied. Both children lit up at his response.
"Like from a spy movie?" Toma inquired.
"Nothing so fanciful, I am afraid. Now, will you two help me out?" he pressed, though a small part of him kept hoping they'd refuse. Still, after some hesitation, the boys exchanged looks and nodded towards him. Of course, they would.
"Sure thing, sir!" Toma almost saluted, turning on his heel. "'Tis right this a-way, I'll show ya."
The children hurried forth, kicking the ball between them as they went. Alexander followed them, easily keeping pace as he spied a raven perching on a nearby rooftop.
"An unnecessary expenditure," Huginn's un-voice echoed through his head again. "The town is miniscule; you would have found the place in no time."
"Not the point," Alexander thought back at the bird. He waited for Michal to take his turn at kicking the ball, then, almost offhandedly, addressed the boy in his mother tongue. "You said the forest is haunted, is that right?"
The smaller kid's head snapped towards him, eyes wide. "How'd you know I was Slovak, sir?"
"Call it a hunch," Alexander replied nonchalantly. "So, tell me, why would you say the forest is haunted? Are you sure you didn't just watch too many scary movies?"
"Did not!" Michal protested, sounding offended. Good. Anger is the surest bane of shyness. "I swear, the forest's been whispering, every time I tried to come near it. It's like centipedes running down my back, creeping into my ears, it's sticky and slimy and…" Michal shivered as he spoke, taking a deep breath before continuing. "I can't sleep at night no more, and I know mom and dad can't either. Once, I heard something moving behind my window, knocking on my glass! Another time, when I went near the playground, I saw someone looking at me from the woods!"
"Interesting," Alexander mused, keeping his voice inflectionless. "Could you maybe describe what you saw for me?"
"I –… uh… no," Michal replied, looking away. "I ran away and hid. Didn't see nothing. But I swear I ain't lying! I didn't see 'em, but I felt 'em sir, that icky feeling you get when you feel someone's watching you. I ain't no scaredy-cat either, I used to be the one who hid in the woods during hide-and-seek! It's just since..." he paused, drifting away. Alexander didn't push him. "Since father Anton's been gone… and since the soldiers moved in…"
That peaked Alexander's interest. "Soldiers? Is there a military camp nearby?"
Michal shook his head vehemently. "No sir, no camp, never has been. They don't look like soldiers to me either, though dad keeps calling 'em so. They don't have any helmets, not even uniforms! A proper soldier oughta have a uniform, right?"
"Quite right," Alexander agreed. "These soldiers, what do they do here?"
"Dunno," Michal replied, skipping to catch the ball again. "Mum said I shouldn't go near 'em. They come to town sometimes, but I never saw 'em stay the night. Toma says they come from the Devil's Chapel, but I think no one's brave enough to try n' sleep there," he mumbled, then quickly added. "Course, I'll be brave enough to do it, someday, but mum and dad said I shouldn't even think about it, and…"
"I understand completely," Alexander assured the boy. "But it sounds scary, doesn't it? The Devil's Chapel. What is it?"
"That's easy, sir. There's an old building in the woods above the town, to the north, nothing but ruins and bushes nowadays. We're not allowed to go there, but once I…" he paused, frowning suddenly. "I… I can't remember. Why –…?" Michal scratched at his temple, then tapped his fist against his forehead, but eventually simply sighed in defeat. "Sorry, sir, I don't remember."
"That's alright," Alexander assured him. You're probably better off for it.
"Here's the spot, sir!" Toma shouted up ahead, pointing to a spacious building, plastered white with a dark timber roof and a stout stone chimney puffing grey smoke.
"Thank you. Here, your reward," Alexander beckoned the taller boy before handing Michal his own banknote. As he did, the dark-haired child grabbed his sleeve and, quietly, whispered to him, still in their own language.
"Sir, please… don't tell Toma what I told you, alright? Don't tell no one. Not that I'm a scaredy-cat, not that I've been to the Chapel. Mum and dad don't like it when I talk about stuff like that. But I swear it's all true, everything!"
Considering briefly, Alexander nodded at the boy, and answered in a voice he thought sounded understanding, raising a gloved finger to his lips. "I know. I shall be as silent as the grave."
Unfortunately, this had the opposite effect, as the boy shivered slightly, then skipped away as soon as Toma received his own reward, not looking back once. Sighing, Alexander turned towards the inn just in time to see Huginn descend onto the roof.
"What was that last bit about? Were you trying to intimidate?" Huginn squawked towards him.
"I tried to let him know I understand," Alexander replied. The raven let out a crowing chuckle.
"If so, you failed miserably. Kids don't take kindly to a guy with schmiss trying to smile, you know. Especially with one as long as yours."
"Shut your beak," Alexander silenced the bird, irately pulling at his gloves. "I'm going inside. Standard non-engagement procedure."
"A snack first," Huginn demanded.
"You just had one," Alexander protested. The raven cawed, sounding offended.
"Not jerky, silly. The other thing," he demanded. Alexander sighed again, before reaching into the pouch for a tablet of dark chocolate and throwing it into the air. With deceptive speed, the bird took off, caught the treat and returned to its roost, quietly snacking on its prize.
"I do not have the time to argue. Just keep quiet and don't draw attention," Alexander commanded.
Huginn crowed in merry assent. For six years now, their contract had held. The raven knew what Alexander would ask of him, sometimes before his partner had realised it himself. And he also knew exactly when and how to press Alexander's buttons.
As he went to open the tavern's door, Alexander could make out loud, boorish voices coming from within, and briefly considered evading the occupants' sight altogether. In the end, he settled for subtlety, opening the door and sliding into the room with nary a sound.