"Marvin?"
Upon returning, Sontra found Marvin waiting in the guest room. It was only a couple of hours past noon, yet Marvin had already returned, something he had never done before. Sontra could easily guess the cause of the worried expression on Marvin's face.
"Sontra... I heard what happened. Have you heard... about the doctor?"
Sontra had guessed correctly.
According to Loik, the attack had happened a few hours after midnight. It was only natural that Marvin, who had returned around midnight the previous night, was just now finding out. Regardless, Marvin looked more shaken than Sontra, the accused.
"It was truly unfortunate. I hope they catch the attacker soon," Sontra said, taking a seat.
"...But the rumors. The townsfolk are saying some frightening things."
"Rumors are just rumors. There's no need to waste time thinking about them."
"These are rumors spreading among anxious people. They are not something to be taken lightly!"
"..."
Sontra was taken aback. It was the first time Marvin had raised his voice at him.
"Ah, I-I apologize..."
Seeing Sontra fall silent, Marvin feared his outburst had made him uncomfortable. He apologized quickly, trying to calm his turbulent emotions.
"I tried to correct the misunderstanding, but..." Marvin's voice was thick with concern.
"It's fine, Marvin. I am alright," Sontra reassured him.
"But what about you? Is it alright for you to leave your work so early?" Sontra continued.
"That is not... important right now."
Halfway through the sentence, Marvin realized his voice was rising again. Fortunately, he managed to rein it in.
"I am grateful for your concern, but there is nothing to worry about," Sontra said calmly.
Sontra watched Marvin pace around the room, fiddling with the hem of his robe. His expression had not improved, and Sontra's reassurance did not seem to have reached him.
"Marvin, what do you make of the current situation?"
Understanding that trying to calm Marvin was pointless, Sontra decided it was better to hear his thoughts. With his deeper knowledge of the town, Marvin's perspective would be valuable. Furthermore, Sontra wanted to know the real reason for Marvin's fear. Mean words from townsfolk alone wouldn't make an adult act like this.
"..."
Marvin stopped in his tracks. He remained silent, appearing reluctant to speak.
"I am not one with loose lips," Sontra assured him.
Marvin's fiddling with his robe slowed, then ceased altogether. The reluctance on his face gave way to calmness. With a sigh, he sat beside Sontra. Meeting Sontra's eyes with a trusting gaze, he began to speak.
"It is probably a way to weaken the Elder's legitimacy..."
According to Marvin, it was not uncommon for "accidents" to happen around the time of the festival.
The Spirit, though initially just a being they coexisted with, had come to hold a profound position in the minds of the townsfolk after centuries of interaction. What began as a long-held tradition to celebrate the friendship between the town and the Spirit had slowly transformed into a sacred event.
If the festival was a success, it was a sign of the Spirit's approval. If not, it meant the Elder had lost its favor. With that belief, people began to use the festival to prove or question the Elder's legitimacy.
"They usually play a small trick, like hiding or switching the gift, or tampering with the instruments used in the festival. But that's it."
"...But it has never reached this point before," Marvin continued.
It made sense. If someone truly intended to sabotage the festival, creating this current disarray was an effective strategy. By the time he finished speaking, Marvin had calmed down a little. He slumped weakly onto the couch, staring up at the ceiling as if his mind were exhausted.
"How are the preparations progressing?" Sontra asked.
"They're not even halfway done. And fewer people are helping out at the clearing each day…."
The chaotic state of the forest had made people afraid to help with the preparations on the outskirts. They remained in town, finding excuses to look busy, hoping they wouldn't be called upon. The situation with the doctor didn't help either. Some argued that if anything happened to them, there would be no one left to provide treatment.
Nevertheless, Sontra remained unconvinced. While it made sense to think the chaos was meant to disrupt the festival, the attack on the doctor seemed strangely random. With participation already dwindling, there was no clear reason to harm him.
They sat in silence, each lost in thought. After a while, Sontra noticed Marvin had fallen asleep. He didn't disturb him, knowing how tired the man must have been. Gazing at Marvin, with heavy bags under his eyes, Sontra realized he hadn't fully understood him. He was pleasantly surprised to see just how much Marvin cared for the town.
Sontra then pulled a piece of paper from his robe. Even though he had read the note several times, the ugly handwriting never failed to amuse him. He ran a finger over the page, his eyes contemplative.
'Midnight. In front of the Forest. Something important.'
Though he understood the situation better thanks to Marvin's explanation, there was unfortunately much more he could not make sense of. He hoped that whatever the note revealed would help him identify what they were dealing with.
***
Thick clouds masked the reflected moon's light, letting darkness embrace the world in stillness. The air, cold and bitter, threatened to freeze anything in its touchs, forcing every creature to retreat to its abode.
Suddenly, the door of a house swung open.
The house stood alone amidst the sparse grass of a hill. Like a sanctuary, small animals sought refuge in the crevices and hollows of its aging frame, finding momentary shelter from the harsh world.
A man walked out into the dark night. He wore a loose robe that swayed to the rhythm of distant music. He stared into the distance, where a faint light flickered behind layers of fog, waving as if it were calling to him. He took a few deep breaths before closing the door behind him.
Turning around, he walked slowly to the side of the house. In the complete darkness, he kept one hand pressed to the wall, using it as a guide. His steps were careful but not awkward.
Reaching a small stable a short distance away, he continued to feel along the wall until his fingers found a cold metal handle.
Creak.
As if he could see in the dark, he unlocked the stable door without any difficulty. The man vanished inside, his boots dragging softly across the dirt. For a few minutes, the night returned to its rightful silence.
Heighh...
After a while, he emerged from the stable, leading a tired-looking horse.
Perhaps voicing its disapproval of the disturbance, the horse let out a long, weak snort. The man, however, paid it no mind. He calmly mounted the horse and guided it onto the dirt road.
His back was straight, his eyes fixed forward, seemingly unafraid of whatever lurked in the shadows. Riding at a gentle pace toward the town, his figure gradually faded, swallowed by the thin veil of fog blanketing the road.
Unbeknownst to him, his movements had been watched from the very beginning.
At a distance, hidden in the shadow of the tall grass, a silhouette observed the rider's fading figure. The watcher remained still until the man on horseback shrank to a speck on the horizon, then silently rose to his feet.
He wore a wooden mask. A brown gourd, at least three times the size of a normal one, was wrapped tightly around his right hand. After glancing around to ensure no one was watching, he moved toward the house.
Step.
The masked man crouched before the door, placing the gourd gently on the ground. He gripped the handle with both hands, whispering a chain of words as he twisted it left and right.
Tak.
After only a few seconds, the lock clicked open. He did not waste any time, stepping into the house and swiftly snatching the gourd from the ground. The man walked down the hallway, glancing briefly at the room with stacked boxes on his right. He walked past the staircase and finally stopped before the room farthest back.
Placing the gourd down once more, he repeated the same motions. But the moment he touched the handle, he found it was not even locked. He gently pushed the door open while reaching into his pocket.
Inside, a figure larger than average lay asleep on the bed. The room was small but carried a pleasant, floral scent. The man paused, then hastily pulled his hand from his pocket. With his other hand, he lifted his mask just enough to expose the lower half of his face.
Fuh.
He blew a fine powder into the room.
He did not linger. He shut the door and turned away immediately. As if he no longer had any reason for stealth, he ran toward the stairs and hurriedly ascended to the second floor. The staircase groaned loudly under his heavy footsteps, and a sloshing sound emanated from the gourd with each stride.
On the second floor, the man went directly into the second room from the stairs. He briefly scanned the empty space as he removed the gourd's cap.
Glug.
Glug.
Glug.
Tilting the gourd upside down, he poured out a thick liquid. He moved methodically, ensuring most of the floor was covered. A pungent smell arose as the liquid seeped into the wood, forcing him to cover the breathing holes on his mask.
Klok.
He threw the now-empty gourd to the ground. It echoed hollowly as it struck the floor, rolling until it bumped against a bedside table. Perhaps satisfied, he stared into the dark room before him in silence.
With a subtle nod, he turned and ran with haste toward the half-open door. Stepping outside, he scanned the surroundings, looking left and right as if he was searching for something.
"It was you."
A low voice whispered close to his ear.
In the same instant, a powerful force struck him from behind. Before he could react, he was lifted off the ground. His body jolted forward violently as his vision blurred.
BANG.
BANG.
The man in the wooden mask was sent flying. His body crashed through wall after wall, splintering wood into the air.
Crash.
He slammed into another wall, but unlike the others, this one held. The impact stopped him cold. With a loud thud, he dropped to the floor like a shattered vase.
He lay there, flat on the ground, utterly bewildered. He didn't know who or what had struck him, but through his upside-down vision, he saw he was now in another room. In front of him, two or three walls had been punched through, and at the far end, a figure stood looking at him.
Step.
Step.
Step.
The figure began to approach. Their footsteps reverberated among the wreckage, shocking sense into the masked man, who gasped violently for air on the floor.
"Was I wrong? No, that couldn't be..."
The masked man tried to escape. He squirmed like a worm, barely moving an inch. As if he saw the approaching steps as a countdown to his doom, his movements grew more desperate and frantic with each one.
Step.
"Argh... argh..."
Staring up at the man who should not have been there, the masked figure could only grunt in desperation.
"Is this all because I did not accept that tea of yours?"