A gash was torn on the back of the ragdoll. The witcher pulled out its insides like it was a chicken ready to be gutted. A big patch of colored, stench-filled tatters and cotton sat on the patch of grass beside the campfire. The witchers did a little search and realized that this insignificant patch of trash hid great secrets.
The gray tatters were connected by a thread, and once unraveled, it revealed a big page of words scrawled in charcoal. The handwriting lacked beauty, obviously a product of a child's doodles and records. With the aid of the campfire's light, the witchers saw the name written on the first piece of cloth.
Pamela.
This was probably the owner of the doll and one of the girls who died. The message read, 'Pamela's doll.'
The second piece read:
'First of January, 1264.
By Lebioda, I was chosen. It was a nightmare, that experience. There was pain and blood and tears. My head almost exploded. Grandma Sinny laughed happily, though. She praised my bravery and gave me this doll, Odonna.
I fear that this torture might continue. Someday, I might die. I've decided to start recording things from today on. I'm going to share this with my friends.'
***
"She was chosen. What's with the mention of pain and blood?" Acamuthorm frowned. A gust of a chilly breeze cut through his skin, sending chills down his spines. "Some sort of evil experiment?"
"This happened about two years ago. She mentioned Sinny, the real priestess. That means Daisy hadn't joined the temple yet." Carl warmed his freezing hands by the fire. He said, "Before the priestess of the god came, there were no evil experiments in the temple."
"Could it be some sort of difficult training regime? Like the ones we went through?" Acamuthom guessed.
"Do you think those kids look like they went through a training regime?" Carl shook his head. "And why'd Sinny feel happy when Pamela was tortured?"
The witchers had no good guesses, so they went on to the next piece.
'First of February.
By Lebioda, it's coming again. In its pretty carriage. And it has a new companion. Grandma's grinning from ear to ear, but everyone's terrified. I hid my face behind Odonna, praying for them not to pick me again. Cyria snuck to the kitchen to hide, but she was found and tied. Grandma said if she didn't listen to her orders, she'd starve.'
***
"What's Pamela doing, writing a novel? What's with all the mysteries?" Acamuthorm rolled his eyes, complaining. "And what is 'it'? Why were the kids so scared of it? Even hid from it."
"What we know now is that it will pick an orphan every time it comes to the temple," Carl said. "And its actions struck fear into the kids' hearts."
The witchers kept on reading. The following records were just regular ones. They mostly were just days of Pamela's boring life and lively imagination written down on paper.
For example, some of them read like these:
'The sun's out today. I feel a bit sunnier.'
'I played skipping rope and hide-and-seek with Cyria and Angouleme in the courtyard.'
'I had a weird dream.'
And then there were records about her dinner. Most of the time, she only had potatoes, turnips, and carrots. Meat only came once a month. Eventually, the witcher could imagine the kind of girl Pamela was. She had black hair, bright eyes, and a melancholic air around her, but she would have a strong heart. And she'd be holding a ragdoll.
More importantly, Pamela never started her records with 'By Lebioda' anymore. She would talk about 'them' every time it was the first day of the month. Pamela's records about them were filled with fear and disgust. Eventually, she called them pigs. It was derogatory.
The pigs would come to the temple on the first day of every month and pick a few children for something. The children who were chosen would go through a nightmare of a day. Pamela's records described the pain and suffering the kids went through. It was as if they'd gone through some kind of abuse. Pamela was chosen the most out of the kids. Fortunately, she was a tough and rational girl.
Ironically, it was also on the first day of every month the kids could get to have some meat. This was akin to divine blessing for them.
***
"Notice anything?"
"Yes. On the first day of every month, the pigs come to the temple in carriages. Only on that day do the kids have meat to eat." Acamuthorm took a deep breath. His voice was trailing off. "So these pigs brought necessities for the temple. In other words, the temple didn't manage to survive because of the donations given by the people like Daisy claimed."
Carl nodded solemnly. "Pigs. That's code for the rich fat guys in the city. But they wouldn't support the temple while asking for nothing in return. The pigs provided supplies. Something that made Sinny grin from ear to ear. Think about it, what would the chosen kids have to pay in return?"
What would the rich want from powerless orphans?
"They have no knowledge or survival skills. All they have are their…"
Acamuthorm clenched his fists, arguing adamantly, "Stop. That's just conjecture. We have no proof." The moon shone on his ashen face. He had a guess for that question. The answer was dark and putrid. Despite his young age, Lambert had told him a lot of stories. He knew about stuff teenagers his age shouldn't know. Embarrassing stuff. "Lebioda's priestess would never commit a cardinal sin like that right in front of her own god. It's beastly."
"Let's keep reading."
***
'Fourth of May, 1265.
A pretty lady and two men as muscular as boulders came to the temple and stayed around. They spent whole nights in Sinny's room, talking to her. I eventually found out the lady's name.
Daisy. She's soft-spoken and has a motherly smile. Her eyes twinkle with tenderness. She's always concerned about us. Takes care of us. We love her. How great would it be if Sinny was like her.'
***
"I see the god's priestess didn't completely lie to us." Carl held his chin with his right hand. "They came to this temple about six months ago.
"Yeah." Acamuthorm was getting a sliver of hope he knew would never be true. He hoped things would change, and the disgusting pigs would disappear from Pamela's records. He hoped the omen god's priestess would extend a helping hand to the orphans and prove that they were not as evil as the legends claimed, just like the witchers did.
In a hurry, he went for the next strip of cloth.
***
'First of June, 1265.
For some reason, the pigs took Grandma into the carriage when they left. Daisy, Rumachi, and Dino told us they'd be in charge of the temple from now on. Everyone was really happy. My tears drenched Odonna's clothes.
Long live Daisy. She cares for everyone like a mother. She'll never let those pigs sully us again. I have a feeling Daisy will be our guardian.'
***
The mention that the kids were sullied proved the horrid guess Acamuthorm had. His heart sank, and he inhaled sharply. The witcher slammed his fist into the ground. "Damn that Sinny! That hag's an animal!"
The orphans had no one to rely on, were abandoned by their families, sullied by the pigs, and used by the temple admin to make coins. The witcher could imagine how much torture Pamela must've gone through for her to be numb to it all and write it down matter-of-factly.
"She went into the city with the pigs. She's still alive?" Carl was icy. This was not what they thought had happened. "Why'd she go into the city?"
The witchers had an ominous feeling about that.
***
'Third of June, 1265.
Daisy forcibly put a stop to the daily morning prayers to Lebioda. I've been wanting to stop this. Praying to the prophet is useless. No matter how devout you are, it never protects you.
I didn't think Daisy would start teaching us weird stuff, though. Stuff that talks about pain, misfortune, and webs. One thing stuck with me. To feel and endure pain while keeping yourself sane is a talent. Work on it, and someday, the labor will bear fruit in the web of destiny.
I felt darkness and death from those teachings. Everyone got scared. We barely talked the whole day.'
***
'Fifteenth of June.
The misters knock on Lebioda's statue every night. I have no idea what they're doing. And the look in their eyes gets scary. It's like they're feral dogs guarding their house.
Daisy once again taught us a whole prayer. The Great Weaver, ruler of death and misfortune. We call upon your name, Grayba the Black, Coram Agh Tera. We beseech you, grant us passage into your infinite realm. Accept these children of pain.
She told us to pray like that to Lebioda's statue. It didn't take long for me to feel really drowsy all the time. My head feels woozy, and I keep seeing things. I see a scary spider calling my name in my hallucinations, and I have a weird black tattoo on my wrist.
I asked around. Cyria, Angouleme, and everyone else have that tattoo too. Something's wrong, and I know it, but it's bearable. I believe things will change for the better. As long as Daisy keeps us away from the sullying of the pigs.'
***
"What is Daisy trying to do to the kids?" Acamuthorm snapped, his chest heaving. He stormed out of the boulder, breathing heavily. A stream of mist hurtled into the silvery night.
"Quiet down, mate. Fury won't help us. My guess is that she used some sort of hypnosis and brainwashing to guide the orphans into the cult of the god." Carl thought back to the moment before they were kicked out of the temple. "And it worked."
***
'First of July.
It's been a nightmare lately. A few friends have changed so much, I don't even know them anymore. They're more sensitive and cowardly than ever. Very jumpy. They see a lot of hallucinations, and they listen to Daisy's every order.
I know that the weird things she taught us are starting to change and affect everyone. I can feel that I'm losing what makes me, me. But to make things worse, all the dreams I had were fantasies. Daisy herself ruined it.
A few carriages came in from the city today, and a dozen pigs came out. I've never seen so many of them before. They look at us with disgusting passion as usual. I wonder if Daisy's warmth and tenderness was an act. She's worse than Sinny. She tortures our bodies and uses something weird to affect our minds.
Torment doesn't scare me. A lack of hope does. I'm at my limit. At this rate, I'll break. I've had enough. Angouleme and Cyria are right. We do not have to take this lying down.'
***
'Fifteenth of July.
Damn pain. Damn the Great Weaver. Damn Grayba the Black.
Angouleme, Cyria, me, and my beloved Odonna are going to sneak out of this place. We're not bringing any of those cowardly brats with us. We're giving everything we have. It'll happen after everyone's asleep. We've sharpened the dining knives we stole. If anyone tries to stop us from leaving, we'll kill them.
In two days, we'll be in another place. It's either Angouleme's home, where there are beaches, the sun, and pretty sceneries, or the big city filled with shops and big ports Cyria told me about. We're working hard to save up coins. I can't wait to start our new lives.
By Lebioda, I pray to you one final time. Please, protect us. For how devout we've been to you. Open your eyes, Lebioda, and grant us protection.'
***
The winds ceased to howl for a moment. Even the horses stopped grazing. The witchers' shadows stretched into the far distance, taken away by the light of their campfire.
"Lebioda's not worth trusting. This evil god is no savior either." Carl stared into the night, clenching his fists. Suppressed rage filled his heart, and a sense of powerlessness engulfed him. Three girls tormented by the wheels of fate, struck down by reality.
"That answers some questions," Acamuthorm muttered, hanging his head low.
"What question?"
"Why Angouleme looked so sad and guilt-stricken when she saw the doll. So she tried to escape too, and she saw her friends…"
The young witcher stopped, and his voice took on a hint of fury. "They're just powerless girls. No match for Cursed Ones. They could never win in a fight. They could never escape."
"And death was the punishment for their attempt," said Carl. Pamela, Cyria, and Odonna, the doll that kept their secrets, were buried under the cellar forever. "Only Angouleme survived. Pity Pamela and Cyria couldn't escape the temple, even though they turned into nightwraiths."
"Did you forget?" Acamuthorm wheeled around and stared at the black cloth covering the skeletons. Gently, he said, "We've taken them away from their prison, but it's not enough. They haven't been purified."
"Calm down, mate. This is beyond us." Carl was solemn. He said, "We can't do anything rash. We have to ask for reinforcements."
"What's the date today?"
"Thirty-first of December, 1265."
"Tomorrow's the special date," said Acamuthorm darkly. "If we go to Lan Exeter for reinforcements first, the pigs will arrive at the temple before we come back. Which means Angouleme and the kids will be tortured again."
"But…"
"But what?" Acamuthorm interrupted, fury flaring in his eyes. "But it doesn't matter if they're tormented one more time, because they're used to it?"
Carl couldn't answer that. A lump was in his throat.
"It's different. Now I know about the ugly truth. Now I know of their sickening act." Acamuthorm held his griffin medallion tightly. Imperiously, he said, "I cannot ignore it when it's right in front of me." He looked at the path they walked, where the temple stood at the end of that path. He looked into the night, his gaze sharp and unyielding as a griffin's. "Look. Angouleme and the children are right there, standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting for someone to help them."
He turned his back on Carl. "Through my actions, I will tell them that this world isn't just filled with people who abandoned them, nor is it just filled with evil, greedy priests, perverted pigs, or manipulative, evil gods. There's still warmth out there." Just like how warmth was shown to them before. He waved his hand. "You can leave for Lan Exeter and ask for reinforcements if you want. I can understand that. Or, you can pull your weapon out and read the inscription on its blade aloud."
The inscription. Carl paused. Back when the apprentices were told of Alzur and the grandmasters' stories, they asked their mentors for a quote for each of them while they were drunk. Carl never put much thought into that, since they only did it on a whim, but now that his mind and heart were at odds, he had to put that quote into the equation.
He unsheathed his weapon. A silver flash of light hurtled across the night, shining on the blade like silvery moonlight. Shining on the flowing pattern and the wavy inscription. Carl had a firm look on his face. He read the inscription out aloud. "Hold tight the blade in your heart, and strike evil where it stands."
Hold tight the blade in your heart, and strike evil where it stands. Carl's voice echoed into the night, crashing like waves.
***
Another blade, thin as a cicada's wing, arced through the air, buzzing like a bee. Acamuthorm held the hilt with his right hand and brushed his left hand across his weapon's inscription. He read his quote out aloud as well.
"My blade will not stop before it comes to glory."
The moonlight and campfire shone on his face. "I don't have the ambition to save the whole world like Alzur did, but right now, my chance at glory is right in front of me."
"I've always wanted to tell you something, Acamuthorm."
"I'm listening."
"Drowners have more brains than you do."
"Thanks for the compliment. You too. And this time, I'll be the vanguard."
***
***
