The Lone Rider

Chapter 8

He left the village under a cloudless night sky, never looking back. Look back and he would regret...

Screams, wails, and cries of anguish echoed throughout the valley, but Kell kept his focus on the sounds of hoofbeats. Perhaps he had overestimated his aptitude for drink. Or perhaps, he was simply angry and tired. Either way, he never knew just how easy it would be for him to slaughter like that. Maybe he could call it self-defense, but he doubted the wives and daughters crying over their dead, dying, and dismembered husbands, fathers, and sons would see it that way. Madness had taken over them, that's what he told the village women, that he had no choice but to end them. For his sake and theirs.

They cursed at him and spat on his back as he left.

"Take me with you!" the village leader's wife yelled, chasing after him as he mounted his horse.

"No," he told her.

She pleaded yet, then. He remembered the tears on her face. "Please, I didn't have anything to do with it. I begged Simon not to deal with them, but he wouldn't have it. Please! I have nowhere else to go, you killer! You killed all the men; we can't run a village ourselves."

"No," he told her again.

He had prodded his horse forward, but the girl grabbed onto his leg. Her feet went out from under her and she was dragged through the snowy mud, bawling. He did stop the horse, but then kicked her off his boot. She flailed on the ground, covering herself in filth.

"Please!" Her screams had resembled that of a dying cat and had disturbed him in some way.. "The other women, they despise me. They'll kill me. I'll be safer with you—I'll do whatever you want! —anything, I promise."

A wave of pity had taken hold of him at that moment and he still wondered about that, miles away and out of sight of that dreary village. He untied his coin purse from his hip and tossed it into the mud next to the poor girl. "That should get you anywhere you need," he said to her.

She grabbed the purse and checked inside, her eyes wide. "But why?"

"I have no need for it," he said. She seemed confused. He turned his head east. "It's like you said... I'm a killer. You don't want to go with me. I'm not going anywhere that'll be good for you."

He didn't hear her say anything as he kicked his horse forward. He left her in the mud.

That night, Kell made camp in a small gully, out of the wind. He was thankful the snowfall had subsided, and for the first night in a while his belly was full. The price he paid was one of blood and he thought it well worth the price then, satisfied from hunger. He'd filled his saddlebags with as much food as he could fit for himself and the horse. He sipped from a wine skin he stole from the tables, it warmed him on the cold night. His fire roared, daring anyone who saw it to hither and have away with him.

His rage had subsided by the time he fell asleep and his sleep was calm, his body rejuvenating. Only one dream came to him, a sorry day, and a bright sun. He'd had the same dream before. For some reason, it comforted him; filled him with nostalgia. When he awoke, it was like being torn from another existence and forced into the cold, painful life he now inhabited.

The morning was decent, full of chirping birds and melting snow. The sun rose slowly but earnest, filling the land with warm light. Days like these were hard to come by so Kell took his time preparing, enjoying while he could. He fed the horse, feeling sorry for her having to endure this time with him. She should be off with her kind, dancing through green fields of rolling hills. Instead, she suffered here guiding along a broken monster once a man on a doomed quest—a quest he still didn't understand but didn't really bother to.