The Stranger: A Skulduggery Pleasant Fanfiction

i.

The sun was slow to rise on Samhain. It lingered on the horizon, the light barely enough to illuminate the barren branches and fallen leaves and the two men hidden among them.

The men, old friends, sat huddled together. They did not move. They did not speak. They waited in the dull grey twilight, stiff and silent, time stretched before them as endless as the sea. It felt like they had been there an eternity, although Ghastly knew only a single sleepless night had passed in this copse.

A chill had seeped into both their skins, numbing their limbs and discolouring their lips, but neither dared to light a fire. The risk of discovery was too great this close to the castle. A glimmer of firelight or a wisp of smoke and they would be flushed out of the woods like wild game. Hunted and slaughtered, no quarter given.

That thought brought with it a different kind of chill. The kind no flame could fix. The kind that wrapped icy tendrils around your heart and squeezed slowly. Dread. It was a familiar feeling, one every soldier knew. That moment when you knew the worst was yet to come and there was nothing to do but to wait for it.

So they waited.

Eventually, dawn came, as it always did. And time moved again.

Sometime later there was a rustle, twigs and leaves snapping underfoot as someone hurried through the woods. Despite the numbness and the exhaustion, Ghastly was on his feet in an instant. His fists raised, ready to fight. His companion, Erskine, drew a dagger.

A man appeared between two wizened hawthorns across the clearing. He was breathing heavily, the air coming out of him in great shuddering gasps that were visible in the cold morning air. His clothing was ragged, muddied. His face blotchy, wide-eyed and unfamiliar.

"It's me," he gasped.

Ghastly and Erskine lowered their arms, recognising the voice, but they did not relax. They could not relax. Not now, not yet.

"Did you find him?" Ghastly asked.

Hopeless, for it was Hopeless standing before them, opened his mouth. His lips moved, but no words came out. Instead, there was an awful choking noise. And Ghastly knew the answer to his question.

Dread seized his heart, freezing it afresh. There was a second of stiffness and silence, between heartbeats. Another moment where time seemed to stretch endlessly. And then Erskine moved, the dagger falling from his grasp as he rushed to embrace Hopeless. And time moved with him. The spell broken. Ghastly's heart ached, but it kept beating, as it always had.

"What happened?" Erskine asked his own voice breaking.

"I'm sorry," said Hopeless, "I was. Too late. I couldn't. Save him. I'm sorry. I tried. I'm sorry. I tried."

Something inside Ghastly gave way. His vision blurred, and he felt hot tears on his cheeks. He did not want to hear this. He did not want to know what had happened. But he couldn't not know either, not knowing would be worse. Not knowing would eat away at him for as long as he lived.

It was a while before Hopeless could get out enough words out to tell them what had happened. He did not have the full story, and he had to backtrack on himself several times. Some of it Ghastly had already guessed, some of it he had feared.

Skulduggery Pleasant had been led into a trap. Skulduggery Pleasant had been captured by Nefarian Serpine. Skulduggery Pleasant had watched his family be butchered. Skulduggery Pleasant had been tortured for days. Skulduggery Pleasant had died screaming. Skulduggery Pleasant was dead. He had been dead for over a week.

"We need to recover the body," said Erskine. "We can't let those bastards have him. Any of them. They're ours. They deserve a proper burial."

Hopeless shook his head, "I tried. There is no body. They burnt him, they burnt all of them, last night. Then they threw the remains in the river, for the current's to sweep away. I couldn't stop them. I was too late, even for that."

Ghastly sunk to the floor. Lowering himself slowly, leaning on the trunk of a tree. He knelt there, in the damp dead leaves, and buried his head in his hands.

Hopeless came to sit in the dirt beside him, resting his head on Ghastly's shoulder. He could feel the man's tears seeping through his shirt. Erskine moved to his other side, placing a shaking arm around his back.

"What do we do now?" whispered Erskine.

Ghastly didn't know the answer to that question. None of them did. What else could they do but grieve?