Eloquent Tales & Blues presents, Truth’s Cost

As the first raindrop struck her cheek, Halwen flinched and yanked her foot from the rickety bridge. The forest roared as the wind whipped past, carving furrows in the water’s surface. The rippling water hinted at hidden life in the depths clinging to secrets best forgotten.

She withdrew a small book from her bag and read the initial lines.

If you desire answers that no soul can provide, there’s a single option. Tread where no soul dares and awaken the sleeper in the swamp.

With a sigh, she returned the book and looked past the bridge. Halwen studied the dull green sky behind the treetops, the result of something alien casting the world in an unnatural haze. Pulses of intense light ripped through the clouds overhead, though no sound reached her ears. Beneath the alien light, the crooked cottage slouched against the trees beyond the far side of the water. Halwen’s hand hovered near her chest, as if stilling her breath might quiet thoughts louder than the rain.

The structure was half swallowed by moss and forgotten by time. Its warped tiles glistened with the storm’s touch while the windows flickered with light. When she put her foot on the bridge, the rope snarled and the wood whined as her boot settled upon it. Beneath her weight, the plank sagged as if asking a vital question.

Are you sure you want to cross?

Halwen pulled her cloak about her shoulder as she released her breath and stepped onto the bridge. Another gust tore through the swamp as more rain splashed against her face. Branches creaked like ancient bones as death and decay overwhelmed her in time with a clap of thunder. Despite the rain intensifying, Halwen forced herself onward. By the time she reached the halfway point, she paused and peered over the railing. As she studied the ripples from the rain, the bridge moaned like a giant straining to keep its burden aloft.

The rope rails strained, half-severed in places. Below, the black swamp water stirred lazily, reflecting the leaning cottage at the bridge’s end. Her tongue ran over dry lips. One hand gathered her hair, the other dropped to the hilt at her side. A barely held breath preceded her single backward glance. Then, without another thought, she walked forward, ignoring the downpour and the moss-slicked planks.

When her foot touched the distant shore, she ran to the building and marched up the stairs. The door hung open as if it had been expecting her arrival. She peered through the opening, studying the contents. In the dim light, a kettle perched on the hearth’s fire. Beyond the touch of courtesy, vines curled up along the walls, racing toward the ceiling.

Across from the hearth there was a bed of twisted reeds, with a slumbering figure resting upon it. This strange figure was neither young nor old, just still. The hands folded upon the figure’s chest, with dried hair as vibrant as river grass. The individual’s breath came slow and steady, barely lifting the blanket that clung to the body.

Halwen rose and wrapped her fingers around the door. As she was about to open it, she released the wooden slab when she saw the creature standing vigil over the figure, a sheep. Its faintly glowing eyes stared through her, while the wool felt like an undulating fog. It didn’t bleat or back away. It simply stared. Halwen held its gaze for what felt like an eternity. She licked her lips as she opened the door and stepped inside. “I need answers. I was told the sleeper knows all.”

Silence answered her question. After several seconds, the sheep blinked in unison with the sleeper’s inhalation. The movement was subtle, but powerful. Like the world taking notice. A harsh voice filled the cabin as the still figure opened pale eyes.