WitchHunter ✔️

The Father of the Lochri

Candor

The city is bustling in the late morning sunlight as the 4 of us ride through the streets of Farren. My belly is full of warm porridge and fresh bread, but my heart aches for my girls back on the ridge. It's been less than a day since I kissed their soft foreheads and breezed out the door, but once you've kissed the pale white flesh of the moon, the world no longer holds any appeal.

My mare prances happily under me, her dark mahogany coat newly shined by the Winged Viper's stableboys, and the cool sea wind ruffles my hair and stings my cheeks. I can nearly taste the salt in the air; the currents in the sea disperse the salt more densely that farther north you go. The bay that separates the Kingdoms of Par'lok and Hollen is nearly freshwater, while Seiran's strait, separating East and west Octaven in the Cold North, has salt so dense you can float on top with no effort at all. Not that you'd ever want to be in the water in the Cold North. I'd been up there on a mission a year or two ago, and the water was the last place I'd wanted to be.

"You never told us the plan, Hale." Cozy calls from behind me.

I chuckle. Had he expected anything else? In all the years I have known Hale Arsen, he has only ever had the mind to formulate a plan ahead of time, maybe thrice. Most times, we find out along the way, or figure it out on our own as we go along. That's my friend's fatal flaw. He's a brilliant strategist on paper, but when it comes to even just telling us our day's errands, he's far too fast a thinker to bother letting us in on the plan.

"We're going to talk to people, see if we find anything fishy. We don't even know where this guy is, so we're looking for a starting point."

The town hall is fronted by a courtyard that stretches all the way down to the port. Its grey cobblestone is interspersed with brick patterns and raised flowerbeds, a large fountain in the center. Buildings rise up around the large space in deferring colors of greys, rusty oranges, and deep cobalt blues. Although the town sees its fair share of outsiders, we still draw considerable attention as we enter. A party of three tall WitchHunters and a small cloaked figure all up on horses tends to do that. "Excuse me!" Hale calls, gathering the attention of those nearest. "I'm hoping one of you will be able to assist me if possible."

Those within earshot draw near, a portly waresman, a young mother, and twin teenagers among them. Even those who couldn't possibly have heard start to notice our presence and drift toward us. That's what often happens when we visit somewhere far from our guild town. WitchHunters are rare. There are only 8 guilds in all of Octaven, each one keeping only 7-12 Hunters in their ranks. Less than 100 of us exist, so seeing three together will no doubt draw eyes. The general public is curious when it comes to us. WitchHunters hold an air of mystery, honor, and authority about them. On the inside however, we're all just big children, nothing honorable or authoritative about us. Hell, the stories I could tell about Cozy and Hale would ruin their WitchHunter reputations an hundredfold.

"A lochri in Farren?" the young mother asks. "I've lived here my entire life, and I've never seen a lochri." She clutches her toddler close, the brown haired child on her hip gazing lovingly at Hale's horse.

"Well there's no need to worry yet. We're merely investigating rumors. We've been told he may be Par'Lok, with pale, silvery hair. Have you seen anyone who fits that description?"

Many people in the slowly gathering crowd shake their heads.

"You can ask the Kreikens." The portly man sets down the wine barrel he's holding, gesturing vaguely toward the port. "They keep the company of a few Par'lok." he chuckles. "Not sure if they'll talk to you though."

"And why wouldn't they?"

"Why, you're not a pretty girl. They're a gang. The only reason they talk to outsiders is to threaten, unless of course, you're pretty."

His smile is creepy, but it doesn't seem to faze Hale. He looks over to Ace beside us, her face hidden deep within the hood of her cloak. "Well Ace, you're a girl, and I'm sure we could get you pretty if we try hard enough. Looks like a job for you."

The cloaked figure shifts, and I can't help but think of what I had seen last night when I'd opened the bathroom door and seen her, pink dribbling down her bicep, the black ink all across her back and arms. I'd never seen her skin. I'd never seen the markings there. "I'm not a WitchHunter, My Lord. I'm merely a bodyguard. My only job is to ensure it isn't your blood being spilled across the cobbles."

Hale's face grows annoyed. "Is that a no?"

"It's a no, My Lord."

Hale's eyes visibly darken. People don't just tell him no, especially not people who also call him 'my lord'. The tense moment seems to last forever, my friend glowering into that dark cloak. "Very well." Hale says cheerily, and I nearly choke on my own tongue. "We'll just have to dress Cozen as a pretty girl. It will, in all likelihood, take less effort anyway."

The insult was childish, probably an effort to disguise the rage in the pit of his stomach. I know Hale. He doesn't like to show cracks in the foundation by arguing in public. He's humiliated. A servant just stood up to him, told him no in front of a crowd of people. This Hale is scary. The Raven has no idea what she's just done.

I tear my eyes away from the ticking time bomb in front of me, glancing around the courtyard for any sign of the lochri. The homes are close together here, with dark narrow alleyways separating them. 2 main roads exit on either side, running parallel to the port. A cloaked figure catches my eye, peeking out at us from behind a wooden crate in one of the alleyways. It starts when it sees it has caught my attention, just a few yards away, whirling around and ducking behind the nearest house. "Suspicious person. I'm going."

"Let us know what you find." Hale is unconcerned, and I've already dismounted and am in pursuit.

My cloth boots thump against the cobble, sending jolts up my legs and back. The long horse rides take a toll on my knees. I leap over the crate and whip around the corner. The figure isn't fast, but I am. Two houses away I grab the cloak, yanking back, and the person falls into a pile of rags that litters the back alley. The hood falls off, revealing a pale woman with dark hair. A bundle of cloths wiggles in her arms, then begins to cry. A mother with her newborn. "Why did you run?" I demand, angry and out of breath.

"Please, please leave us alone." she begs.

The bundle wriggles again and something bright pokes through. Shining, bright like a candle.

My eyes widen. "He's lumous."

My eyes meet her terrified ones and suddenly it's my wife, sitting helplessly on the floor of our Vetton home, the realization dawning on us both that we created a lochri, the monster I was sworn to kill. This mother shares Jules's eyes, the same eyes belonging to every mother whose child arrived different. And in the glowing bundle in her arms, I see my daughter. The most beautiful girl in the world, a squallous lochri, and this child, glowing like the sun.

Tears pour out of this woman's eyes. My wife, my family, my duty. This child.

"Candor, where you at? Find anything?" Hale's voice calls. My head flicks back the way I had come, but he isn't there. He hasn't seen. But my duty. The lochri are unnatural. The lochri should be destroyed. Jules looks at me through this mother's eyes. I take a breath. "Nothing here! False alarm."

I hold the woman's eyes for just a second longer before turning away. "Keep him safe." I tell her quietly.

"Thank you, WitchHunter. I am forever in your debt."

I look back once more at the mother, the tiny little death sentence in her arms. "I'm sorry."