The Necklace Thief

Screams. Nothing but the horrific sound of anguish filled the void that was Sevin’s memory. He had not been able to sleep since his fiancé, Nadora, had been killed for the silver around her neck, and when he did, he was haunted by nightmares from a month past.

Sevin shot up in bed, sweat beading on his forehead despite the bitterly cool air. Snow drifted past his window; unusual for this time of year in Cantanor, a fishermen’s town on the banks of the Shiverin River. A drip of sweat rolled down his nose and elegantly wet his top lip with a sour taste. Reluctantly, he rolled onto his side and pulled his blankets up to his chin. But sleep only brought sorrow.

The smell of eggs and sausages woke him the next morning, a pleasant awakening for once. He rolled out of bed and pulled a shirt and trousers over his undergarments then headed downstairs.

Sizzling food over an open flame stove bid him good morning with his sister, Peney, slaving over the heat. She always let herself in, which he did not mind. She must have heard Sevin’s footsteps because she said, “I made breakfast."

“I see that,” Sevin said, his usual morning gruffness making him sound grumpy.

“A simple ‘thank you’ would suffice.”

“I did not ask you to make breakfast for me,” Sevin spat.

“You did not need to. You are my brother. I would do this even if your circumstances were different.”

Sevin knew she spoke of Nadora, but he chose to ignore it. The sorrow that arose whenever her name – or even the thought of what happened – came up was too much for him to bear. He always changed the topic quickly to avoid shedding a tear. Especially when someone was there to witness it. If there was one thing worse than grief to Sevin, it was shame that came from someone knowing what he was going through was too much for him.

“Are you sleeping well?” Peney asked. She strolled to the table with two wooden bowls in her hands, both holding a spoon, and set them down on the table while she sat.

“Fine,” Sevin grumbled. He used his spoon to toy with his food. He had no appetite currently.

“Sevin,” Peney said, taking a tone that showed she cared, “you need to eat. Do not allow your grief to –”

“I am not grieving!” Sevin firmly cut his sister off. His hard expressions spoke of his denial, but Peney saw through the hardness. His eyes were wet, but no tears built up.

“You need to talk about it,” Peney continued reassuringly. “Not doing so will only cause it to fester like a wound not dressed properly. Soon enough, it will render you mad beyond help.”

“Do not speak to me like I am a fool, Peney. I do not need scolding.”

“Sevin, I know you. I have seen you at your best and I have seen you at your worst. I know when something is upsetting you, and I see it in your eyes now.”

Sevin cast his sister a strong, hateful glare. She met his gaze with the same sort and held it. She knew the right ways to get though to him. She just had to pick her battles.

“Listen to me, Sevin,” she said. “You must seek help. Jerrin is a wise man, and I have spoken with him. He is willing to speak with you to help lift your burden of grief.”

At the mention of Cantanor’s Priest, Sevin rolled his eyes and grumbled under his breath. He had never liked Jerrin and found him quite a nuisance with how persistent he could be. Then again, all priests were, in all towns across the continent of Drescall. “I do not need to speak to that imbecile,” Sevin spat. “I do not like him.”

“It matters not whether you like him. All that matters is your state of mind. You will drive yourself mad if you do not seek help. There will be justice. At least take comfort in that.”

“Justice,” Sevin grumbled, toying with his food again. Then, suddenly, a thought occurred to him, causing him to pause in deep thought. Justice. The word rolled around through his mind. Perhaps the only way to rid himself of his sorrow was to bring justice to Nadora’s killer. “Justice,” he said again, thoughtfully, the word slipping off his lips with menace. He looked to Peney with reverence in his eyes.

Quickly, Sevin pushed himself away from the table and climbed the stairs to his room. Only a moment later he returned with a travelling bag slung over his shoulder and wearing a thick, leather coat. He stopped and hurriedly opened a chest against the wall bordering the kitchen and his blacksmithing room, pulling out a scabbarded broadsword.

“What do you think you are doing?” Peney asked, concern growing in her features.

“I am going to find the man who killed my fiancé and deliver him the same fate she suffered,” Sevin said while he strapped his sword to his waist. Once on, he strolled on past Peney and banged his front door open.

“What?” Peney asked in shock, mostly to herself, and followed her brother out the door. He was already at the barn, the door swinging lazily shut behind him. Peney was at the same door in seconds, heaving it open on old hinges. The single beam of light that speared into the shadows widened, and the rest of the barn became lighter. Sevin was at the back gently pulling his horse, Toopa, from his stable by the reins. He stopped halfway along the barn’s floor to retrieve his saddle and began tying it to Toopa’s back.

“Sevin,” Peney pleaded, “you cannot be serious. Are you really going to track down Nadora’s killer and deliver him justice by your own hand?”

“Yes,” Sevin replied simply.

“Sevin, justice is the responsibility of those who enforce the law. You must leave it up to them to find him.”

“What good has that done up till now?” Sevin said, turning on his sister with an anger-filled stare. Tears wet his eyes already, but he held them from tumbling down his face. “It has been a month since Sherriff Wildren set out. He came back not two days after having already given up, going on about no tracks nor signs of escape. He let the killer go without consequences. What good will that do besides allowing Nadora’s killer to think he can galivant around taking the lives of whoever he wishes? And all for a priceless piece of silver?” Sorrow hardened his throat, causing him to try and swallow the hardness. Sevin turned back to his saddle and continued strapping it to Toopa as he said, “That is not good enough for me. I will rest easy when Nadora’s killer suffers the same fate she did. Only then will things be made right.”

“That is not up to you to decide, Sevin,” Peney continued. Her voice was growing stern now too. “It is the duty of the law to bring those who cross it to justice. Her killer will surely receive what is due him.”

“Yes,” Sevin agreed. “He will.”

With that, Sevin mounted Toopa with a wide swing of his leg. Once seated upon him, he looked down at Peney, whose worry was evident in her gaze. Reluctance washed over him, but he pushed it aside. Nothing would stop him from completing what he knew needed to be done. “You know me well enough to know I must do this, Peney.” His voice was softer now, reassuring. “When my mind is made up, there is no changing it. I will do what I must to put my mind at ease.”

Peney sighed, reluctant to let him leave, but also knew he was right. There was no changing his mind now. If it was what he truly wished to do, then he would do it. Even if the entire world were trying to restrain him. “Very well,” she said softly. “Have it your way. I will tend to your property until you return. If you return.”

Toopa paced forward so that Sevin was by her side. He bent down and pressed a tender kiss to his sister’s cheek. “I will return,” he said. “Mark my words.” Toopa’s hooves thundered against the floor of the barn for a moment before disappearing out the door, growing silent with the distance. A single tear rolled down Peney’s cheek as she let her brother go, hoping beyond hope he would return.

Sevin rode for days, passing through towns which he had visited as a child, and ones he had never visited before, only heard of in tales told to him by his father. He took with him the wanted poster of the man who had killed Nadora he snatched from Mercantile porch as he passed through Cantanor, so he would not forget the face of the man who was the cause of his suffering. Everywhere he went, no one recognized the sketch he showed them, each and every one of the people he showed shaking their heads with blank expressions. Some even scratched their heads like they were thinking about saying they knew him. But there never came the time when someone spoke his name or told Sevin where he was.

For days Sevin rode, tirelessly, relentlessly searching for his fiancé’s killer. The only times he rested was when he felt Toopa growing weary. Each night it was beneath the tree, around a small campfire to keep himself warm, but it was never for long. Before the sun rose each morning, Sevin was riding for the next town, only one thought on his mind. Killing the man who killed the love of his life was the only thing that would bring him peace, the only thing that would end his suffering and depression. At least that was what he thought, but he did not doubt his logic. Not even for a second.

It was in the town called Fraidah, a town filled primarily with lumberjacks, where Sevin thought it best to find rest, and not just for a night. The first tavern he found, The Night Owl, was where he found a room. It would be good to sleep in a real bed for once. After a week of travelling – or rather hunting as Sevin liked to think of it – he needed a good rest. Perhaps a day or two spent in the town would suffice. He tied Toopa to the porch rail out the front of the tavern and strolled in.

It was the end of the day, it seemed, for the common room was filled with lumberjacks laughing over ale and talking haughtily over one another in order to be heard by their friends. The room was filled with the heavy stench of alcohol, and the underlying scent of sweat that clung to the hard workers’ bodies. It made Sevin’s nose twitch with unpleasantness. He walked straight to the bar on the left of the door and sat at a vacant stool.

“How can I help?” the bartender said while polishing off a mug.

“How much for warm broth?” Sevin asked.

“That will be three coppers,” the bartender said.

Sevin dug through his pouch for money and handed the man one silver coin. “Keep what you owe back,” he said, which prompted a surprised raise of the man’s eyebrows.

“Thank you, sir,” the bartender exclaimed. “I shall get onto your broth right away.”

It was barely a moment before Sevin was holding a warm mug, with steaming broth in his hands. He held the mug for a moment to warm his hands before taking a sip of the tasteful drink.

“You ought to try the ale,” came a soft voice. It was unusual to Sevin already to hear a voice that was not loud – or annoying – in the common room. He turned his head to the side and saw a man who had not been sitting in the stool beside him when he walked on. At his questioning glare, the man added, “It is to die for.”

“I will stick with my broth,” Sevin replied. “But thank you for the suggestion. Perhaps I ought to try it on my way back through.”

“Back through?” the man asked, intrigued. “Are you a traveller?”

“Of sorts.” Sevin took another sip of his broth before saying, “I am on a journey to find a man. He… took the life of someone close to me. I wish to deliver him the same fate.” He took a slightly larger sip of broth to calm himself, welcoming the heat that seemed to temporarily soften the lump in his throat.

The stranger must have noticed his state of mind, for he said, “You must have been quite close with this person to want vengeance.”

“Yes,” Sevin said plainly. “I was.” It was only my fiancé who was killed, he thought madly.

“May I know who it was who was killed?” the man asked, but not probingly. He was obviously very respectful of Sevin’s privacy.

“My fiancé,” Sevin added shakily. “It was for the necklace I had gifted her upon my proposal.” The memories came back again, and sorrow welled up inside Sevin once more.

“Oh my,” the stranger exclaimed. “My deepest condolences.”

Sevin began rummaging through his travelling bag and pulled out the crumpled sketch of the man who had taken Nadora’s life. He straightened it and laid it on the countertop in front of the man. He looked at it in bewilderment. “This is the man who killed my fiancé,” Sevin said, pointing a firm finger at the man’s face. “Have you seen him around here before? It would mean a great deal to me if you would tell me.”

“Know him?” the man asked incredulously. “I work with him.” He turned on his stool and took a moment to scan the crowd that filled the common room. He pointed across it to a man who sat at a table by the stairs that led to floors above them. His head was laid back and his mouth open widely while he laughed. The others at the table laughed along with him, all except one whose face was covered in what looked like ale. “That is him. His name is Garhom.”

Servin glared at the man in disgust, not because of what he did to Nadora, but because of his behaviour. He clearly thought himself greater than those around him. He was bigger than the rest and slightly darker. The sword at his waist flailed like it was strapped loosely. The others at the table seemed to sit away from him slightly out of fear – or respect. Sevin could not tell, but his demeanour was definitely authoritative among those in the common room. Sevin glanced back at the sketch he had brought with him. It matched Garhom’s appearance almost perfectly.

Sevin unintentionally tapped the countertop as anger came over him. The tap was loud enough for the stranger beside him and the bartender to hear over the sounds of the crowd. But Sevin could not take his eyes of Garhom; his hatred burned too hotly in his veins.

Then a woman with dark, wavy hair descended the stairs. Before she reached the floor of the common room, she was taken by Garhom with one arm wrapped tightly around her waist and pulled onto his lap. At first Sevin thought she would attempt to escape his clutches, but her giddy laughter and playful hitting told him otherwise. She enjoyed the affection the murderer showed her, no matter how rough it was. After a while, she stopped playing and became content sitting on his lap. One of the other men pinched her leg, which she also did not seem to mind. Fortunately, for everyone in the common room, Garhom had not noticed the little piece of affection shown to her by another man.

That was when Sevin saw it; the silvery glimmer of jewellery laid across the woman’s chest just below her neck. It was the necklace he had given to Nadora on the night of his proposal. It looked beautiful on this woman nonetheless, but she did not possess the same beauty Nadora had. Hatred stirred even more violently through Sevin’s insides, and he struggled to refrain from storming across the common room and taking Garhom’s life right then and there.

“What are you going to do?” the stranger at the counter asked.

At the sound of the man’s voice, Sevin pulled himself back to reality. “I am going to kill him,” he said.

“Right here? Right now?”

“There is no better opportunity than the present.”

“Do you truly think it wise to kill him in the company of others? You will have witnesses! There will be a trial! You will be prosecuted for murder!”

“I care not for none of that. Besides, once they hear my reasoning, I expect they will have no issues with my killing Garhom.”

The stranger remained silent. It looked as if he wished to say something, but no words came from his mouth.

Without waiting for an answer, Sevin rose from his stool. He downed the last of his broth before turning to stalk across the room. Casually he rested a hand on the hilt of his sword, more for comfort than anything, with his eyes intent on Garhom, who still laughed loudly with his arm around the woman’s waist. She had even joined in the laughter, which only angered Sevin even more. If she wore the necklace that was Nadora’s, the least she could do was act worthy of it.

Sevin approached the table at which Garhom sat, hand tightening around the hilt of his sword with his growing anger. None of them had noticed him, for they were too busy trying to stifle their laughter. “Gorham!” Sevin said loudly, and the laughing ceased in a few seconds. “You and I have some business to attend to.”

Gorham looked at Sevin, unrecognition clear in his blank stare. “I do not even know who you are,” the lumberjack spat. “What business could we possibly have.”

“If you step outside to speak with me, I will inform you.” Sevin adjusted the grip on his sword, sweat dampening the leathery hilt.

Gorham blinked, confused. “Whatever quarrel you have with me, friend, I am sure it can be resolved in the company of my friends. Whatever you wish to say to me, you say to me here.”

Sevin pursed his lips thoughtfully, glancing around the table at the men who sat with Gorham. If a fight broke out, there were far more than Sevin could deal with. But if he played it smart, he could possibly get Garhom alone. “It is a private matter, between our fathers. I wish to settle it before it gets out of hand. Save the two old men the trouble, you know.”

“My father died ten years ago in a lumberjacking incident,” Garhom said, his voice firm. “State your business, or I will have to escort you out of The Night Owl myself.”

Sevin’s anger boiled over, and now he was at breaking point. He did his best to compose himself, but he knew it would not last long. “Fine,” he said, and ripped his sword from its sheath with a metallic ring, pointing its tip at Garhom’s throat across the table. The others sprang out of their seats, knocking chairs over in a frenzy, reaching for their swords and drawing them to point at Sevin. He remained still, almost motionless save for the weight of his weapon causing his arm to shake slightly. In spite of that, he had a steady hand.

Gorham slowly rose from his seat, gently pushing the woman out of the way. He stood a good several inches taller than Sevin and was far wider than he. “I am intrigued,” the lumberjack said. “What business is it that is so pressing you must confront me in this place, surrounded by men on all sides.”

Sevin could not shake the memories that came flooding back to him now, immediate tears forming in his eyes. “You killed Nadora,” he whispered hatefully.

“What was that? I did not hear.”

“You killed my fiancé,” Sevin spat angrily, a tear rolling down his cheek as sorrow overflowed. “For the necklace I gave her. That necklace.” He pointed to the woman who had the necklace, and she raised a hand to clutch it.

Garhom turned to look at the woman and took in the silver necklace that hung from her neck. After looking back at Sevin for a moment, he turned swiftly and yanked the necklace from his lover’s neck harmlessly, the gems that decorated it tinkling solemnly. He shoved it across the table toward Sevin and said, “Here. If it is the necklace you came for, take it back.”

“I am not here for the necklace, although I will take it. I am here to take your life, just as you took Nadora’s.” Another tear rolled down his face, his sorrowful anger gripping his heart with an iron grip and forcing out more tears. His hand wobbled as he fought a sob.

Garhom blinked, taken aback. His shoulder tensed visibly, his hand twitching by his side for his sword, but he did not reach for it. His expression softened and his eyes lost the firmness of anticipation. “I truly hoped this would not follow me here,” he said softly. For a moment, Sevin thought he saw remorse flicker across Gorham’s face. “I had no realisation this would affect more than that woman. I merely wished to gift my own fiancé with that necklace. Her happiness is most important to me. I am terribly sorry for your loss, and what my actions have brought upon you. Please, take the necklace and spare my life. A life without me is not a life I wish for my fiancé to endure.”

Sevin saw the sincerity in Garhom’s expression, and the strain in the man’s voice told him of the truth behind his words. At those very words, Sevin was filled with more sadness. He knew the life that would befall the woman should he kill her fiancé, and she would be stuck in the same life he was in now. In spite of what this man did to him, it was not a life he would wish upon anyone else. But his hatred for the man was strong, and unyielding, unwilling to relinquish its hold on his heart. Anger at himself for being unable to decide swelled up inside him. He knew he should not kill this man out of kindness for the woman, but the emotions that had accumulated inside him for the past month were too much to bear any longer. Killing Garhom was the only way to ease his burden of grief.

At last, Sevin lowered his sword, tears streaming endlessly down his face. “I will not kill you,” he managed to say. “For your fiancé’s sake. I know what a burden grief is.” He gently, hesitantly took the necklace from Garhom’s still outstretched hand, holding it like he held Nadora in her final moments; tight and unwilling to let go.

A tear fell down Garhom’s cheek, and he relaxed again.

Oddly, Sevin felt as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, like his grief left him. Now that he knew what would have become of him carrying out his wish, and what would have befallen someone else, it was like it was no longer a burden. He was free from the pain it had caused.

Without saying a word, Sevin sheathed his sword, made for his travelling back and left the tavern, free of sorrow, and of the guilt that would have come.