Bane looked around at the tree stump where Martha had seen the figure. The stump was knarled, broken; the tree that had been there had been dragged away some time ago, for none of it remained. The grass around the stump lay flat, a small something had lain here not so long ago. The grass flattened toward the woods, and a trail of dry, dark blood could be seen. Bane could sense Martha's horrified reaction to the blood and trail, even though she said not a word.

  “I will follow the trail. You stay here,” Bane said in a gentle tone that was softer than ever before. He did not want to disturb that which lay in the woods, he did not want to announce his arrival to whatever had done this.

  Bane moved forward after the healer said nothing, expecting her to turn back as most would. She, however, followed him, taking no interest in what he had just said; she simply continued with him.

  Into the darkness.

  Bane and Marther entered the forest's canopy, the dim gloom around them, the tall trees with rough bark and bony-like branches above them. The trail was made up from dried blood droplets and cracked branches, it was easy to follow as though a beast had dragged away its prey to consume. I went deeper still into the forest. Although the sun was high in the sky now and bright the forest remained dark and daunting. The witch hunter had been in forests like this one many times before, There was a hag he had burned once who had been experimenting on the residents way down south, a settlement farther out than even this one. It had been the first time he had come across a creature so devoted to the dark arts, hoping to find immortality. Hags were not humans anymore, perhaps once they had been, but they were changed to resemble something far more twisted. Long noses, tall, brittle legs, wispy, thin arms, and long matted hair. He had captured the one down south and burned her at the stake in the village, warning all to steer clear of the dark ways. It had been the first time he had seen the fear on the villagers' faces, the terror on the children's faces of such a creature, and the way it was killed. It was one of the first times Bane had seen how horrified people were of him.

  They continued along the trail, the blood becoming more than just drips. As they crunched through the forest floor, Bane saw on a bramble bush a clump of hair, blonde, fine, a thin, shinnier than average length, the hair of a child. He untangled it from the branches and looked closely at it, It had been pulled out by the brambles as the child was dragged along. He gazed now at it deeply with his black eye, and he saw into the hair the memories it carried, he felt the fear and heard the screams of the girl as she was dragged by a shapeless form, feet first, deeper into the woods. He pulled his gaze away from the clump instead, gazing at Martha. He paused.

  “She was taken this way, not too much further.” He had never sensed an evil like this with his gaze before, he was curious, but guarded.

  Martha could sense the witch hunter knew something she had heard stories about the eye that many people like her had. The stires said the eye could see into the supernatural and see things no one else could. Others said it could sense memories, let the witch hunter see through the eyes of those he looked at. Some say it was both. Martha did not know yet what to believe now that she was in the witch hunter's presence; she almost felt he was misjudged. He had not pushed her away when she ignored his words, he instead let her be her own guide. She wanted to believe, or maybe sensed, that he trusted her judgement. She felt safe with him, not fearful. She nodded at Bane and walked forward. She was losing hope that the little girl would be safe, that she could bring her back to her family.

  They continued, Martha now at the front, deeper still into the woods, the trail now bending to the right, continuing onwards to a clearing.

  The clearing was a circle of trees marking out the border between the thick, unkept grass that was unmoved by the breeze. As they stepped into it, Bnae noticed how suddenly everything became a lot quieter, he couldn't hear the sounds of the trees rustling in the wind, nor the animals moving around in the woods. Another strange thing was that the trail they had been following had stopped suddenly, vanishing just as they entered the glade. Banes's eyes narrowed as he scanned the grass looking for a reason why it was so silent. A cold shiver moved up his spine, the hairs on the back of his neck again rising as though something was stalking him.

  “This place feels wrong. Why do the tracks just vanish?” Martha said under her breath, looking back from where they had come, examining the trail they had followed.

  Bane moved slowly, trying not to tread on too much of the grass, keeping the place as plain as they had found it. He moved to the centre.

  Martha busied herself with walking around the edge, looking for an explanation for why the track stopped there. Bane examined the glade, he felt something here was broken, like back at the village, something was off balance that was now skewed to one side.

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  Bane's leg suddenly caught on something. A Large carved rock in the shape of a square with a point on top.

  The altar was smooth, perfectly carved it was old with moss growing on it. The service was unillustrated there was no indication to whom or what it belonged.

  Martha saw Bane now stooped over something in the middle of the glade, she knew calling out to him would be no use to ask what he had found, so instead she walked over to him, holding her dress up slightly to allow her to move more freely through the grass. To her surprise, it was Bane who spoke first as he heard her walking close.

  “Do you know anything about these woods?” his tone soft but concerned

  Martha thought back, no one had taken notice of the woods not since the village had become protected by spells, all that was in here to their knowledge were the wild creatures, ones that would happily eat them should they adventure in. Stories, of course, had been said of trolls lurking people into them to eat, pixies playing jokes on those that got close, giving them big ears or long noses. However, these were all stories; nothing had ever been proven.

  “No, nothing, none of us do,” Martha replied

  Bane used his hand to scrape away the dead grass that lay around the pillar and found, as he suspected, it was carved into a large round flat base made of the same stone, except for the fact that it had strange markings etched into it. Bane saw the dark spells that were written into the base, calling to the darker world, inviting them in a powerful spell. One that no human could have created. His eyes then caught a different marking from the rest, it was a simple carving of the sun, a spell made to suppress that of the altar, making its purpose redundant, diminishing its witchcraft. Someone at some point a long time ago had found this altar and placed a spell over it, a shield around it to stop the dark escaping it.

  Bane locked his gaze on the dark symbols, letting his eye see into and through them.

  Suddenly, he felt a coldness, the cold of the stone he was carved into. He saw figures emerging out of the shadows, cloaked. Next, they were on their knees, touching him, touching the pillar. Calling out to the void, calling to the creatures of darkness. Bane felt a great wash of adrenaline wash over him as the figures uttered their spells. Suddenly, the feelings, the sights vanished. As though he had just been pulled away, like waking up from a dream. Bane was himself again.

  floating in nothingness.

  Nothing like this had happened to his visions before.

  A white, cold mist hung around, and he saw something for a split second come and go like the blink of an eye, a face. The face of a being with hollow black eyes. Empty meaningless. Its features are made from a watery, black, mist-like substance. Swirling about it. A head with no hair, the ears pointed like those of goblins, but it was no goblin. It looked right into Bane as though seeing through him, into his very soul.

  Bane came back to the glade, he felt sweat on his face his breathing was heavy. A sense of pure darkness, a feeling of an evil he had never felt before. He had heard tales of the Witch King, for that he knew was what he had seen, but no tale could have matched that which he had seen just now.

  Bane could sense Martha staring at him, he could sense her worry, wondering what had just happened to the great witch hunter to have made him sweat in fear, to have made his breathing so heavy with panic.

  “What's happening?” she asked gently to the witch hunter, her one calming voice, hiding her own fear.

  “A sickening evil has come to your homes, what exactly I do not know,” Bane replied, his tone delicate with emotion, his mind filled with thoughts crashing down on him like waves.

  Bane then used his vision on the symbol of the sun, locking onto it, feeling it.

  He was stone again, already carved into the stone. It was the crack of dawn, he felt calm and protective. A bell cried out from the church in the distance. He felt warm and peaceful. All was normal.

  Suddenly a ringing in his ears.

  Singing from hundreds of voices, but it sounded like screaming, an overwhelming feeling of dread, and then a snapping across his body as though torn in half. Broken.

  The vision ended Bane was back at the shrine with Martha. He knew now the symbol of the sun subduing the shrine had been broken by a powerful spell, too powerful for that of a single man. The songs he heard the bell. He knew the church had something to do with the breaking of the sun.

  Bane turned to loom at Martha, he stood up now adjusting his cloak. She locked eyes with him she could sense something was very wrong.

  “We must go to the church,” Bane said as he started to walk off. “Something happened there to start this.”

  Martha did not follow him but stood still. “What happened to the children?” her voice shaken, fearing the worst

  Bane stopped walking at the edge of the glade now

  “Not in this world anymore.” his voice was cold and calm