"And there she stands, with skin of white and cloak of black
Framed 'gainst the moon, past the rev'rend's shack.
We cannot hide you all, she'll search the houses, one by one
'Til not a soul is left to greet the rising sun
So run, dearest children, don't delay
The Pale Lady comes to take you away."
Gyleon had heard enough by the second verse. After four, he was about ready to snap. "By the Stone of Scitha, will you shut it, Helmar? It's creepy 'nuff out here without your damnable ghost stories."
"'S'no story, Gyleon. I seen 'er!"
This caused the other three men in the group to groan in exasperation. Clearly, they had heard the tale too many times already.
"'S'true!" Helmar insisted.
Gyleon remained caustically skeptical. "Oh yeah? If you seen her, what's she look like?"
Helmar warily turned his head as far back as he could without dropping his corner of the load they carried to look at the woman following several paces behind them. She was dressed in all black, from the lacy veil over her face to her sheet of midnight hair to the boots on her feet. The thick carpet of leaves on the forest floor made barely a sound as she stepped, as if she was floating just above them. The only thing distinguishing her from a living shadow was fair, flawless skin and the dark silvery filigree on that covered her outfit and faintly caught the wan moonlight diffused by the fog.
Her outfit was of some funny fashion, which immediately singled her out as a member of one of Ketra's wealthy families, even if it didn't look much like what most upper-crust women in the city wore. The corset was worn openly, rather than under or over some kind of dress, leaving a generous expanse of snow-pale chest exposed, the curving filigree creating a striking outline between the black leather and ivory flesh. She didn't wear a skirt, either. She wore part of a skirt, cut up the back and completely open in the front, with its hem taken up to the knee, doing more to frame her legs rather than cover them up as a proper lady should. Only what looked to be some sort of full-body stocking, cut tight to match the shape of the corset and her arms and legs kept her from complete indecency, even if it still left absolutely nothing to the imagination. The legs of the stocking disappeared into her fancy knee-high boots, their fronts protected by embellished armor plates wrought from the same strange dark silver metal that decorated the corset. Matching armor covered her upper and lower arms, ending just above leather gloves with pointed metal fingertips and knuckles. Her collar was outrageously tall, disappearing under her hair in the back and swooping down to follow the sharp lines of her jaw before opening completely at the front, putting her slender neck on clear display for anyone looking. And though she wasn't particularly tall and was rather spare for a woman in Adela, the six-inch heels on her boots caused her to tower over all four of them and she moved with the confidence and air of natural menace associated with such a height. Not to mention Gyleon had, on the few occasions he'd crossed into the upper circles, seen what boots like that could do to a woman's shape; it was enough to make him wish she'd taken the lead on their march into the woods.
They hadn't seen much of her before she glided into the bunkhouse and collected them for this errand, but she stood out in everyone's attention: tall, dark, mysterious, a vision of loveliness. She looked like all the stories of dark sorceresses and women -- or things that only looked like women -- who tempted men away from their wives to drown them in their own vices. And, Gyleon had to admit, she could look the part of the Pale Lady.
But Gyleon wasn't some superstitious tribal, oh no. He was a Ketran man, through-and-through. This was not some fairy story meant to scare unruly children. This was real life. So, like any good Ketran man, Gyleon reached over and smacked Helmar on the back of the head. "Yer a special kinda daft, y'know that? Sayin' a Lady looked like some kiddie-eatin' witch. We was back in town and a guard saw you? You'd be irons 'fore you could blink."
Helmar ducked his head sheepishly and Gyleon looked back again to address the woman, in a much politer tone. "Apologies, Lady Alera. Helmar here has never much used his head. He didn't mean nuthin' by it."
Her lips curled into a smile behind her veil. "Relax. My cousin shan't find out about this."
"Of course, Lady. Thank you."
"Y-yeah, thank you," Helmar repeated, his voice shaking.
"Who are ye, again?" asked one of the men at the head of the column, Gauwis, before hastily adding, "If you'll pardon the impert'nce, Lady. Master Ames di'n't say much about ye before ye showed up, and I don' remember 'im invitin' ye to anythin' before."
"I tend to stay out of family business these days," Alera answered dismissively. "Particularly in the capital. My own operations keep me plenty occupied."
Gauwis's response was lost when the wind whispering through the autumn trees surged into a great gust. The rush of air tore through the carpet of dead leaves on the forest floor, casting them about in a sudden confetti of red, orange, black, and gold. The men came to an abrupt, staggering halt, almost dropping their load, as the dispersal of the detritus revealed thick, gnarled tree root that arched out of the ground just at ankle height.
"Wolma's teeth!" Gyleon swore as he struggled to adjust his grip on the wrapped corpse while the other three men tried to do the same. "With respect, Lady, how much farther is it? We're runnin' out of trail."
"Not much further," Alera assured them, the words calm and sweet. "Far enough that predators won't be attracted too close to town."
"Wha's so special 'bout this stiff that we 'afta carry 'im all this way any'ow?" the last man asked. "Why can' he just go in the boneyard like everyone else?"
Alera's voice took on a tone of gentle reproof. "Now, now, mister Bruge. It is not one's place to question the last wishes of the dying. He is to be buried in the forest, in a clearing where the moon shines untouched upon the earth."
"Wha' a ponce," Bruge groused. "No' like the moon'll be shinin' on anythin' in this fog. Can' 'ardly see where we's goin'. You sure this's the right way?"
"Worry not, gentlemen; we'll reach our final destination soon."
A new crunch of leaves caught Alera's attention. Behind them, faint, distant, but repeating and rapid. Approaching. Someone was running through the forest behind them, the panicked, frantic sprint of the hunted. Someone was being driven towards them. Alera focused her hearing, but could not sense any additional footfalls or voices that would identify they prey's pursuers.
"Most interesting..." Alera muttered.
Though she only said it to herself, it still caught the attention of the men. Gyleon turned again to look at her, confusion on his face. "Whassat, Lady?"
And she wasn't there.
They were alone. There was no one behind them, and no indication anyone had been there at all; where Alera had been standing, there was just black mist drifting away on the wind, like a shadow in the fog.