Dark Whisperer

Leora’s stables, perched on the edge of Halrest’s bustling square, were alive with activity. The usual morning chaos had swelled to a fever pitch, turning the yard into a swirl of noise and motion. Boots tramped over churned mud, horses snorted and stomped, and the clatter of tack mixed with the steady hum of voices. Today, it seemed like every trader, traveller, and townsfolk had found a reason to pass through, and Leora was at the centre of it all.

“Careful with those crates!” a voice called out, sharp and urgent. “I swear, if you drop another one, I’ll have you stacking hay till next spring!”

Two stable hands stumbled past, balancing boxes stacked high with feed, grumbling under their breath. “Why’s she always like this?” one muttered. “Because she’s got eyes like a hawk,” the other replied, shooting a wary glance toward Leora.

At the far end of the yard, a horse whinnied, and Leora’s head snapped in that direction. “What’s going on there?” she barked, her voice cutting through the din. “Marcus, that’s not how you bridle a horse! I don’t care if it’s your first time leading him—do it wrong, and he’ll have your fingers for lunch.”

She moved swiftly, boots crunching through the straw, and took the reins from Marcus. The young lad looked up, sheepish, as she deftly adjusted the bridle. “See?” she said, her tone brisk but not unkind. “Gentle, but firm. Horses can smell fear, and I don’t need any spooked stallions today.”

He nodded, swallowing hard, and she gave him a quick pat on the back before turning to the next commotion.

“Leora! Do you have any tack oil left?” A burly man leaned over the wooden barrier; his voice barely audible over the noise. He was one of the local farmers, face flushed from the cold. “My saddle’s been creaking so much, I think it’s trying to talk to me.”

Leora snorted. “Harold, if your saddle’s speaking, you’ve got bigger problems than a bit of creaking. Third shelf, back room. And tell your wife those apples were the best I’ve tasted this winter.”

Harold chuckled and tipped his cap, disappearing into the stable. Around him, more people bustled about, each with their own business to attend. A blacksmith checked the hooves of a draft horse, muttering about shoe replacements. A young girl, her eyes wide with excitement, tugged on her mother’s sleeve, pointing at a tiny foal with a white star on its forehead.

“Momma, can we see it up close? Please?”

“Not right now, love,” her mother said, a hint of exasperation in her tone as she tried to keep her daughter from darting into the fray. “Maybe later, if we’re lucky.”

Meanwhile, traders in bright scarves and worn cloaks haggled amongst themselves, their words a mix of dialects and accents that hinted at journeys across rivers and plains. One trader, a wiry man with a silver beard, leaned against the barrier, discussing routes and road conditions with a companion. “Heard the passes are still snowed over up north,” he said, shaking his head. “Might have to cut through the forest, though it’s slower. Safer, too, if what they’re saying about the bandits is true.”

Leora caught that, and her brow furrowed slightly. She stepped over, pretending to adjust the saddle on a nearby horse. “Bandits, you say?” she asked, casual but probing. “Funny how trouble always finds the same roads, year after year.”

The trader glanced at her, a wry smile on his lips. “True enough. But these aren’t your usual cutthroats. People say they’re organized. Someone’s paying them to disrupt the routes.”

Leora’s eyes narrowed, but she kept her expression light. “Whoever’s paying them isn’t paying me, so it’s none of my business. Still, I’d watch your back.” She turned away, but the thought lingered.

The flow of work continued around her, and Leora’s attention darted from one task to the next. She spotted a groom struggling to fit a halter on a restless colt, and a young couple debating the merits of a sturdy bay mare versus a sleek black gelding. Over near the gates, a pair of stable hands tried to guide a cart around a tight corner, arguing over which way to turn.

“I told you, left!”

“No, you said right!”

“Well, I meant left, and now we’re stuck!”

Leora sighed, striding over to them. “For the love of—fine, I’ll do it myself!” She took the reins, guiding the cart with a few sharp clicks of her tongue and a swift turn of the wheel. The cart shifted smoothly, and the stable hands exchanged sheepish grins.

“Thanks, Leora,” one of them mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Next time, use your brains before your brawn,” she shot back, but there was a twinkle in her eye. “Now get that loaded, we’ve got more horses coming in.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw a group of traders leaning in, talking in low voices. One of them, a tall man with a scar across his cheek, was eyeing a roan mare. “Looks strong,” he said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “How much?”

Leora’s smile widened. “Depends,” she said, strolling over, her boots thudding purposefully on the packed dirt. “She’s strong, fast, and has a mind of her own. You looking for a workhorse or a companion for the road?”

The trader looked intrigued, and she saw the moment his interest turned to calculation. “Workhorse,” he said. “Something reliable.”

“Then she’s yours for forty silver,” Leora said, crossing her arms. “And that’s a steal, if I’m being honest. She’ll pull twice her weight, no fuss.”

The trader hesitated, and Leora could almost see the numbers running through his head. She didn’t give him a chance to object. “But,” she added, leaning in slightly, “if you’re serious about making it to the next town without stopping every mile to readjust your load, I’ll throw in a saddle blanket. Free of charge. Keep her comfortable, and she’ll keep you moving.”

He grinned, and the deal was struck with a firm handshake. Around them, the other traders perked up, already thinking of their own purchases.

Leora basked in the energy of the moment, feeling the familiar thrill of the trade. This was her element—the chatter, the deals, the rhythm of the stables. Each sale was a small victory, each shout a signal that everything was still running as it should be.

The stables were the legs of Halrest, carrying the town forward, one step at a time. And as long as she was here, they wouldn’t falter.

Leora clapped her hands together, the sound sharp and commanding, cutting through the chatter like a bell. “Alright, you lot! Settle down!” she called out, drawing every eye to her. “I know you’re all here to gawk, gossip, and maybe—just maybe—buy yourself a horse. So, let’s make it official, shall we? Time for the show!”

The crowd hushed, a ripple of excitement passing through as Leora stepped into the open space in the centre of the yard, where a series of halters hung on posts, each leading to a different horse. She raised her arms, her smile wide, like a ringmaster at the start of a circus act.

“First up, we have Lady Grace!” she announced, gesturing with a flourish to a sleek, dappled mare. “She’s got a coat so smooth you’ll swear it’s silk, and a stride so smooth you’ll never spill your tea! Perfect for those of you who like a bit of elegance with your errands.” She winked, and a few of the traders chuckled.

“Graceful, loyal, and a touch vain—just like my aunt,” she added with a grin, to more laughter. “She’s for those who want to turn heads without trying too hard. And trust me, she knows she’s pretty.” Leora gave the mare an affectionate pat, and Grace tossed her head, as if acknowledging the compliment.

Leora moved on, her boots crunching in the dirt. “Next, we’ve got Old Bess.” She waved a hand toward a sturdy, chestnut draft horse that stood with an air of stoic patience. “Now, she’s not here to win any beauty contests, but if you need something hauled, pushed, pulled, or dragged—she’s your girl. She once pulled a cart out of a ditch with half a wheel and no axle, and I’m not exaggerating!”

The crowd laughed, and one of the traders called out, “What did she have left to pull with, then?”

“Pure spite and a bit of stubbornness!” Leora shot back, earning a round of chuckles. “Bess doesn’t quit, and she doesn’t complain. If you want a horse that’ll work harder than you ever will, she’s the one.” She nodded toward a couple of farmers who were watching intently. “No nonsense, no fuss, just muscle. And she doesn’t eat more than your average uncle at a feast.”

The farmers exchanged knowing glances, and Leora could tell she’d hooked them. She moved on, keeping the momentum.

“Now, for those of you with a bit more adventure in your hearts, meet Prince.” She gestured to a tall, muscular stallion that stood alert, ears pricked forward. “Strong, swift, and ready to run. If you’ve got a message that needs to get somewhere fast, or if you just want to race your shadow, Prince will take you there. Just don’t try to sweet-talk him—he’s all business.” She gave Prince a playful tap on the nose, and he snorted, shaking his mane.

A trader near the front raised an eyebrow. “All business, huh? Sounds like my wife.”

Leora shot him a sly smile. “Well, if he’s like your wife, I’d say you’ve got good taste.” The crowd roared with laughter, and even the trader couldn’t help but grin.

“But don’t let his serious face fool you,” Leora continued, leaning in as if sharing a secret. “Treat him right, and he’ll be as loyal as they come. Just don’t try to cheat him, or he’ll have you eating dirt before you know what hit you.”

She stepped back, letting the crowd take a good, long look at the stallion. The energy in the yard was building, and Leora could see it—a few subtle nods, people leaning in, whispering to each other. She had them right where she wanted.

“And last but not least,” she said, raising her voice a little, “we have Buttercup!” A smaller horse, with a coat the colour of fresh honey, pranced out from behind one of the larger drafts. “Don’t be fooled by the name—she’s got more spirit than most of the brutes twice her size. Perfect for young riders, or anyone who wants to move quickly without breaking their neck.”

Buttercup gave a little neigh, almost as if on cue, and Leora threw up her hands. “See? She even does tricks! That’s what I call customer service!”

The crowd erupted in laughter, and a few of the children watching from the back clapped excitedly. One of the women leaned over the fence, eyes bright. “Can she handle rough terrain?”

“Rough terrain? Buttercup eats rough terrain for breakfast,” Leora replied, raising an eyebrow. “She’ll take you through mud, over hills, even across that nasty little stream out west that’s always half-frozen and full of rocks. And she won’t even need a second wind.”

The woman nodded, clearly impressed, and Leora took a step back, spreading her arms wide. “So there you have it, folks! The finest in Halrest, and all ready to find a new home.” She clapped her hands again, a signal that brought the stable hands forward to start leading the horses in a slow circle around the yard, giving everyone a closer look.

“And don’t be shy!” she added, raising her voice above the renewed murmur of conversation. “Ask questions, kick the wheels, so to speak. But don’t take too long deciding, because these beauties won’t be here forever.”

She let the crowd mill about, watching as people moved closer to the horses, the buzz of conversation growing louder. Her heart thrummed with satisfaction. This was what she lived for—the energy, the banter, the deals waiting to be made. The stables were alive, and Leora was at the centre, orchestrating the whole show like a master conductor.

“Leora, how much for the little one again?” someone called, pointing at Buttercup.

Leora didn’t miss a beat. “Twenty-five silver, and I’ll even throw in a saddle blanket—free of charge. But if you haggle me down, I’m keeping the blanket, and you can explain to her why she’s riding bareback!” She flashed a grin, and the crowd laughed, a few nodding in agreement.

She had them. The deals would come, the coin would flow, and by the end of the day, she’d have sent off a few more of her beloved horses to new homes. Leora watched as the crowd shifted and mingled, her eyes sharp, her smile easy. She was the heart of the stables, and as long as she was here, there would always be laughter, deals, and a little bit of magic to keep the legs of Halrest moving strong.

Just as the laughter hit its peak, filling the stables with warmth and chatter, a sudden crash rang out—a metal bucket knocked over near the entrance.

Everyone froze. The crowd, the stable hands, even the horses. Conversations died mid-sentence, laughter choked off, as if a spell had been cast. For a moment, the entire stable was still, like a painting frozen in time.

Leora stopped mid-gesture, her outstretched arm lowering as she turned to see a young stable boy, eyes wide and cheeks pale, standing next to the toppled bucket.

The silence hung heavy, thick with unspoken words. And then, just as suddenly, whispers began.

"She still hasn't come back?" murmured a woman near the front, voice barely more than a breath.

"Not since last week," replied another, eyes darting nervously. "Vanished without a trace."

“And now it’s him?” someone else whispered, their tone tight with fear. “Heard his mother’s been looking all morning…”

Leora’s jaw tightened, the shift in mood hitting her like a slap. She scanned the yard, seeing the unease ripple through the faces around her.

She forced a smile, raising her voice to cut through the murmurs. “Alright, folks, it’s just a bucket. Let’s not act like the sky’s falling.”

The whispers grew louder, swirling like leaves, and soon the murmurs turned into sharp, overlapping voices.

“Disappeared, just like the girl,” said a woman near the front, her voice rising with a mix of fear and urgency. “First her, and now Ben. What if it’s more than that? What if there’s something out there?”

“Found his satchel near the woods, but not a sign of him,” added a man from the back, loud enough for everyone to hear. “And nobody saw a thing. Two now… that’s no accident.”

“If there’s danger, then we’re getting out of here. No point in sticking around to find out what’s picking people off.” a trader hissed, his richly coloured scarf fluttering as he turned.

“Oh, sure, just run away,” retorted a farmer, his face flushed with anger. “Leave the rest of us to deal with it, is that it?”

The trader’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not risking my life or my men for a town that can’t keep its own people safe! You should be thinking of leaving, too, unless you want to be next.”

“That’s easy for you to say!” someone else shouted, a middle-aged woman clutching her shawl tightly around her shoulders. “Where would we go? This is our home. We can’t just pack up and run.”

“Maybe you should,” the trader shot back, voice dripping with condescension. “Or are you going to wait around until someone else vanishes?”

“He’s right,” said another, a wiry man with a harsh, weather-beaten face. “Better to cut our losses now. Whatever’s happening, it’s not natural.”

“Natural or not, we’re not going anywhere!” shouted a younger man from the local crowd, stepping forward. “We’ve lived through worse, and we’ll get through this, too.”

“But at what cost?” a woman’s voice broke in, shaky with fear. “How many more have to go missing before we admit something’s wrong? First the girl, now Ben… what if there’s more we don’t even know about?”

Leora stood still, the heated exchange swirling around her like a whirlwind. And yet, for a moment, she didn’t step forward to calm them. Her own thoughts were drifting, pulled into the dark, uneasy possibilities that had started to take root in the back of her mind.

“The lake is cursed,” muttered an older man, voice low but filled with conviction. “We shouldn’t have built so close. I told them years ago—”

“Oh, shut up, Farley!” barked the younger man, waving a hand dismissively. “This isn’t the time for your tales. What we need is action, not fearmongering.”

“You call it fearmongering; I call it sense!” Farley snapped back, his eyes flashing. “There’s something wrong here, something dark, and if we don’t do something, it’s only going to get worse.”

“That’s exactly the kind of talk that’s going to get people hurt,” said another voice, a local blacksmith who’d been silent until now. “We don’t need to start panicking. We need to figure out what’s happening.”

The arguments grew louder, voices rising and overlapping until they were nearly shouting. The traders edged away, some muttering to themselves, clearly considering whether they should start packing their wagons. The locals stood their ground, but the fear was plain on their faces, eyes darting nervously as if expecting something to leap out from the shadows.

Leora’s mind whirled. She could see it happening, the way fear was twisting into anger, turning them against each other. She had to stop it, had to regain control, but for a moment she hesitated, her mind caught on the thought of the missing boy—of Ben’s mother, searching for her son, calling his name into the woods.

And then, just as suddenly, someone stepped forward, voice raised in frustration.

“Leora, say something! You’re the one who’s always telling us to keep our heads on straight!”

The call jolted her back to reality, and she blinked, shaking off the fog that had settled over her thoughts. She took a deep breath, stepping forward, and raised her hands for silence.

“Enough,” she said, her voice cutting through the bickering. “That’s enough.”

Leora’s eyes swept over them, seeing the fear, the anger, the uncertainty. “I understand you’re scared,” she said, her tone steady, commanding. “We all are. But shouting and arguing isn’t going to help us figure out what’s going on, and it sure as hell isn’t going to bring Ben back.”

“Then what do we do?” asked the woman clutching her shawl, her voice breaking. “We can’t just stand here and do nothing.”

“No, we can’t,” Leora agreed, and there was a new firmness in her voice now, a strength that cut through the uncertainty. “But we also can’t let fear drive us apart. We’re stronger when we stick together, and that’s what we’re going to do. We’ll look for Ben, we’ll keep an eye on each other, and we won’t give up until we find out what’s happening.”

“And if we don’t?” the trader with the scarf challenged, his arms crossed. “What then?”

Leora’s gaze hardened. “Then we keep going. Because that’s what we do. This town has stood through worse than this, and we’re not going to let it fall apart now.”

The words seemed to settle over the crowd, quieting the more frantic voices. The traders still looked uneasy, some clearly considering leaving, but the locals stood a bit straighter, their resolve bolstered by Leora’s certainty.

She had to keep them focused, had to make them believe that they could handle whatever was coming. Because if they started to doubt, if they let the fear take over, then they’d already lost.

“All right,” she said, more softly this time, but still with that unyielding edge. “We’ll get through this, one way or another. But for now, we’ve got work to do. The day doesn’t stop just because we’re scared.”

The stable hands began to move again, hesitantly at first, then with more purpose as Leora’s words sank in.

Leora took a breath, steadying herself. She had managed to calm them, at least for now, but the fear was still there, lurking just beneath the surface. And if another person went missing… she didn’t want to think about what that would do to the fragile peace she’d just managed to restore.

But there was no time to dwell on it. She clapped her hands, the sharp sound echoing across the yard.

“Everyone, listen up,” she said, her voice firm and clear. “I don’t know what you’ve heard, but this isn’t the time to be spreading wild stories. We’ve got horses to tend and business to finish. Let’s not get carried away.”

Her words cut through the murmurs, the authority in her tone like a balm over a fresh wound. The crowd hesitated, eyes flicking to one another, but the panic began to ebb, replaced by a wary quiet. The stable hands exchanged glances, hands loosening on their tools, and the traders shifted uneasily, still tense but visibly calmer.

Slowly, the tension in the yard eased. The stable hands moved back to their tasks. The traders relaxed, some muttering among themselves but no longer in raised voices. The crackle of chaos simmered down, leaving behind an uneasy stillness, like the quiet after a storm.

Leora watched them for a moment longer, then nodded. “That’s better,” she said, more to herself than anyone else. “Let’s get back to work.”

And just like that, the stables returned to a semblance of normalcy. But even as the sounds of activity picked up again—the rustle of hay, the clink of tack, the low murmur of voices—an unspoken tension hung in the air, fragile and ready to snap.

Leora kept her face steady, but the tightness in her chest lingered, an unspoken question she dared not voice