Cora rushed for the door.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The masked man was hiding, deep in the woods, hidden among the trees. Standing motionless, he breathed in and out. It was a skill to blend in, to remain unseen, a skill he had mastered long ago.
You had to leave your mind, empty your head, pretend that your body was just a shell. You had to be one with the trees and the stones and the leaves, letting your thoughts simply float. Targeted thoughts attract attention, so keep them fragmented . That way, nobody would pick up on the force of your spirit.
That was what he did now as he waited.
It took some effort, even though he was well-practiced, and that was because he knew his mental force was strong. He'd been told so many times. It had worked for him in the past but also against him.
He turned into the rhythms of the forest, feeling that another vision was prickling at his mind. Closing his eyes, he saw it in front of him, sharp and intense.
A woman dressed in furs was running through the forest. Her face was smeared, but whether with blood or paint, he couldn't tell. She had a terrified expression, and she was carrying a pointed spear. As he watched her, she slowed her pace. She braced her legs. She raised the spear, and then she hurled it forward.
The spear whistled through the air and found its mark - a bowman, wearing patchily dyed dark clothing, crouched almost invisibly in the undergrowth. Invisible to all but her. He shrieked aloud, writhing in agony, but as the masked man watched, his struggles lessened, and then they grew still.
With triumph in her face, the woman leaped forward to retrieve her spear, and the masked man opened his eyes. The vision melted away, but it had been so real, so authentic. He was more convinced than ever that he was seeing flashes of the past. Perhaps his new calling, the mission he was on, had enabled that. A channel could have been opened to enable these visions.
Now, in real life, he saw two women walking ahead of him. They were carrying big steel milk churns, and they were on their way to the old shed with the thick walls where butter and cheese were made.
As they passed by, unaware of the morning light, he observed their faces. Two ordinary women with brown hair and blue eyes. Not extraordinary, and not the stamp of person he wanted and needed.
They were talking in soft voices, and as they passed, he wondered suddenly if they were talking about him. Had he picked up the word 'killer'?
That was him, he realized in surprise. They might be talking about him. But he was not a killer, not in general terms. All he was doing was what he needed to.
He followed them from a distance, his steps as quiet as a cat. He was good at hiding away and getting close. He wanted to see where they were going. The cheese-making and butter churning was usually a sociable job, and it was likely that others might join them. Through gaps in the walls of the old wooden building, he might identify someone else who deserved to die.
He tightened his grip on the object in his hand as he walked, looking carefully from side to side. It was old and rusty, found in an abandoned shed, but it would do the job.
As he approached the shed, he heard voices coming from inside. His heart raced with anticipation because there were more people here, and it might be that one of them was the person he needed. He didn't know exactly what he was looking for. He didn't know what their facial structure would be like, their height, or their build. But when he looked into their eyes, that was where the truth lay, and often, the surprises were to be found.
He crept up to the shed and peered through the cracks. Inside were three women, and two men, all dressed in white tops and all with worry in their eyes. They were talking softly with each other as they worked, churning butter and making cheese. The work they were doing was hard labor, but they were performing it diligently, by hand, without any machines to help. Strength, health, and a desire to return to the soil were necessary for all those who wanted to serve the foundation.
He waited and watched carefully. It could be difficult to spot what he needed, so he made sure to stay alert, watching their faces, watching as they turned toward him.
But to his crushing disappointment, none of them were the ones he was looking for. They didn't have what he needed, and they all seemed so ordinary, so unremarkable. None of them were the ones he had to choose. Anger surged inside him, such a familiar emotion, the one that he’d had difficulty controlling all his life. No matter how hard he tried to repress it, his violent side would show itself every so often.
What if he found no more people in the stamp he needed before he progressed to his ultimate target?
"No," the man muttered to himself. It would be impossible not to find more. After all, he knew there were approximately three hundred members in this wider group, though, of course, the inner circle numbered barely a tenth of that. They were the elite, they were the chosen ones, but he was willing to take anyone who had achieved success and acceptance.
What about that man walking there? His attention was caught by his powerful build and his easy stride. Could this be someone he needed to follow?
The masked man observed the man from a distance, but as he walked, the masked man edged closer. It was hard to see without being seen in turn, but he thought he'd perfected that art. He had a hunch that this might be the one he was looking for, the one who deserved to die.
He was heading for the cheese shed now, opening it, looking inside, speaking in easy tones. There was conversation back and forth, some questions, some answers.
And as the man turned, the masked man caught sight of his face.
Excitement flared. This was him! This was one of the chosen, one of those that he was drawn to.
Hoping that this was real, that he hadn't imagined this entire scene into existence, the masked man could feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins. He had found his next target.
The man from the inner circle was now walking back the way he had come, heading for the forest. The masked man waited a few seconds, then followed him.
As he crept closer, the tall man suddenly turned around. The masked man froze. Had he been seen? He forced himself to blend in, to become one with the bush he was hiding behind. And the tactic worked. The tall man didn't seem to register him. Instead, he continued walking, and the masked man followed, keeping a safe distance.
