A/N: I wrote this back in August before I even decided to do whumptober, with the intent that it'd be a Halloween themed fic. So it's been sitting on my computer until the appropriate time, which is now. I'm gonna post it in three parts, Part 1 today, Part 2 Thursday on Halloween, and Part 3 Saturday.

Disclaimer: Not mine. Thanks to 29Pieces for beta reading!

"Faciem Malum"
Part I

"Can we please stop in that village up ahead?" d'Artagnan implored.

"We have at least two hours of daylight left," Athos replied from where he rode in the lead of their group of four, heading home after completing a mission to the south of France.

Aramis exchanged a mischievous grin with Porthos. "Are you growing soft, d'Artagnan?" he called over his shoulder. "It's too early in your career as a musketeer for that."

"No," the boy retorted petulantly. "But my backside could use a soft bed for one night. Plus it's getting cold. We've camped on the road for three nights and we've made good time. We can afford to give up a couple of hours."

Aramis glanced at Porthos, who shrugged.

"'E makes a good point."

"So he does," Aramis agreed. "Athos?"

The man drew his horse to a stop and shot a vaguely irritated look back at them. "The sooner we're back in Paris, the sooner we can sleep in our own beds."

"Ah, but the sooner we stop at an inn, the sooner we can have some wine," Aramis countered cheekily.

Athos huffed and nudged his horse into moving again.

"So…is that a yes?" d'Artagnan spoke up a moment later.

"Of course. You don't think Athos would say no to wine, do you?" Aramis quipped.

"The buildin' would have ta be on fire," Porthos interjected.

Aramis canted his head. "Well…"

"I stated my objections and was out-voted," Athos interrupted. "Therefore the wine can be on you three."

D'Artagnan pulled a face. "Hang on, I can't afford your tab."

"Who can?" Aramis responded with a glib grin.

"Those are my choices?" d'Artagnan continued to lament. "Going broke or sleeping on the ground?"

"No," Athos replied, veering toward the village that lay ahead. "The decision has been made."

D'Artagnan threw them all an incredulous look.

Aramis grinned as he kicked up his pace to catch up with Athos. "You don't fool us, my friend."

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," Athos said mildly, though there was the barest quirk at the corner of his mouth.

They reached the town and made their way toward the inn. D'Artagnan took care of stabling the horses while the rest of them went inside to ask for some rooms. With two reserved, they settled at a table and ordered some food and wine, which arrived by the time d'Artagnan joined them. The hot meal was pleasant enough and the wine palatable.

"Doesn't look like the type o' place to find a good card game," Porthos remarked with a disappointed tone.

Aramis grinned, but as he swept his gaze around the tavern, he noticed that the people gathered there were whispering to each other and casting frequent glances toward the table of musketeers. "It seems we're drawing another kind of attention," he said casually, leaning back and draping one arm over the back of his chair.

D'Artagnan straightened, not having yet learned the art of subtlety. Athos kept his head bowed over his drink but Aramis could see his eyes roving surreptitiously around the room.

Aramis watched a small group push and prod at an older man before the gentleman broke away and hesitantly approached their table.

"Good evenin', messieurs," he said, bobbing his head as though he couldn't decide whether to bow or make eye contact. "We couldna help but notice yer uniforms…yer the King's men, yeah?"

"That's right," Athos replied neutrally.

The man cast a look over his shoulder to where the others were watching intently. He cleared his throat. "We, uh, we'd like ta ask fer yer help."

Aramis arched a brow. "With what?"

"People have been goin' missin'. One each of the past three weeks. Things continue, someone else is bound ta disappear in the next couple o' days."

Aramis exchanged a look with the others.

"Missing?" Athos repeated. "Perhaps they simply left."

The villager shook his head. "No, these people 'ave lived here their whole lives. They had livelihoods an' families. They wouldn't jus' up an' leave without sayin' anythin' to anyone."

"And you have found no bodies?" Aramis asked.

"No."

"I'm not sure how we can be of help," Athos said.

"People don' jus' disappear without a trace," the man pressed.

"I've seen foul things afoot in the forest," another villager spoke up. "And the missin' have coincided with the phases of the moon."

"Please, messieurs," another interjected. "The full moon is almost upon us."

Athos rolled his eyes. Aramis knew how he felt about superstitious prattle, but these people seemed genuinely frightened.

"It can't hurt to take a look around," d'Artagnan suggested, ever eager to come to someone's aid.

Aramis glanced at Porthos and they shrugged in agreement.

"I thought you wanted to rest," Athos rejoined dryly.

D'Artagnan shot him a disapproving look and rose from the table. Aramis and Porthos stood as well.

"Have at it," Athos said, grabbing the wine bottle and refilling his cup. "I'll make good use of the wine and warmth we already paid for."

Aramis smirked as they headed out. There was still an hour of daylight left so they decided they might as well peruse the edge of the woods that lay on the eastern border of the village. In all likelihood, if something ill had befallen the missing villagers, it was probably out here where a wild animal could have gotten one, or another could have been injured and unable to make their way back.

Three in three weeks though…that was a bit of a strained coincidence.

The musketeers trekked through the forest a few paces apart, looking for signs of, well, anything. But a thick fog was beginning to roll in, swallowing up what was left of the light and making it darker prematurely.

"We should head back," Aramis finally said.

D'Artagnan sighed. "Athos will never let me live this down."

"We all decided to come out here," Aramis reminded him. "And it was a long shot from the start, but if we can give these people a little peace of mind, then it was not a waste."

"Hey," Porthos spoke up. "Over there."

Aramis followed the direction of his gaze but couldn't make out much in the mist. He thought he saw some movement, perhaps a figure hunched over in the distance.

"Hey, you there!" Porthos called out.

The figure bolted and Porthos immediately charged after it. Aramis and d'Artagnan gave chase but Porthos quickly disappeared into the fog, which seemed to be growing thicker and heavier around them. A chill permeated the air and wormed its tendrils under Aramis's collar, reminding him of another whitewashed landscape. Everything fell almost unnaturally still.

"Porthos!" d'Artagnan yelled, coming to a stop and twisting around.

The fog pressed in on them and Aramis whirled at shadows that kept escaping out of the corner of his eye. "Porthos!" His voice echoed through the oppressive mist.

A cry suddenly went up, muffled as though far away, but it sounded like Porthos, and Aramis and d'Artagnan were off like a shot toward it. They stumbled multiple times, the ground a swamp of mist that hid ruts and roots from view. Aramis staggered into a clearing and barely skidded to a stop to avoid tripping over their missing friend.

Porthos was on the ground and clutching his ankle, but his pinched expression looked more chagrined than badly injured.

D'Artagnan bumped into Aramis. "Porthos?"

"'M alright," he grunted. "Jus' tripped on somethin' and twisted my ankle."

The fog seemed to slither away into the trees, revealing the shallow pit likely responsible for ensnaring Porthos. Aramis's eyes widened—three bodies had been carelessly thrown into it.

"Bloody hell," Porthos murmured.

"Oh god." D'Artagnan reached a hand up to cover his nose and mouth.

Aramis's lips thinned as he crouched down to get a better look. Each of the bodies were in various stages of decomposition with the worst at the bottom and the most recent kill on top. And they were kills—the men were bare chested and had stab wounds right through the heart. Worse than that though was the fact that each of their torsos bore strange symbols painted in blood. Aramis frowned as he studied the patterns; blood from the stab wounds looked as though they had bled over the markings, which meant they had been painted on prior to death?

"I think we found the missing villagers," d'Artagnan said.

Aramis stood. "Did you get a good look at the person you were chasing?"

Porthos shook his head. "He was too fast. Can't see how he didn't trip on somethin' in all this blasted fog."

Aramis swept his gaze around the trees wreathed in hazy shrouds. The forest was quiet and still again. "Let's get back. We'll need a cart to retrieve the bodies."

He turned back to Porthos and reached down to give him a hand up. He'd examine the ankle when they were out of these woods. D'Artagnan ducked in under Porthos's other shoulder and together they helped Porthos hobble back to the town, the sinister looking fog having retreated into unknown crevices and hollows.

It was dark by the time they reached the village and made their way back to the inn. The group that had beseeched them for help was still there, and the older man immediately jumped to his feet at their entrance.

"Messieurs! What happened?"

"A minor disagreement with a rut," Aramis replied as he helped Porthos sit in the nearest open chair. He turned to the villager remorsefully. "I'm afraid we did come across your missing people. I'm sorry, they're dead."

The villager reeled back while whispers rippled through the others gathered in the tavern.

Athos was making his way over to them. "What did you find?"

"A mass grave," Aramis said, then lowered his voice. "And it was murder."

Athos's brows knitted together.

"I saw someone out there," Porthos said. "He got away though."

"We'll need a cart and torches if we are to retrieve the bodies tonight," Aramis put in. "Which might be prudent in case the culprit goes back to move them."

Athos nodded and turned to the villagers in the tavern. "Gather some men and a wagon." He looked back at Porthos. "Are you all right?"

"Fine," Porthos groused. "More embarrassed than anythin'."

"Stay off that ankle until I have a chance to look at it," Aramis instructed. "D'Artagnan can help you up to the room."

He got a glower at that but ignored it as he and Athos headed back out into the night.

With six villagers, a mule-drawn cart, and multiple torches, Aramis led them back into the woods, trying to keep himself oriented in the dark. The last thing he wanted was to get more people lost in the forest.

But while their mad dash after Porthos had turned him around, it had been a more or less straight shot from the grave back to the village. The strange mist from before didn't make a reappearance, as though it found itself outnumbered in the face of the group's increased numbers and flickering torchlights.

Aramis hadn't thought to warn them beforehand, and when the grave came into view, several gasps issued from the villagers. Athos's eyes narrowed as he scrutinized the state of the bodies.

"We'll investigate more in the morning," he declared. "For now, let's just get them back to the village."

With grim somberness, the villagers began lifting the bodies out of the shallow grave and transferring them to the cart. Aramis removed his hat and said some words over them. Their mortal vessels had been desecrated and he felt it important to offer their departed souls something in the interim before they could be laid to rest properly.

Then they turned their procession back toward town, coils of fog lurking behind them.

o.0.o

Athos knew he shouldn't have begrudged their delay, given the villagers' worries had turned out to be founded and as musketeers it was their duty to protect France's citizens from a murderer running free. Yet still, it was somewhat of an inconvenience. At least their mission had been completed and Athos only had to send word ahead to Paris to alert Treville of the problem and their intent to stay and investigate it.

With that taken care of, Athos, Aramis, and d'Artagnan began to ask around the town whether any of the three victims had had trouble or grievances with anyone. Porthos, to his annoyance, had been instructed to stay behind and rest his ankle.

But as the three musketeers made the rounds, they kept coming up with the same answers—none of the three men who'd been killed had been hated or had any disagreements that would lead to a violent altercation.

"I think we can conclude these weren't simple murders," Aramis said pointedly after a couple of hours of fruitless inquiries. "Those symbols on the bodies looked to be of the occult."

Athos pressed his mouth into a thin line. Yes, that was…troubling. "Let's go back to the grave site and look around. We might see something we missed last night."

"Or find tracks," d'Artagnan put in.

They headed to the stable and saddled their horses, then rode off into the woods. When they reached the clearing with the shallowly dug grave they dismounted. Unfortunately, the area had already been disturbed by the efforts to retrieve the bodies the night before. The three musketeers spread out, searching the perimeter for signs the killer might have left behind.

"Here," d'Artagnan called.

Athos and Aramis made their way over to him. D'Artagnan pointed out a boot print in the dirt that was not heading back toward the town. Nodding to the lad to take the lead, Athos and Aramis went back to retrieve their horses' reins, and then they proceeded on foot as d'Artagnan followed the tracks.

They didn't make it very far before the trail disappeared.

D'Artagnan huffed in frustration as he paced back and forth trying to pick it up again. "With all that fog last night, the ground should have been damp enough to leave more impressions," he griped.

"It's not your fault," Aramis said. "We should be reaching the edge of the woods soon; let's see where it comes out."

D'Artagnan threw a questioning look at Athos, who gave a subtle nod in agreement.

A few minutes more of walking and they indeed reached the border of the forest. There still wasn't any sign of their quarry, but they were surprised to spot an old church across a stretch of grassy terrain. As they approached, Athos noticed several windows had been boarded up and there were chains on the door.

"What a dreary fate for a house of God," Aramis commented.

Athos walked up to the door and yanked on the handle, confirming it was truly locked. He stepped back and craned his neck up to scan the windows. "If there's a way in, our killer may be hiding out here."

Wordlessly, the three of them split up to do a circuit around the premises, but each door Athos checked was effectively barred. When he met up with Aramis and d'Artagnan, they reported the same.

"What now?" d'Artagnan asked.

"We'll look around a little more," Athos said, walking back to his horse and swinging up into the saddle.

As Aramis and d'Artagnan mounted up, Athos shifted his gaze back toward the abandoned church, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling. He had the distinct sensation of being watched, though he spotted no shadows or movement to confirm it.

Shaking it off, he turned his horse and they rode back to the forest's edge, skirting it for a lieue before deciding to turn back and return to the town when they came up empty handed. The lack of leads weighed on Athos's mind, for the ritualistic nature of the murders suggested a compulsion that would not stop until the killer was apprehended.

They guided their horses back toward the inn's stable, only to find Porthos hobbling around outside with a forked branch under his arm as a makeshift crutch.

"What do you think you are doing?" Aramis chastised, swinging down from his saddle and marching toward the large musketeer.

"'M fine," Porthos huffed. "An' stop fussin', I haven't gone far. Jus' thought I'd talk to some folks while you three were out."

Aramis shot him an unimpressed glower.

"And did you learn anything?" Athos asked mildly as he dismounted.

"Well, I found out about an old woman who lives outside the town, in the forest. People say she keeps to herself. They've never called her a witch before, but they're startin' to whisper it now."

Athos rolled a dry look at him. "I don't think an old woman could have killed three hale men."

"Not unless she actually is a witch," d'Artagnan interjected.

Athos sent him a pointed glare. "If she lives in the woods, she might have seen something, so we might as well go speak with her."

"Messieurs!" a voice called, and they turned as a young lad came jogging up to them. Athos remembered he'd accompanied the group to retrieve the bodies. Philippe, he thought his name was.

"Messieurs," he repeated, out of breath. "I found somethin' I think you should see."

"What?" Aramis asked.

The boy shook his head. "I don't know how to describe it."

"Where?" Athos inquired.

"Out near the old church."

Athos exchanged a look with the others.

"We were just out there," Aramis said. "There was no sign of anything and the place was locked up tight."

Philippe shrugged one shoulder helplessly. "There's somethin' there now. I take the sheep out by the pasture that way an'…" His throat bobbed. "I never seen anythin' like it before."

Athos frowned. "Alright, Aramis and I will go back to the church. D'Artagnan can question the old woman."

"And you will get off that leg," Aramis said sternly to Porthos.

"I am off it," Porthos retorted, gesturing to how he was keeping the limb from touching the ground by leaning on the crutch. "'Sides, you can't send the pup alone to talk to a witch."

"Um, I was joking about that," d'Artagnan spoke up. "I'll be fine."

"See? He'll be fine." Aramis grabbed Porthos's arm and began to steer him back to the inn.

Athos turned to Philippe. "Do you know where this old woman lives?"

The boy nodded. "Uh, yeah. Out in the woods that way."

D'Artagnan followed the direction he pointed and nodded. "You'd better hope I don't get turned into a toad," he said as he mounted his horse.

Athos rolled his eyes and watched him ride off. When Aramis returned, having successfully browbeaten Porthos into staying put, they mounted their steeds again with Philippe behind Athos and rode back toward the abandoned church.

"What are we looking for?" Athos asked when they arrived.

Philippe gestured toward the back door, which was now unbarred and slightly ajar. Athos exchanged a silent look with Aramis and they dismounted, drawing their swords to have at the ready.

"Stay here," Athos told Philippe.

He and Aramis crept cautiously toward the door and peered inside. The inner foyer was empty. Aside from the fact that only an hour earlier the place had been locked up, Athos saw nothing alarming that would have set the shepherd boy on edge. Unless out of curiosity he had ventured further into the church.

Athos kept his senses sharp as he and Aramis moved down the corridor. Even so, he heard and saw nothing, and the blow from behind caught him completely by surprise, the force of it sending him immediately into blackness.