by Rory Surtain
A fortnight after my earliest awareness of the distant malediction, and still several weeks before the Realm Guard arrived, things changed. Quite suddenly, the local population of wildlife had dwindled away to nothing. I’d always worked the area far and wide to minimize my impact on the supply of critters, and there should have been growing animal activity heading into Summer. Instead, it was just the opposite.
With nothing better to do, I hiked out into the foothills, heading northeast about five miles farther than usual, toward that distant black cloud in my mind. The game trails were empty, but I felt a curious tug to the north. Not a cloud now, but something dark, like a void or a shadow, was out there hunting too. I couldn’t smell it, but I could feel it, and I sensed when the presence began to take notice of me.
My stomach jumped, and my mind flashed with ruin. The night was painfully quiet around me as I struggled with a new presence, a violent fear that blanketed my being while trying to sort what to do next. What the FETH was I thinking, being out here alone?
After cursing my stupidity and my panic, and counting slowly in my head to five, I countered the fear with anger. I would not be cowed; I would not be bullied by whatever dark-thing was raging toward me in the distance. I climbed up a nearby oak and waited.
Being chased up a tree may seem like something a hounded person would do, but in my case, it wasn’t, I swear. A cool wind blew in steadily from the north, so I was sure to be downwind of anything that approached. It was the perfect spot for a trap.
A few hours before dawn, in the darkest part of the night, I perceived something running my way, barely a mile off to the north, and I knew it was a predator, not prey. Prey smells of fear and constant anxiety. This predator reeked of death, some scents being louder than others, and by that alone, I knew it wasn’t natural.
Still perched up in my tall tree, I climbed even higher, not knowing what I was facing. Once I was a good twenty feet up from the ground, I looped my most durable snare rope down onto the trail below and then over the large branch that I straddled. I took out my hunting knife and quickly cut the back of my hand, letting a few drops of blood fall onto the ground below, inside the snare loop.
Thankfully, I didn’t have to wait long. Within minutes I could hear a beast running down the trail from the north, and then I saw its black mass, twisted and darker than the night around it. It leaped the last thirty feet with a triumphant growl.
Now, before you go asking how I could have smelled the beast a mile away, or have seen it blacker than the darkest night, well, you haven’t ever met a demon, have you? I am sure that there were folks asleep in their beds, five miles away in Lockrun, that felt its growl as it sailed through the air that cool Spring night.
Just as it was about to land beneath me, I slid off the branch, still holding on tightly to my snare rope, and plummeted. The snare loop flew upward, catching around the black beast’s neck as it dug its nose into the turf where my blood had fallen. The creature was lifted partially off the ground as I dropped, and the counter-weight helped slow my fall long enough for me to hit the ground relatively unhurt. The skin on my palms would grow back. I quickly scrambled away to tie off the rope at the base of the oak tree before the beast could escape my trap.
A glance had shown me that I had, indeed, roped a monster. It was a good seven feet tall, pulled up onto its hind legs by the cord around its neck. It was black and hairless, with a shape that might have passed for a large mountain lion, except for the over-sized jaw, fangs, and claws, and the twisted nature of its being. As I finished lashing the rope to the base of the oak, the shadow cat spun in place to face me. Its eyes flared in orange-red anger as it attacked.
Still hanging from the line, it threw its back legs at me, claws extended. I ducked, but it still managed to drag one claw across my back. I lunged at it as it swung away from me, slashing it across the stomach with my hunting knife. This back-and-forth skirmish occurred a couple more times, and while my back had gained a few painful stripes, the fiend was now heavily gutted. Rancid black intestines tumbled onto the ground, tangling with its back legs. Oddly, that didn’t seem to have much effect on it.
Switching tactics, I tried to work my way around behind it, but it quickly spun to face me. I was hoping that between the gut wound and having a rope tight around its neck, it might be on the verge of death. Instead, it continued clawing frantically at the line above its head with its front claws while never taking its eyes off me.
As a hunter-trapper, I don’t carry much in the way of heavy weapons or armor. I only had my hunting knife and a few sharp iron spikes for securing snares. Grabbing one of the spikes, I dove low and jammed it through its back foot and into the ground. Rolling away quickly, I earned another deep slash of claws across my back as the beast tried its best to pin me beneath it.
Feth, but that one hurt.
Grabbing another stake in hand, I feinted low, aiming for the other supporting back foot. In a blur, the beast kicked its gore covered claws at my face. I blocked its leg with a hard, downward slash of the knife in my left hand and then attacked upward with the iron spike in my right. I punched the spike into its left eye, then tumbled back away as the monster thrashed wildly. Its claws scored again, cutting across the muscle of my left thigh and knocking me into the oak.
I was losing a noticeable amount of blood now, and I began to worry that I might pass out. My heart was racing. Running out of time, I intended to attack from its blind left side and end the fight before the beast got free.
Regaining my balance, I switched the knife into my right hand. I darted to my right, circling in fast for the kill. At that moment, the rope holding the demon in place finally broke, and the beast folded forward with its huge fangs aiming for my neck. It was almost as if it planned the maneuver, the timing being perfect. I blocked its jaws with my left arm just as I swung everything I had with my right, burying my knife to the hilt in its ear, the ten-inch blade placing my final bet. I was driven backward, the night beast landing on top of me with my left arm clamped in its mouth.
It was dead; the harsh light faded from its eyes.
The whole fight had taken less than a minute, and I was shaking from the rush of it all. The ground soaked up the blood from my back as more black blood soaked into my shirt from above me. It took several long minutes for me to work my knife out of the monster’s skull, and then a few more to pry one of its over-grown fangs out of its mouth so that I could get my left arm free. You try doing that with only one arm. The tooth had gone all the way through my left forearm, and I was sure that the bone was badly broken.
After dragging myself out from under the beast, I looked it over. There wasn’t much of value to be salvaged. No shiny, soft pelt to sell this time, but its skin looked sturdy enough, so I started cutting off long strips of the dark leathery hide and laying them out on the ground to dry. I wasn’t yet able to stand, so I cut out its other giant fang and stowed both in my pack. Then I cut up some of my rope to make a sling for my left arm. The beast's rancid gore seemed to cover me from top to bottom, though, in the dark of the early morning, it wasn’t possible to tell how much of the blood was really my own.
I tend to heal a bit faster than most, and I was able to withstand the shock that arrests most people with severe injuries. Yet, intense pain has its way with me just like it would with you or anyone else. My eyes leaked, and my teeth ground together. My breathing became shallower and more rapid than usual, and I had to fight to keep my mind on track for what to do next. I could either try to walk the five miles back to town in the dark or scout out some dry, dead wood for a fire and try to rest a bit first. Nothing else was active in the area, but I wanted to be behind the town’s walls before the next nightfall. I tried to stand up, and a third option took hold. I passed out.
Bar Sinister
The last sorrow
“Her name was Fei-Krull. The dead assassin, that is. It means ‘fifth claw.’ She was from one of Lis-Xiana’s older broods. Only one sibling left
in that litter now, and Lis-Xiana will likely have to put the survivor down before it goes completely insane,” said Memet, talkative from deep in his cups.
“Good to know,” I replied. I wasn’t in the mood to talk.
“Or maybe the demon-Queen will just point the whelp at you so that you can do the job for her,” he continued with a chuckle.
Finally, I asked with a sigh, “What is the brood survivor’s name?”
“Rei-Seeck. It means ‘last sorrow’ in the language of Death,” answered Memet.
“Apt,” I observed. Poetic even.
Memet continued, “Be glad your House still claims its victories, Younger. The killing of Fei-Krull has made you much stronger and bolstered your threshold for pain, which should help you heal more quickly beyond the Veil. It should also make Lis-Xiana reconsider her decision to help Lord Maltheus take you down. She has lost much in this encounter, including her iron-clad reputation. Some may now see her as weakening.”
Pulling my war-knife, I jammed it into the bar top between us, making Memet jump.
“To Exile!” I roared, raising my cup.
“Exile!” echoed back from the otherwise empty room.
Chapter 2
Stitching and blood
Waking up well after sunrise, I drank the rest of my water and packed up what little I could. In the sunlight, my mind felt clear, the terror of the night attack having bled away into the ground. I feebly tied some strips of semi-dry beast skin around my thigh and left arm and began to stagger the five miles back down to Lockrun.
I stopped about halfway at a stream to rest and drink, hoping that the extra water would make up for the loss of blood. I probably should have taken the chance to bathe myself and shake off all the blood and gore, but I didn’t want to pass out in the cold water and drown, and well, I just didn’t have the extra energy.
The sun was high overhead as I approached the open eastern gate of Lockrun. I had begun shaking uncontrollably and chalked it up to a mix of blood loss, pain, and exhaustion. The sun had sufficiently warmed the late Spring day but had somehow forgotten me.
I gave a small wave to the guard at the gate, one of the Bailiff’s men named Gareth, and with my head down, kept walking on through. I didn’t need any more trouble.
“Wait!” said Gareth, holding a short staff to my chest.
I looked up at him without a word.
“Ara? Is that you?” he stammered, obviously shocked at my walking dead appearance.
I gave a short nod and then stumbled forward. Gareth reached out to steady me, latching onto my left arm. An inhuman shriek followed, and before I knew it, there was a crowd gathered around me.
Had I blacked out again?
I was on my knees, trying to stand but failing. I was surrounded by prey. I could barely lift my head. There was a low vibration in my chest, almost a growl, and everyone kept their distance.
“Is it a monster?” someone yelled from the crowd, receiving a few nervous chuckles.
I must have looked the part, and I’m sure that I smelled like Hell. I was covered in gore and strips of black leathery skin, my mangled arm, leg, and back all leaking blood.
A young girl with brown hair and hazel eyes pushed her way through the crowd and froze right in front of me. Tears were streaming down her face, and she was calling my name. It was my friend Cat.
Her real name is Enricata. The daughter of the town’s Lord Mayor, she was only eleven years old, so she was Cat. We had been friends for ten years now, and we watched out for each other. Both of us had lost our mothers. Her mom had died while giving her birth. If I had any sense of family, she would be a sister to me, and I hated to see her cry.
“Hey, Cat,” I whispered. I tried to smile then, but I don’t think it worked because she just cried even harder. She stood there, not able to touch me, not able to talk to me, just sobbing.
Okay, monster, it is.
The crowd around us murmured and stared. Soon enough, Sister Kay arrived from the church with a few soft words for Cat and a cart for me. As strong hands lifted me, I passed out for good.
I awoke the next day, in my bed, in the small attic of the rectory—my room. The window was open onto the square, and a fresh breeze brushed my face.
My thanks to Zephyr for waking me from the dead.
Stitches and bandages crossed my back, my thigh, and my arm. A sling held my left arm tight to my body. Someone had done the world a favor by bathing me, and I am sure, burned my old clothes with the Saint’s blessing. Sitting up carefully, I was glad to see I could move again, and the pain felt much more subdued. There was a small bell sitting on the chest next to my bed, so I gave it a ring. That was enough strenuous exercise for one day. I laid back down.
The concerned face of Sister Kay soon appeared at the top of the stairs. She was carrying a pitcher of water, a cup, and an arm full of clothes.
“Ara, so glad to see you’re up and alive,” she said.
Not wanting to scare her away, I whispered back, “So glad to be up, if you could call it that.”
And I waited. I could feel the uncertainty and fear running through her mind.
The Sister paused a moment and smiled. I smiled back, looking at the clothes. “Those for me?” I asked.
“Yes, as is the water, though the doctor says you have to drink it slowly,” she replied, handing me the bundle of shirt and pants. “I’ll have to help you get these on.”
I struggled into my clean clothes as Sister Kay propped me up and worked around my bad arm. I also had to be careful that my bandages and abundant stitches didn’t tear open. Their constant pinch was a useful reminder.
Sister Kay had been looking after me since I was seven years old when my mom made me into a one-time donation to the Church and left town. I don’t have much of a memory of my mother or my life with her before I was seven years old. We were traveling together for a long time before reaching the city of Lockrun. All that I can recall is a cold, distant expression on her face whenever she looked at me. It was as if she saw me as a stranger instead of her own child. Pastor Riley believes that my mind is still playing tricks on me, trying to help me deal with the abandonment. He’s a smart man. Perhaps he’s right.
Sister Kay isn’t much more than twice my age now but has taken on the role of my surrogate mother. She and Pastor Riley took me in and cared for me without any hesitation. Now I helped them too, usually, when I wasn’t too busy getting myself all torn up.
“Thanks for the new clothes. Have you seen my backpack?” I asked, not able to get up and look for it myself.
“Under your bed,” she answered. “You better get some more rest. I am sure you will have visitors later. A certain young girl was here this morning wondering if you were still with us. Also, your friend Corey stopped by, but he had to go back to work at the forge. And Pastor Riley will be up soon enough to check on you again.”
“How is Cat?” I asked, with plenty of anxiety. “I saw her at the gate yesterday.”
“Miss Enricata Ramsey is eleven going on thirty. For some reason, she feels very attached to you, but she’ll be fine. It’s you, Ara, that’s got us worried. Yesterday, I couldn’t decide if the doctor was going to run out of stitching or that you were going to run out of blood. It was horrible watching them try to patch you up,” and here she paused, fighting back her tears. “What happened to you, Ara?”
She was a brave woman, though not in a fighting monsters or hunting lions sort of way. She would say what needs to be said or ask about things when she didn’t want to know the answer. She was brave in that she cared what happened to me, no matter how much that might scare her. I did my best to ease her fear, even if it meant misleading her.
“I was out hunting at night, as usual, but trappings were scarce, so I ventured a few miles farther north from town toward the foothills of Everest. It seems that an angry mountain lion managed to sneak up on me. It wasn’t a good time, as you can see, but I managed to kill it with my hunting knife and dragged my
self home.”
I wasn’t sure that I sounded all that sincere or that she bought my story, but she nodded and said, “Please drink some water and get some more sleep. If you behave, I might even bring you something to eat later.”
“Thank you, Sister,” I replied, feeling relieved that she wasn’t going to press me further for details. She left me to rest.
A short time later, I reached under my bed and opened my pack. I quickly found the pair of fangs inside and grabbed one. It was close to six inches long and dark gray. Dried blood speckled its length, most of it mine, I was sure.
“What have you got there, Ara?” said Pastor Riley, having come up the stairs without me noticing.
Too late to hide my work, I replied lightly, “A souvenir?” showing him the tooth.
“Looks a bit too big for a mountain lion, wouldn’t you say?” he noted.
He was letting me know that he had already grilled Sister Kay on my story. I hated to mislead Pastor Riley and Sister Kay. They had cared for me all these years, and now I was trying to care for them, without terrifying them more than necessary. But they had both seen the ugly cost that I had paid in acquiring the tooth.
“It might have something to do with that talk we had the week before last,” I finally admitted.
His eyes went wide. Before he could ask me any more questions, a cute, high-pitched voice arrived at the top of the stairs. I tucked the tooth beneath my pillow as Cat stormed into my room.
“Ara! You monster! You scared me half to death! You almost died! You looked like you had died. Right in front of me! How could you do that? You know that if you died, I would never forgive you! Do you hear me?!?” she said, all without pause or a second breath.
I had seen Cat’s horrified face at the gate yesterday. I didn’t know what to say to that. I felt dread to the core of my being. The Pastor was quite amused by my sudden case of lock-jaw, and he jumped in to help me out.