by Cory Huff
Aidan promised to cook some of the eggs for breakfast the next day. Auley had been going to school off and on for a while, but for the last week, while Aidan had been working and training, he had been going every day. He told Aidan that he had been trying to catch up to where he was before. He was getting better at reading, and was even starting to learn some basic math.
Aidan listened to his brother rattle on about how the school had changed while he cleaned up their house. It was a small space, just a common room with two adjoining bedrooms and a small room with a small porcelain tub that functioned as their washroom. A wood-burning stove and a wooden tub for their dishes occupied one side of the common room. When their mom was alive, the boys slept in one room on threadbare cots while their parents slept in the other room on a straw-stuffed mattress. Now, as he had for years, Kerry, his dad, slept on a dirty green rug in the common room. He smelled of alcohol. Dad, like Aidan, was rail-thin, and the alcohol-induced potbelly had only enhanced his thin form. His shirt and pants were covered in grime. Aidan swept, brought in water from the well, cleaned the dishes, and hung the clothes out to dry all while Auley asked him all about fighting dragons and slaying demons. Auley was maybe more excited about Aidan’s training than Aidan was. Maybe. He had told his dad about the church, but he wasn’t sure his dad completely understood what Aidan was doing.
After Auley went to sleep on his cot, Aidan sat on a wooden chair that practically screamed sliver danger next to the stove in the fading light, thinking about what had happened to him. How fortunate he was. “Creator, if you are listening, thank you,” he whispered. “I don’t know why you’re choosing to bless me like this. I’ve never really gone to church before, and I don’t know much about you, but I promise to do the best I can. Thank you for helping me take care of my dad and brother.”
At that moment, his dad started coughing. It was a wracking, painful cough that his dad had suffered from for years. It had gotten progressively worse, and recently a coughing fit had ended in coughing up blood. After this particularly terrible coughing fit, his dad’s eyes opened a little, looking around blearily. He briefly made eye contact with Aidan while he sucked in air. He stretched out and grabbed a filthy rag off of the floor as he started coughing again. Aidan’s lungs hurt a little in empathy with his dad’s cough. The next set of coughs were particularly violent, shaking his father’s entire frame, sounding wet and painful. The rag coming away from his dad’s mouth had a red, wet gleam on it. More bloody coughing.
His dad reached out again and grabbed a bottle, bringing it to his lips, muttering, in a hoarse voice. “This might be the day,” Aidan thought he heard. He wasn’t quite sure what that meant, but his father often muttered dark, portentous things when he was recovering from a long bout of drinking. The bottle never made it all the way to his lips. He suddenly coughed again, without drawing in any air, and a spray of blood arced out of his open, uncovered mouth. His dad looked surprised, and his surprise turned to worry as his face started to turn red. He clutched his chest and throat, hands twisted into clawing motions as Aidan realized that his dad struggled to draw breath. His dad arched his back into the floor, his face turning purple.
Aidan’s pulse raced as he realized that his dad was in serious trouble. He knelt down on the floor next to his dad and grabbed his hand. “Dad? What can I do?”
His dad’s eyes were wide and rolling, like a horse that Aidan had seen panicking in the church courtyard. His dad’s hand seized Aidan’s shirt with a fevered strength Aidan hadn’t felt from his father in a long time. His dad’s mouth was open and Aidan could see his stomach and chest lurching and heaving with effort to bring in the air that wouldn’t come. Blood was dribbling out of his dad’s mouth and suddenly his whole body heaved again as he vomited dark blood all over the floor, splashing Aidan with it. His dad’s hands were twisting Aidan’s shirt, pulling him down, but his strength appeared to be slacking, and Aidan could see something fading in his dad’s eyes. He’d never seen that look before, and he didn’t want it to be what he thought it meant.
In desperation he grabbed his father’s hands, looking into his eyes, willing that light to come back. “Dad, breathe! Dad! What do I do?” Aidan suddenly sounded like a little child again.
His dad’s fingers went slack. The bucking subsided to a mild twitch.
Aidan cried out, “Creator! My dad is dying! What do I do?”
Aidan remembered a lesson from one of the religion classes. Something about turning over his burdens to the Creator, that they may be made lighter. The priest had taught that the Creator could ease any burden or help overcome any obstacle.
A peace came over Aidan, as profound as anything he’d ever felt. It was wildly out of place for the situation Aidan thought. But nonetheless, there it was. Everything seemed far less rushed. He saw his dad and was filled with love for him.
The scriptures of the church held stories about an apostle, Aemon Ban, the first apostle, healing people by laying hands on them and calling upon the name of the Creator. Thomas had mentioned it in the hallway as one of his favorite scriptures. The thought of the scripture filled him with peace and calm.
He could almost see the life fading from his father, and instead of panic, Aidan calmly placed his hands on his father’s chest and bowed his head. “Kerry Shamhradháin, in the name of the Great Creator, I bless you to be healed of this cough, and I bless you to breathe. The Creator blesses you that through you, His will may be made known and signs of His miracles may be brought forth. Go forth, live, and know He who healed you.”
As he spoke the words, Aidan felt something so profound he couldn’t possibly put it to words. He felt safe, and powerful. He knew with certainty that he could not explain that his father, Kerry , would live. He knew that the Creator was there, watching over him and his family.
His father drew a deep, shuddering breath and opened his eyes. For the first time in weeks, he made eye contact with Aidan. His eyes were focused and clear, like the father that Aidan remembered from his early childhood. They were also a little bit … awestruck? “What did you just do? What just happened?”
Aidan responded, “The Creator healed you father. The Creator is real - and I’m going to be His knight.”
CHAPTER SIX
Invisible Becomes Visible
Liam strode down the street with purpose. He was tired of being taken advantage of - he would confront Aaron and get his boots back. And while he was at it, he would make Aaron stop bullying people. He would reason with Aaron.
He would. Aaron can see reason. He’s not an idiot. Ok, Aaron is an idiot. But even idiots can see reason. But sometimes idiots don’t like reason. It hurts their brain. Idiots get violent when they get hurt.
There’s Aaron. Liam could see him. He was with his brothers, all thick set like Aaron. They were holding a variety of farm implements and tools like they were swords. They were standing around, talking. Liam couldn’t quite hear what they were saying from this far away. He stopped, leaned into a doorway before they saw him. He caught snatches of what they were saying.
“…woods…search for…axe…close…time…”
Aaron turned and spit, rubbing it into the ground with Liam’s boot laced onto his feet. Liam almost stepped out, but thought better of it. He’d look for a time when all of them weren’t together. He wondered what they were hoping to find by going into the woods.
The group laughed and turned to walk down Broad Street, the main thoroughfare that ran along the South side of the city, just North of the long stretch of woods that led to the ocean. Liam had never gone down to the ocean. It was dangerous, and there were things in the woods that kept the people out.
There was an assortment of stalls with vendors hawking everything from apples to roasted meats to shoes. Liam avoided the shoe vendors. Several of them purchased leather from Liam and he didn’t want to get distracted. They walked West, away from the walled grounds of the temple of the Church of the Great Creator on the East.
The
re were plenty of houses and other buildings along the way, and Liam kept his distance from the group of men as he followed them. He let them walk at least two blocks ahead of him at all times, moving from house to house, and pretending to be interested in the crumbling architecture of the buildings on Broad Street. In the busy part of the town, there were lots of other people and it was easy to blend in while following them. Liam moved among the people, keeping an eye on them.
After 20 minutes of following them, Liam started wondering where they were going. Atania was only about three miles across. It was less than an hour to walk across the entire town. They were coming up on the edge of town, where the town wall met the woods.
Liam suddenly realized that the crowds had thinned out and he was staring straight at Aaron and the men, just a block away. He turned away suddenly, as if to start down a side street. He looked back over his shoulder and saw the men heading into the West end of the woods. He stopped, looked around, waiting for a count of 30, and then walked back across Broad Street into the woods after them.
The woods were exceedingly thick in the West. There was a lot of undergrowth, and Liam had to look for a second to figure out how the men had entered. He saw a lot of thorny blackberries. There was a small set of slate stones in the ground, a pathway that someone had placed. It was nearly overgrown, barely visible. Liam stepped along the half-buried stones a dozen paces. He stopped, listening for the men. He heard some talking, further into the dark woods. He continued walking along the path, cautiously. Yes, they were definitely there. Worried about losing them, he hurried his pace along the cavern of thorns and branches. The foliage brushed his shoulders and face as he moved along, scratching and disorienting him as he tried to dodge them. He came around a corner, emerging from the thorny gauntlet and saw a fork in the trees. The light decorated the path and undergrowth with color, flashing brilliant spots off of the white stones, but leaving shadows beneath the tree limbs. One of those shadows moved, and Liam started as brown ground squirrel ran deeper into the woods.
A muffled chuckle ahead drew him down the path to the right. The woods were cooler than the Summer day in town, and Liam rubbed his arms. He felt gooseflesh. He hurried his footsteps, and his leg was snagged by a green bramble. He cursed quietly as he removed a thorn from his thigh. Another animal moved in the corner of his vision, and he cursed again, in a whisper. The woods were so quiet he was afraid someone would hear him, and he realized why he had a sense of foreboding. The woods were completely silent. The animals weren’t making a sound. The birds weren’t singing. Why?
Another chuckle ahead. Liam paused. He was closer and he heard low murmuring. Someone cleared their throat. They were nervous. He heard a whistling noise, and wet thunk, and someone cried out in pain. A general uproar. The men started shouting. “Alan! No!”
“What the hell!”
“Who’s attacking us?”
“They’re over th…” cut off by another wet thunk.
A series of high-pitched yips startled Liam. He ran ahead, listening to the screams of men dying. He dodged branches wildly, nearly losing his footing and came to a stop when he saw Aaron, standing with an axe, swinging wildly at moving shadows. He was surrounded by them. The sun was coming from the other side of them, making it difficult to see what they were. No more than 4 feet tall, there were perhaps a dozen silhouettes. One of them darted in and Aaron cried out in pain as a flash of metal slashed into his leg. Aaron fell down to his knees. The other men were already on the ground, small shadows standing over them, stabbing and yipping. He saw one of the shadows remove a cap and drag it across the blood of someone’s fresh wound.
Aaron tried to crawl away, on his hands and knees, dark red blood streaming from his leg. Liam was perhaps 20 feet away, watching a scene from a nightmare that he couldn’t look away from. Aaron saw Liam and reached out to him, “please help me!”
One of the creatures grabbed Aaron by the hair, pulling his neck back and drew the edge of a dagger across his throat. Aaron’s blood gushed as his eyes widened in shock and horror. He grabbed his throat, trying to stop the flow that came in spurts, blood spraying from his mouth as he tried to scream. Other creatures leaped forward and gleefully stabbed Aaron. The dappled sunlight showed creatures with mottled, greenish skin. They had large, round eyes that were crinkled at the edges with emotion, perhaps battle lust? As they yipped excitedly, Liam could see sharp, triangle-shaped teeth. The yips grew less excited as Aaron stopped moving. Liam stood, transfixed in horror, as they slowed down. One of them gave a final, amused, half-hearted stab, yipping something and the rest of them laughed. Time seemed to stop for Liam. He noticed not only their laughter, but the fact that more of the creatures were dipping their leather caps and fingers in the blood and dabbing themselves and each other with the warm, wet blood. The yipping seemed to be some sort of language. Liam wondered what they were saying.
Liam started. What a stupid thing to wonder. It had only been a moment since the men were laughing. Only a couple of minutes at the most. Now they were all dead. They didn’t deserve to die. Aaron had been awful to him, but he didn’t deserve to die this way. This was horrible. Liam actually felt bad for him. He shook his head and cleared his throat.
That was a mistake.
The creatures noticed. They turned as one when they heard his throat clear. Several of them grinned. One of them yipped and others … laughed? They all still had their weapons in their hands and they began stepping toward Liam. They were spreading out. Liam had heard that wolves do that. Spread out to keep your prey from escaping.
Liam held his hands up in front of him, palms out, fingers spread. “Please don’t hurt me.”
What an incredibly absurd thing to say, considering the carnage in front of him.
“Not. Hurt. You.” Said a high pitched voice, and Liam started again. One of the creatures had spoken his words back to him, head cocked to the side. The creature had a wide grin full of triangle teeth. It spoke again. “Not. Hurt. You?”
“Not. Hurt. You.” Said another one, with the same toothful grin.
“Not. Hurt. You.” Said another one. And another. They were chanting together, slowly sounding out the words, looking at each other and encouraging each other on.
“Not. Hurt. You.”
“Not. Hurt. You.”
“Not. Hurt. You.”
Liam wasn’t sure they understood what they were saying. They were like the birds he had heard of from the Isles, seemingly imitating his sounds without comprehending. He slowly eased one foot back in preparation for running.
The first one leaped forward, slashing at Liam with his dagger. Liam got his arm up on reflex, and the dagger slashed across his arm. Pain blossomed and his arm felt like it was on fire. He looked down and saw a bloody gash. The creature stopped, panting, as Liam looked up from the gash. The chanting had stopped. There was tension in the air. Liam realized that he was about to die. He wasn’t sure why they had stopped, but he could tell that all of them were like coiled springs, ready to jump and kill him. The toothy grins were unnerving. He could feel the blood running down his arm. He could hear his heart beating in his ears, and feel it hammering in his chest. The unfairness of the situation screamed at him and his vision swam. Where before he would have taken a deep breath and tried to calm his heart, he leaned into the emotion. He allowed the fear to turn into anger and he reached deep down inside himself to find whatever it was that he normally used to stop the Happenings - and he somehow pushed it aside. His blurry vision showed him green tree leaves trembling. The creatures’ grins fell away as they felt something different in the air. Liam was filled with pent-up energy. He felt like he was going to burst, the energy had to go somewhere. The creatures began stepping away, yipping softly at each other. He looked at the one that had slashed him, and all of his fear and anger exploded out of him in some kind of white light, wreathing the creature in light until he could see only the basic silhouette, and the light filled his vision and blinded him.
Nia woke up with a start. She had been dreaming of wise, kindly, elderly faces. They had been teaching her…something? Ancient wisdom. Each rock, tree, bird, and breeze had a spirit that lived within it and animated it. You could communicate with them. It had been ever so long since humanity had done so, and they had a message that they were longing to send.
She realized she wasn’t in the forest. She wasn’t being chased by wolves. She was on a bed. She hadn’t been on a bed in a long time. A spike of pain made her gasp. She looked down and lifted her arm. There was a cast. How had that happened? She sat up, and her head swam. She lost consciousness.
Nia woke up with a start. She had dreamt of flames. Hungry flames consuming the trees in an unfamiliar forest. She saw the rabbits and birds fleeing from the flames. She saw distant, hulking silhouettes. They were responsible for the flames. They were driving the flames forward, and nobody was trying to stop them. Nature cried out to her, and she felt tears in her eyes at the emotions flooding her dreams.
“You’re safe. Nia, is it?” a warm, feminine voice spoke as the face that owned it leaned into view above her face. Nia realized she was lying in a bed again. Nia stared at the wrinkled, kindly face, wondering who she was.
“I’m Leandra, a priestess here at the Temple of the Creator.” The face with the warm voice smiled reassuringly, and Nia awkwardly smiled back. How was she going to get out of here with a priestess watching her? What did a priestess do anyway? She was dressed in some sort of white frock, covering a dress underneath. She had a golden circle hanging from a chain around her neck. Inside the circle was a series of lines forming a knot of some kind.
“You’ve been injured badly, Nia. We set your arm and washed out the cuts. Its going to take weeks for it to heal, and you’re going to have some serious scars. You’re lucky those wolves didn’t … well, you’re lucky.” She looked at Nia expectantly.