by K. C. Herbel
“But my lord . . .” the captain interjected.
“We camp here tonight!”
* * *
That afternoon, Billy, the physician, and the others who had the misfortune of knowing the King’s Road a bit too intimately found refuge in a nearby creek. Once clean and refreshed, they went about setting up the campsite for the night. Billy collected firewood and helped set up several tents before wandering off to find fresh game with a young guard named Duncan.
“The boy can be my packer,” Duncan explained to Lady Myrredith.
“If he wants to go . . .” she started.
“Oh yes, please!” spouted Billy.
“Very well then,” said Lady Myrredith with a smile. “Now don’t get lost. I promised your father I’d look after you.”
“Yes, milady!”
And they were off. Billy had never really been hunting before—not with anyone using a bow.
“Only squirrels, you see,” he explained to Duncan, “with the other boys of the valley. But that was a long time ago, and we only used slings.”
The young guard smiled at this and recounted his own youth, hunting squirrels with his brothers, in the forests of Caithnessshire. “Now however, we’re after more than squirrels,” he said, “for we need somethin’ fit for the earl’s table.”
Thus far all they had managed to find were apples. While they were a nice treat, they were not meat.
Duncan picked three of the apples and juggled them shortly before handing them to Billy. Billy, seeing the ease at which his companion accomplished this, tried to duplicate the feat, but to no avail, until the young man gave him a few pointers.
“Many of my clansmen are jugglers,” he told Billy as he taught him the proper stance and basic technique. “Follow me. One, two, three!” Much to Duncan’s surprise, Billy juggled the three apples—that is, as well as anyone who has just learned how to juggle can.
“You’re a natural!” Duncan exclaimed.
Then the young guard remembered his duty and cut the lesson short. They continued on their hunt, with the apples stored in Billy’s pack.
Suddenly, up ahead, there was a flash of grey-brown fur, and Duncan acted. The bowstring sung as he loosed an arrow after the fleeing doe. The arrow hit its target, but it wasn’t enough. The deer only staggered sideways then continued to run into the trees. The guardsman tried to get off another shot, but it was too late. His prey was gone from sight.
“Quick,” said Duncan running after it.
Billy joined in the chase. His blood was racing, his heart pounding. The excitement overwhelmed him, and he struggled to make his legs move faster.
When they arrived at the spot where the arrow had struck the deer, Duncan stopped and examined the ground. Fresh dark earth had been churned up under the feet of the frightened doe. Drops of blood were spattered on the rocky soil, and in the tracks leading away into the thick woods ahead. Billy and the young hunter studied them for a moment then continued the chase.
They ran by boulders and through bushes, under trees and over hills. They stopped shortly to check the tracks and to catch their breath, and then they were off again. Duncan marveled at Billy’s ability to keep up. Despite his short legs, he did very well. Still, they ran on. The deer seemed tireless, and the two hunters, growing tired, were too busy giving chase to appreciate the change in the landscape.
They were now running down into a steep ravine, carved out of the rock by water and time. The mighty sculptor that had carved it away was no more. Now only a small stream babbled over the rocky bottom, like a spirit stumbling through its ancient bones.
Duncan stopped abruptly, and Billy pulled up behind him.
“What is it?” asked Billy.
“Hush,” whispered the guardsman as he pulled an arrow quietly from the quiver and placed it in his bow.
Billy watched intently as the archer slowly drew back his bow, sighting down the small ravine. There, nearly two hundred feet away, was the doe. The first arrow remained in its side. It seemed to be unaware of them as it bowed down to drink from the little stream, which bubbled along the rugged terrain of the bottom. Its weary legs wobbled as it stepped across the irregular rocks.
Suddenly the doe’s head popped up, and its nose twitched, sniffing the air. Then just as quickly, it darted a wild-eyed stare back over its shoulder. The guardsman loosed his arrow, but before it could strike home, a large blur of long black-and-white fur shot in front of the deer. A creature, huge in stature, seemed to materialize out of the very rock itself. Instantly it was on the deer.
Then the arrow struck.
The creature howled in pain as the arrow lodged in its back. Its entire body shook, and its long, thick fur shivered as it moved oddly over contorting muscles. One of its gory forepaws reached back over its shoulder and groped at the arrow, just out of its grasp. The long black claws, extending from the blood-matted fur of the paw, stretched in vain to get a hold on the cause of its pain. It let out another terrible scream of anguish and frustration. Then all movement stopped. The little valley fell silent, and Billy could hear the labored breathing of the great beast. His heart leapt to his throat, and he shot Duncan a glance, but the guard was still petrified, staring down the stream at the monstrous form before him.
Slowly the creature turned to face them. Its huge mass shambled around to expose the dreadful, hideous head. Its large golden eyes stared at them hungrily, and in its bloody jaws dangled the doe, hanging limply by its neck, like a field mouse caught by the farmer’s cat. Indeed there was something faintly feline about the creature. Its short pointed ears stood near the top of its head, curving upwards, giving the impression of horns, with tufts of white fur protruding from them. Its nose was blunt with long white catlike whiskers. But the eyes and the mouth, they were not familiar in the least. The eyes were large golden orbs, with two widening pupils—hungry, cunning, feral, evil—coolly calculating its next move. The maw, filled with long pointed teeth, cinched down on the deer’s neck.
The men watched in horror as the deer fell to the ground in two pieces. The creature threw back its awful head and shook it vigorously, swallowing a majority of the deer’s neck whole. The creature slowly lowered its head until its eyes fell on the would-be hunters. They were now the hunted!
The sudden realization that they were next on the creature’s menu hammered terror to the very bones of the young men. The creature seemed to smile with pleasure as if imagining the taste of its new victims. Its yellow teeth were fully bared, framed by the red-stained face. A drool of saliva dripped from one corner of its terrible mouth, turning red before it dropped to the ground.
As if this was the signal, both creature and man moved. The man drew another arrow to his bow, and the creature sprung forward towards its new prey.
“Run, Billy, run!” Duncan shouted.
Billy didn’t hesitate for an instant. He scrambled up the little bank of the streambed and ran away from the creature, up the deep ravine. He heard the twang of the bowstring and looked back over his shoulder to see the arrow strike the creature near its shoulder. The creature didn’t slow down, so neither did Billy. He ran faster than he had ever run before—his lungs taking in deep breaths and exhaling quickly, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. His whole body was shaking as he ran. He thought his legs would give out, but somehow they managed to stay under him, leaping over rocks and fallen trees, slicing through bushes and brambles.
Abruptly the ground under his feet slipped away, and he fell, skinning one knee and his hands. He stumbled up to his feet but was stopped dead in his tracks by a man’s scream, which cried out and was quickly cut short.
Billy forced himself to take another step. He dared not look back. In the next step he was running. Again running like he’d never run before. Blindly running from the monster behind him, not knowing where he was going or even what was just ahead.
He ran into a clump of trees and found himself on a narrow overgrown path. Instantly he decided to run up the path,
hoping to find some kind of help or shelter. He was becoming tired but was spurred on when he heard his hunter behind him, crashing through the woods. Slowly he became aware of another sound—at first only a whisper. It grew louder as he ran up the path.
The woods ended abruptly, and Billy slid to a stop. He immediately felt vulnerable standing in the large clearing. Then his heart sank, for this clearing was the end of the ravine.
A small ribbon of water fell from above, sending a fine mist into the air, its sound echoing off the steep, rock walls surrounding him. He scanned the cliffs frantically for some means of escape: a ladder, stairs, a path, a rope . . . or even just a hole to hide in, but there was none to be found. He turned back to the dense wall of forest behind him with the thought of running back in, but at that moment another monstrous howl echoed through the trees, transforming the quiet wood into a menacing lair. Billy knew he was trapped and suddenly felt homesick for his father and the home he would never see again. He felt cold, lost, and very much alone.
Thirst abruptly gripped his throat, and he numbly went to the edge of the water. He leaned over and drank from the cool clear water. He was reminded of the poor doe, as it drank from this same stream a short distance down the ravine. He pulled his head up, listening and looking for some sign of his pursuer, but all he perceived was the clatter of the waterfall and the waving of the trees in the breeze.
He reached down into the pouch his father had sewn into his breeches and pulled out the ring his mother had left him. It seemed less grand, as he pondered its fate, and his own.
“Oh, Mother,” he sobbed. “What am I to do?”
He squeezed the ring and once more wished his mother were alive. John, his father, was always first in his heart, but the mother he never knew also lived there. Her very absence had become a presence that shadowed Billy.
Again he felt this queer presence and tried to picture his mother the way he had always imagined her. As he did, he focused across the water to the waterfall. There was a darkness behind the fall. Was something there? Billy got up and stepped back, feeling as if someone were watching him from behind the falling water. Warily, he crept around the pool at the bottom of the fall. Then he saw the darkness behind the fall for what it was: a small cave!
Billy leapt into the pool and swam across the water and through the fall. Shortly, he reached the place he hoped would be his sanctuary.
It was an agreeable little cave, as caves go—a bit dark and damp, with nothing to take the chill off him, but Billy didn’t mind, considering the alternative of waiting for the beast in the clearing. The floor of the cave sloped gently down to the water and was covered with a fine dark carpet of moss. The smooth dark walls and ceiling tapered back, meeting the floor about eight feet from the entrance.
The sky outside was slowly darkening as the sun entered its final hour. Billy turned away from the mouth of the cave to take another look around. As his eyes adjusted to the lack of light, he saw that the cave walls had some sort of pattern on them. Eventually his eyes made out lines and circles, then an entire picture. It was a mural that depicted men on a hunting party. Billy followed the drawing back and came to a most disturbing picture. It only took him a moment to recognize the large fangs and horrible eyes. Undoubtedly the person who drew these had also witnessed the horrible monster kill his friends and had run for refuge in this cave. Billy’s foot tapped something on the floor and it rolled away. He watched it roll over, barely able to make it out. Then two dark holes stared up at him. His breath caught in his throat. The skull continued its blank stare. Billy then made out the remains of what must have been the cave’s artist.
“You never escaped,” Billy said to the skull.
Billy turned and started for the mouth of the cave. He thought he would leave and escape the beast that hunted him outside, but before he had taken his second step, he heard its chilling howl from somewhere beyond the waterfall. He looked through the scintillating curtain of water and pieced together the outline of the trees surrounding the clearing. All was still . . . and then a large grey shape emerged from the trees. Even with his distorted view of the outside, Billy could make out the horrible golden eyes searching about, the blunt nose sniffing the air, and then the purposeful slow walk to the pool in front of the waterfall. As it got to the edge of the water it hunched down and drank. Without warning it raised its head to let out a horrible howling scream that descended into a deep grumbling noise like laughter—low malevolent laughter.
The creature paced around the edge of the pool, sniffing and grunting. It circled around the water and back again, faster and faster, sniffing and snorting. The creature came to the side of the pond, and Billy could see it clearly. Its face and paws were still smeared with sticky red blood. Billy shivered at the thought of Duncan’s fate. Then instantly he realized that if he could see the creature, then it might see him too. Carefully he picked up his foot and moved it back, looking to make sure he didn’t step on something that would alert the monster to his presence. He looked up to see what the creature was doing, but it was too late. The creature’s cold golden eyes were locked on him. Billy held his breath and hoped that being still would hide him from its probing eyes. The creature stood perfectly still and stared . . . and stared . . . and stared. Slowly the hideous grin returned to its face, and Billy knew that the creature could see him. It ran its black tongue over the front of its sharp pointed teeth and stretched its jaw as if preparing to take a large bite out of something.
Billy’s stomach knotted up, and his throat tightened. His whole body shook, and his legs gave out, dropping him to his knees on the cave floor. His already-skinned knee smarted as it contacted the mossy rock, but he ignored it—the pain being overridden by fear. His eyes never left the horror outside, and its greedy eyes never left him.
The creature reached out one of its bloody paws, its sharp ebony claws scratching the rock a few feet from the cave. Then it put this paw down in the water with a splash. It quickly withdrew the wet extremity and disdainfully shook it, attempting to get rid of the cold water. It repeated this with the other paw. It tried again and again to get to Billy in the cave but couldn’t come close without getting wet.
Billy was in hysterics. Each time the creature was repelled by the water, it would rearrange its stance and stretch out farther. In this way, it managed to inch closer and closer. Finally the large golden eyes narrowed, and it bounded into the water with a great splash, lashing out with one paw at the cave.
Billy fell back from the mouth of the cave just in time. The next raking attack came right behind and caught the side of the cave where Billy had been. The waterfall pounded on the creature’s furry head, and it thrashed around in the water trying to bite and claw it. Then Billy’s ears were filled with the horrid, evil laughter of the creature as its face came into the cave opening. It snarled at Billy and snapped out another paw at him. One claw caught on Billy’s breeches and pulled him to the floor. Billy felt the point of the claw bite into his ankle. He let out a yell and pulled away in reflex. The cloth of his breeches gave way with a loud rip, and Billy scrambled for the back of the cave as the creature attacked again.
This time Billy barely dodged the claws as they sliced through the air in front of his eyes and raked the side of the cave. Frightened beyond reason, Billy threw the first thing he could get his hands on. He watched in horror as the monster caught the skull in its teeth and shattered it, ejecting bits of bone into the air. Billy knew he was done for on the next attack.
The creature raised its claws for the final blow, and Billy’s mind went spinning. Instinctively he drew his legs in and tucked himself into a little tight ball. He closed his eyes as the deadly claws descended on him. There was a great howl from the creature, then . . . nothing.
Billy opened his eyes. The monster was still in the cave mouth, but its head was turned back towards the outside. Its claws were poised just inches from Billy, and then the great paw fell to the floor and was quickly withdrawn. Billy thought he
heard something outside. The creature turned back to Billy, momentarily eyed him, and then darted from the cave.
Billy sat stupefied for a moment, completely bewildered at his continued existence. The monster’s behavior was plainly baffling. Was this some kind of trick? Was it just toying with him? Billy remembered seeing a cat play with its prey before devouring it. On impulse Billy uncurled himself, got up, and went to the cave entrance. It was twilight, and clouds in the darkening sky glowed red like fire.
The monster was on the edge of the pool, shaking off its wet fur. Blood seeped from a deep wound to its hindquarter.
Across the clearing Billy saw a man riding a great grey horse with barding over its large sturdy body. It pawed aggressively at the ground with its shaggy hooves and shook its armored head wrathfully at the monster. The man sat proudly upright on the horse, almost defiantly, with a long white lance in his right hand and a shield on his left. He wore pale leather armor and a shiny plumed helm upon his head. A slight breeze moved through the ravine, bringing the white plume and ribbons of the lance to life. Billy saw a dark stain on the ribbons, as they fluttered in the breeze, and deduced that the lance had inflicted the monster’s wound.
The creature stalked left, then right—studying the mounted man. The horse countered, giving nothing away, showing no weakness to its enemy. The two foes stared at each other in the dimming light, across the small clearing. The man touched his spurs to the sides of the horse, and they broke into a gallop towards the creature. The creature sprung to the side showing a great deal of agility for such a large animal. With thundering hooves, the horse turned to meet its objective, and the lance came down level with the creature.
There was a terrible thud and a loud crack as the lance found its mark deep in the beast’s side and shattered, sending splinters into the air. An almost human scream escaped the throat of the wounded thing before it fell on its side, breathing coarsely. It wheezed, coughed once, and then lay still.