by Mark Baggett
Part 2
In the following months after his loutish father had been killed several of his conspirators suffered similarly bizarre fates. All had somehow been involved in the death of the Golden Stag only to die in mysterious fashion soon afterward.
The first died as a result of a hanging – one without a rope! Another fell due a ruptured heart after a run-in with an angry bull. Still another was taken in a fire. All totaled six men – including his father – from the same village had met their maker in quick succession.
Due to the sheer numbers, and their involvement with the stag, it left little to the imagination. They died for killing the mythical beast. This fact lent Dmitri no happiness. This was due to the fact that the despondent teen had been as deeply involved as anyone else in the taking of that life.
Would he be next to die?
Within a season of wandering the territory as a homeless wretch Dmitri decided to return to the family residence with the intent of making it his own. The ghosts of the past were all around him in this place of gloom and regret. Peace was ever elusive.
But soon after claiming the home place Dmitri found he had a new surprise one afternoon. An aunt now sat upon his doorstep waiting on him.
While ever the suspicious one Dmitri allowed the stranger lodging until he could discern the truth of the matter. What would it hurt, he surmised, to have a bit of companionship for the first time in years.
Oddly enough they quickly settled into a familiar routine that bordered on being a family unit. Rapidly losing his interest in the truth of whom this woman was the lonely teen began to think of her only as his only relative. His life, untethered for much of his thirteen years, now became… normal.
During this period of peace Dmitri’s memories of the Golden Stag continued to dissipate. What once had been clear as day had become hazy and piecemeal. He feared losing the matter altogether.
In a way he rejoiced at the potential loss. A talking stag? With embers of vivid color orbiting the antlers? Who in their right mind would ever believe such a thing?
But these same memories were all that made Dmitri unique. They set him apart from the common fools of this harsh world. He was special, at least in his own mind, despite being unable to share his experiences with any one.
A year later his ‘aunt’ was dead, having never woken from her sleep. At this new loss Dmitri mourned quietly, as he did all things. Dark days fell upon his spirit anew. Dark, dark days.
A young man now of fifteen Dmitri had been sitting alone, lost in contemplation of his lost years, when a chirp disturbed his silence. Catching sight of the unwelcome culprit – a large brown cricket – he then set about ridding his abode of the insect with a length of kindling.
“That would be most excessive,” the cricket groused menacingly. Stopped cold in his tracks Dmitri glared at the insect.
“Is that really your appraisal of me, boy?” the thing badgered him with a harsh laugh. Tipping his head as if to dislodge the stones trapped there Dmitri continued to stare.
“You,” he wagged a slim finger at the creature. Edging closer he could now faintly make out the swirls above the antenna. Stars, or tiny embers, all swirling about…
The cricket remained silent.
“No,” the teen suddenly barked, instantly wary of the intruder. “Not Fate, but another.”
“Aye,” grumbled the tiny beast in a deep baritone so very unsuitable for something so small.
“The brother,” Dmitri cried out as the recollection fully revealed itself. “Destiny.”
“Very good, whelp,” the cricket chirped, literally. “What other marvelous feats are you capable of performing?”
Shying away from the curmudgeonly insect Dmitri resented the tone of its voice. So very different than that of the brother Fate.
“I had no part in the death of the stag,” he declared. Now concerned with his own safety the teenager backed away from the bizarre creature. Had the thing come to finish what it had begun long ago with his father’s murder?
“Of course you did,” it responded adamantly. “My brother saved your life. Surely you remember that. You were directly responsible.”
“I… no!” Dmitri began to sputter and falter. He had no defense for he truly had been the root cause of the Stag’s death.
“Oh, don’t worry. I will not harm you,” the cricket snapped as it covered the distance between them in two quick bounds. It landed on his sleeve. “Those that died were deserving of their fate.”
“You aren’t here to kill me?”
“Of course not.” Up close the embers blazed reddish whereas the stag’s had been orange-yellow in color. So it was more than size that differentiated the two brothers. “My sibling wishes you a hearty hello.”
“Oh, he does?” Swallowing hard Dmitri tried to fathom how that might be true since the stag was long since dead.
“Of course he is not dead, fool. How can you kill Fate? Tell me quickly.”
“But I saw…”
“You saw. You saw,” the cricket fluttered its wings noisily in frustration. “You are but a paltry human. How would you understand what is real and what is not? Tell me, please.”
Realizing that he held no answers to these riddles the boy simply shrugged. Obviously he was not the brightest youngster about but why must the blasted bug try to embarrass him so openly?
As if reading his mind – it had been doing that, he now understood – the cricket began to posture, sort of a mini bounce, on his sleeve. It also glared with unreadable multifaceted eyes.
“Bah,” grumbled the crotchety bug before flittering away on shimmering wings. It now sat upon the window sill, waiting.
“Well, open the blasted shutters whelp.”
Spurned into action Dmitri rushed over and struggled to open the shutters. When the window finally opened a crack the cricket wasted no time in leaving.
Perplexed by the meeting the young man watched the loathsome bug fly out into the overgrown, unkempt garden. The cricket was now just one more insect among thousands or more.
Why had the thing bothered to come here in the first place? To belittle him? Anyone could have done that, and many did – weekly – so why reveal itself at all?
And if it had been merely for a hello, could not the stag have come instead? Doubtless it would have been much more civil than the cricket had been.
Still mulling over the cryptic conversation, and what it might portend, Dmitri grasped the stubborn shutters in hand.
“And furthermore…” the cricket complained loudly as it swooped back upon the sill. Too late Dmitri became aware that the creature called Destiny had returned.
The shutters slammed closed with the resounding thud of wood against wood and the boy rolled his eyes skyward. He could not bear to look.
“Oh no,” he croaked while rubbing his face wearily. What had he done?
Screwing up the courage to look, and expecting bug guts to be splattered all over the sill, Dmitri peered down. Much to his eternal surprise the nuisance of a cricket perched unscathed upon the window frame just out of reach of certain death.
“You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”
“Absolutely not,” he almost shrieked in panic. So close… he had been certain that he had assigned himself a death warrant. “You left! How was I to know you would return?”
“Hmmmph,” grumbled the personification of Destiny as it began to strum one hind leg against the other.
“Why are you here anyway?”
“I told you, human. Do you not listen?”
“Yes, I listen quite well. But you talk in circles, in riddles. And quite rudely, at that. But clearly you did not come here – braving death by shutter – to tell me that your brother said hello.”
“That is exactly what I told you. Are you accusing me of lying?”
“I…” having reached his limit Dmitri turned. With a wave of the hand he dismissed the nuisance creating creature. “I don’t have to listen to this nonsense. Go
away bug.”
“Bug!”
“And tell your brother Fate next time come to me personally and not send his lackey.”
“Lackey!” the cricket groused loudly, clearly in shock. The entire house vibrated with its anger. But Dmitri was no longer interested in what the thing wanted. He was fool to no one. Not even these supernatural beasts or whatever they might be.
“Just leave me be.”
Sauntering angrily through his practically barren home – he never had any use for belongings – Dmitri ground his teeth in frustration. What was his lot in life if animals and bugs continued to toy with his conscience? He was already a pariah in this village. Was that not hell enough?
Hearing the now familiar flutter of wings approaching, the teen swung to his left and up a narrow, rickety staircase. The loft was his final retreat, his sanctuary, of a sort, the place where he had spent much of his lost youth.
Finding a spot of fading sunlight in an uncluttered corner Dmitri proceeded to sit down. Even after all these years the loft was still his final refuge.
Closing his eyes Dmitri listened to the cricket chirp nearby. Why did it do that? It wasn’t a real cricket so it need not pretend. Especially here with him.
“Life must go on,” the blasted thing answered to his unspoken question.
“Get out of my head, bug!” he yelled before covering his ears to drown out the annoying chirping sound.
“You must go on, Dmitri Kovtun.” The cricket responded as if unfazed by his retort.
“What?”
“You must move on, whelp,” Destiny replied again. “You have stopped living.”
Ruffling his mop of unkempt