by Karen Dales
He could not remember ever having something feel so good now that the heat of the fire licked over him. The heat penetrated him, warmed him and he wished he could just stand there and luxuriate before the flames. He knew he could not. To stay would ensure death. It had been pure luck that he had killed the bear and survived, he did not want to test that good fortune with five well armed men. Squatting down so as not to put too much of a strain on his back, he searched through the fire and found a large stick of wood, half of it in white coals that flamed. It would have to do. If everything went well he would be able to get it back to the cave and have his own fire.
The thought of being able to finally be safe, warm and able to cook ran a shiver up his back in anticipation. His mouth watered at the thought of a well-cooked piece of meat. Sifting the piece of wood out of the fire, the boy lifted it to his face; the flames licked the air and heated his skin, taking some of the numbness away from his nose. So far so good. He had the fire. Now he had to get away from these men.
Pivoting, he rose to leave the way he had come and the inflamed stick nearly dropped out of his hand. One of the men had awakened and stared at him in mute shock. Dark eyes wide and jaw agape. The boy could see the fear on the man’s bearded face and he wondered if the hunter could see the terror on his. He was caught! His only option was to run and if they followed then he would have to run faster. This time his legs obeyed him and he jumped over the man he had stepped over, causing him to awaken, and ran into the woods, burning stick in hand.
Before he was out of earshot he heard the other four men awaken and the one who had seen him cry out to his fellows, “Gwyn ap Nudd was here! I saw Gwyn!”
Chapter VII
His foot was stuck.
Gazing down at the mud, the boy sighed. The dark patch along the trail had not appeared to be that deep. The hooves of the deer he followed left obvious tracks for any hunter to follow, even an inexperienced one, and that was something he was not. He tried to lift his leather wrapped foot out of the mire only to feel the suction pull at his calf, keeping him from moving. He was well ensconced.
Dropping his bow to land on the grass next to the trail, he tried one last time to free himself from the cold muck and grabbed his leg behind his knee with both hands, shifted his weight onto his other foot and heaved.
With a sucking wet sound his foot was freed but the force caused his other foot to slip in the slime. Before he knew it he had landed on his backside with one bare foot and one clad foot. The mess of wrappings that were his footwear now lay as a bundle of rags in the mud.
Running a hand across his face, he shook his head against the ridiculousness of the situation and then reached to retrieve his footwear.
Clumps of mud dripped off of the wide strips of deer hide as he ran two fingers around each strip, cleaning them off as best he could before rewrapping his chilled foot. It was a laborious process, but it was better than walking along the forest paths without some protection.
He missed the boots that Geraint had given him. They had been turned into padding under the bear hide that served as his bed after he had outgrown the boots.
The gift had been a lifesaver that first winter. He had never known such hardship before. The snap turning of autumn to winter and the infection that had ravished him made it difficult to do more than maintain his precious fire and cook the bear into dried strips.
The fire was the only thing he put countenance to his survival that year, but getting it back home nearly cost his life. He had misjudged the time it took to find the men and in a fever he missed crucial turnoffs. By the time he reached the edge of the clearing the sun was blazing, his eyes were swollen and his head pounded painfully. Having no choice he made a mad dash in the direct sunlight back to the cave. It took no time for his skin to redden; making his back flame in pain as it did the night the bear had taken those strips out of him. He had only enough time to build a fire large enough to keep him warm and to last a long time – he had hoped – before he passed out for the day, never knowing until that moment how good the cool earth could feel.
The next nights were excruciating as he fought his fever, brought in more and more deadfall to feed his fire, and skinned and butchered the bear. Thankfully the cold preserved the carcass enough to be salvageable. With food and warmth and something of a bed, he allowed himself time to heal and to forget the past. The only thing that existed was the present and he dared not even contemplate the future. Each day was a constant struggle.
Foot now snug in its wrappings, the boy regained his feet, lifted his bow and continued tracking the deer. He was thankful for the spring thaw as it made the task much easier, but the rains that came with the turning of the seasons made the trails treacherous. Clouds flitted quickly across a ringed waxing moon, a sure indication that more rain was on its way.
He was relieved that this second winter was over. It had been brutally cold, bringing snowstorms that made it impossible to hunt. Foresight had taught him to store up, as he did not want to go through what he went through that first winter.
The back of the cave made a perfect place to keep the fruits and roots he had harvested, and the dried and smoked meats of the animals he had caught. Now he was almost out. Only a few apples and a strip of venison remained. He needed meat and tonight was the best and first opportunity.
Following the trail, he was careful to stay to the edges where there was less mud. The last thing he wanted to do was to stand in the freezing river cleaning his clothes. The kilt and shirt were long replaced by others made by his own shoddy workmanship out of the hide of a stag he killed last summer.
The kilt had been the easier of the two to make. The shirt required sewing and sewing required needles and thread, something he did not have, but with imagination and creativity he used his knife to poke holes along the places he needed and managed to use thin strips of hide as the thread. What he ended up with was something that looked laced rather than sewn, but it worked.
A wolf’s hide hung from his shoulders to cloak him in extra warmth. That had been a fearful, yet lucky, instance; one that he had no desire to repeat.
Checking the position of the moon, he realized that it was growing late, and if he did not find the deer soon he would have to abandon the hunt until tomorrow night.
That was not something he wanted to do. He liked not being hungry and not having to worry about where his next meal was coming from. It was a hard life, but he accepted it. What he still had great difficulty accepting was the loneliness and isolation. He fiercely missed Auntie and Geraint, yet whenever those feelings bubbled to the surface he quickly squelched them.
The worst parts were the summers when he had to keep to the cave, sheltering from the blazing summer sun. It was then that he felt the desolation of his life. Summers offered too much time to think, to brood, but his experience with the contact of others was enough to keep him in his solitude. Being outcast from the world and feared by those who saw him did not engender him to seek out others. He knew it was a vicious cycle that he could not break.
The trail opened into a grove. The stag stood resplendent in the moonlight, munching on new shoots between its forepaws. The boy crouched beside a budding bush and checked to see if he was downwind. Sure enough his position was fine. Tonight he would have this deer and tomorrow he would have fresh meat.
The thought of the fat dripping off of well-cooked flesh made his mouth water in anticipation. Reaching over his shoulder he lifted one of the nine remaining arrows out of the quiver and placed it into the bow, notching it securely as he pulled the bowstring and arrow with his left hand to his cheek.
He angled the bow so he could shoot from a kneeling position and sighted along the shaft. Relaxing his shoulders, he focused only on the deer to the exclusion of all else. His breathing deep and even, his arm held steady as he waited for the perfect shot that would bring the beast down.
Silently, he willed the buck to lift its head and turn just a little, enough to expose the vital a
rtery in its neck. As if hearing his unspoken words the stag did exactly that. Without a moment’s hesitation the boy let the arrow fly, the sound of its flight whistling, only to see it impact…
In a man!
The shock of the sudden appearance of the robed figure in front of the deer with his arrow in the centre of the man’s chest drove the boy to his feet. He had shot a man! But where did he come from? One instant the deer was alone in the grove and in less time it took for the flight of the arrow a man appeared. And he shot him!
The deer bounded away into the brush in terror; his meal gone. The thought of having killed this person horrified the boy until he saw the short dark man pull out the arrow with a painful jerk and toss it to the earth.
Whatever this man was the boy could not begin to imagine. No one survives a bolt in the chest.
Jaw slack, the boy took a step backwards to flee, but before he could put his foot down behind him he was suddenly flat on his back, with the man on him, the quiver pressing painfully.
Agony erupted in his neck, sending searing pain down his arms and chest as lights popped in his vision. Panicked he tried to lift the smaller man off of him but the strength escaped him. He was rapidly losing consciousness. With one last hope to dislodge his attacker he twisted his head and bit down hard on his attacker’s neck. Blood gushed out and into his mouth. Having the choice whether to drown in the stranger’s blood or to swallow the boy choked down the hot metallic tasting liquid.
As suddenly as the attack began it ended, his assailant vanished into the night, leaving the boy to struggle for air in the cold. He painstakingly sat up. White lights exploded in his vision and he touched the side of his neck.
Blood smeared pale fingers, his throat sore at the site of the bite marks. The taste of the man’s blood still in his mouth, the boy stood and righted himself before he could toppled over, and found he was having great difficulty breathing. Pain wracked his body, nearly driving him to his knees. Sweat beaded on his pale forehead. He had to get back home.
Bow forgotten in the grove he could only think to get back. The fact he could not seem to take a deep enough breath brought him near panic making matters worse. Staggering along, he fought the seizures his body inflicted upon him that threatened to fell him in his tracks. He could not stay out in the woods. He needed his cave, his fire and his bed. If he could survive a bear attack he could survive this.
He took the most direct route back and tried not to waste time. Each step became increasingly difficult. The spasms that cut off his air and twisted his guts became more pronounced, lasting longer each time and the times between them shorter and shorter. He could not keep the panic from his mind.
He tried forcing himself to cough just in case that would help his attempts at breathing, but all that did was send him through new wracking seizures. Tears mingled with drying blood on his face. The pain from the bear attack was nothing in comparison to what he was now going through.
Shaking between seizures he could finally make out the edge of the forest and the beginning of his grove. The sound of the waterfall drowned out by the irregular pounding in his head. Something was seriously wrong. Fear lashed through him as his whole body erupted into another seizure, this time dropping him to his knees.
He had come so far. His arms shook as they precariously held him from falling onto his face. This time the spasm did not dissipate. He gritted his teeth in pain as it intensified before abating just enough to allow him to climb to his feet.
He panted as best he could just to get even a little bit of air into his lungs and staggered into the grove. His eyesight dimmed, the blazing spots having turned into blotches of blackness that were coalescing into a larger void. If he did not find his way back to the cave now he knew without any doubt he would die.
Stumbling on legs that he could barely feel, let alone control, he fell short of his objective when the world swirled around him and came up at him. Face down on the grass he wept, unable to cry out in pain, as another spasm crested taking his breath away and twisted his body. When it receded, enough to get to all fours, he crawled to his cave, gripping the new grass as if it could keep him attached to the here and now.
He could not see the fire when he finally entered his home. He could hardly feel its warmth touching his skin. Feeling his way across the cave floor he was rewarded with the sensation of fur under his hands. It was a glimmer of hope that was eradicated with a paroxysm that blew away any remaining breath. Intense excruciating fire flowed through his body, twisting and contorting his muscles until the pain was too much and he surrendered the struggle.
The pain was gone.
In the darkness the pain was gone.
In the absence of all feeling the pain was gone.
He did not know if his eyes were closed or open. The darkness was absolute. All he could do was float in the void. He did not want to do anything else.
Silence.
In the darkness there was silence.
In the absence of all emotion and thought there was silence.
Nothingness buoyed him. The void supported him as he floated uncaringly.
Time had no meaning in this place and nor did he care. Everything that he was he released into the invisible tides that carried him. He did not care where he floated. He just wanted it to continue forever. He accepted the comfort and succour the darkness gave him and embraced it as it enfolded around him.
If this was death then he could accept it.
A star.
In the darkness glimmered a single star.
In the darkness the single star grew.
Closing his eyes against the growing brightness, fear erupted through his being. Thoughts, memories and feelings slammed into him.
The star grew into an orb that threatened to encompass and devour him and then he remembered.
Pain!
The brightness of the light warmed him.
The brightness of the light burnt him.
Opening his eyes he saw the Garden. It was magnificent to behold. Trees so tall the tops could not be seen. Flowers of every rainbow colour and hue burned his eyes. Tears ran from his eyes. It had been so long since he could see such colours, such beauty.
He remembered!
He remembered this place.
He remembered the last time he was here and fear clutched at him.
Before him, in the beautiful grove stood the three women. He could not see their faces. Gossamer veils the colours of their being covered them from head to toe. White. Red. Black. No sound could be heard except for their keening song. Arms held out to him. Handkerchiefs the colours of their veils dripped with shed tears.
He wanted to go to them. He wanted to be with them. He wanted to ease their suffering. Tears ran down his face and he held out his arms to them.
“No! He’sssss mine!” A voice exploded in the darkness, ripping him away from the light.
The keening of the three women turned into wails.
The wails of the three women turned into silence.
The light was gone.
He twisted and turned, fighting to get back to the light, back to the veiled women. His whole being crying out for the comfort, love and acceptance he knew only they could give.
“You would deny ussssss?” the voice resonated in the void.
Terror gripped his bowels.
He remembered this voice.
He had to get away.
He could not.
No longer the comfort it was in the beginning the darkness coldly supported him, keeping him solidly in place.
Tendrils of blackness licked over his body, tasting his fear, drinking his terror. He shuddered at the touch and closed his eyes wishing that it would go away.
“No, we will not go away,” the voice slithered in one ear; its frigid cold touching his brain before sliding out the other ear. “Choice wassssss made. Fulfillment hassssss come.”
“Wh-what do y-you mean?” the boy tried to put his fear down. Maybe by confronting the
creature it would let him go.
“Choice wassssss made. Fulfillment hasssssss come,” it repeated. He could feel it thread along his body, stopping at the scars on his back. “The covenant issssss made. Now!”
“Wait!” he cried out in the darkness. “What covenant?”
It lifted the filaments from his body. Silence abounded in the darkness, but he still could not move. He was held solidly in place.
The sound of wind through leaf laden branches swirled about him. He knew it could not be what he was hearing as the sound increased. It was then he realized he had his eyes closed. Fluttering them open he saw the silvery white mist swirling around him. Glowing ominously, silver and white wisps drew into a core that became increasingly solid, taking form. It was the same creature! Shaking in fear he stared as this thing of mist coalesced until its partial human form became semi solid. Misty silver rags fluttered in an unseen breeze. Red glowing eyes stared out of a skull ravished by decay. It’s black maw open with pointed teeth.
“You chossse,” it stated as it floated up to face him.
Its putrid face disgusted the boy and he tried to turn away. He could not. He was held firmly in place. The swishing sound continued and he could see a thicker mist developing, swirling around him and the creature. Faces peeked out, some as repulsive as the one that faced him. Others were more grotesque in appearance.
More and more of these creatures came from the darkness to watch, to participate.
Terror grew in the boy at the sight. All he wanted to do was get away.
“Good.” It placed a silver tendril under his chin forcing him to stare into the creatures red glowing eyes. He whimpered in fear, completely under its power. “We drink deep. The covenant issssss made.”
The boy screamed as it brought its gaping maw down onto his neck, biting deep. Tears sprung from his eyes as he saw, one after another, the other creatures come towards him. Their own sharp-toothed mouths open in greedy anticipation.