by Karen Dales
Pain exploded as each found a tender place, adding their own teeth to his flesh.
The boy hung there in the darkness, supported by the creatures and closed his eyes.
Chapter VIII
The scream he did not remember resonated throughout the cave and in his ears. The boy sat upon his bed having no recollection of sitting up. Head in his hands, he shuddered at the memory of the dream. It had been so long since the last one that he had forgotten how real they could be.
Wiping his wet face, he tried to get a hold of the fear racing through him. The pain of the bites still tingled but the one on his neck burned. With a shaking pale hand he touched the side of his neck and found no wound, only dried brown blood.
The colour of the dried blood was brown in the near pitch-blackness of the cave at night!
He tried to take a deep breath and found the pains in his chest gone. The memory of the attack the night before seemed surreal. Had he shot that man in the grove and had that man bitten him? The dried blood was a testament to the occurrence. Dream and reality swirled in his mind. He could make no sense of what had happened.
Swallowing back a knot of fear he stared at his hands, then his clothing. Something was digging into his shoulder and he swung the quiver off his back. The knotted serpents etched into the black leather seemed to come alive, and then it hit him. He could see the knotwork when he never could without being close to the light of a fire. He ran his hand tentatively against the lines. A shudder ran up his spine. Something had changed, but he did not know what and he looked up at the cave wall opposite to his bed and gasped.
In the faint embers of the dying fire the rock face glittered with colours he had never seen before. Pinks, yellows, golds and pure whites mingled and sparkled against the grey of the rock. It was a-glimmer as if the sun shown down directly on it, but there was no sun and there was no moonlight. The only source was a fire that threw off so little light that he should, by rights, not even be able to see the other side of the cave.
He turned to face the back of the cave, into the place where only darkness reigned and saw wood piled halfway up the back of the wall. He could make out the different colours of the different types of wood. Climbing to his feet, he went to the back and placed his hands on the pile. A flicker of movement caught his eye and he saw a black beetle crawl up between a pine bough and a thick stick of oak. He should not be able to see the bug, but he did.
Turning, the boy stared at the front of his home. Everything was changed. Well, not changed. Everything was the same, but different. Walking to the front, he trailed his hand against the cool rough wall and came to a halt before the opening, his jaw agape.
The night sky was littered with more stars than he could ever imagine, lighting up the night in a way that made it seem more like it was twilight than midnight. He could see individual trees, green and growing. Everything was green.
This was a gift, surely! Having lived so long in darkness to have the night open up like this was incredible and he stepped out of the cave and turned to face the deafening roar of the waterfall. White foam floated on the dark blue river. Silver mist filled the clearing like stars falling from the sky. Staring up to the top he could see trees leaning over the ledge as the dark waters poured over. Overcome by the beauty he could only stand and stare.
Suddenly a shaft of light exploded from the east, filling the glade with silver white light that ignited the colours all around him. He turned to find the source and over the budding tree tops rose the moon in Her splendour. The moon was so bright that he had to squint and shade his eyes with his hand. Then he truly saw and smiled in awe. Colours left only to be seen during the day were given back to him.
Removing his hand from his eyes he drunk in the light and extended his arms. He could almost feel the moonlight on the bare skin of his arms, legs and face. Everything was ablaze and his smile widened.
For the first time since coming to this place he felt alive. For the first time since that day when he was a child, losing the day did not seem a bad thing. Flowers of red, yellow, orange and purple blossomed in the taller grasses before the forest. The sounds of frogs and other night creatures slipped on the breeze to his ears and he laughed.
A weight was lifted from him. One he never knew he had. The day was gone, but he was given the night and its beauty surpassed any memory he had of the day. He wanted to drink in every sight around him and so he slowly began to turn in place.
Spinning around and around the colours swirled, and all he could do was laugh in sheer delight when he finally lost his balance and toppled over to lie on the grass. The stars spun as he lay in place. His side hurt from laughing so much and his face was sore from smiling, but he did not care. He could not remember ever being so happy.
“Oh dear God, what have I done?” resounded a foreign voice in the glade.
At the sudden intrusion, the first ever of its like, the boy’s joy turned into panic. Abruptly he came to a crouched position, staring at the man from the grove the night before. He was found! Instinct told him to flee but he did not want to leave his home. Not again, and not to one man. Then he remembered the attack and absently touched his neck without removing his cold gaze on the man.
“Please. Do not run,” the man implored, his open hands outstretched and took a step.
The boy did not trust the fact there was no weapon in this short man’s hands, since last night he had needed none, and he tensed, readying to flee if necessary. He stared up at the man robed in brown wool with a white cord around his waist. Sandals covered with mud and debris indicated a good tromp along the trails.
It was with his newfound sight the boy could now clearly make out the strangers features. Dark and silver peppered curling hair hung to the man’s shoulders. The stranger’s soft-featured face was oddly clean-shaven, but it was his piercing brown eyes that exhibited a profound sadness. The man’s countenance confused the boy. This was not the appearance of a killer. Then again what would he know of what a killer did or did not look like. He tensed. If the man made one more move he would run.
“I’m so sorry what I did to you, my son,” said the stranger, his voice full of sorrow. The term my son added to the boy’s confusion. “What I did to you was reprehensible and I will forever be damned. It should not have happened. At the worst you should have died.”
That was it. The boy had heard enough. He bolted for the forest and ran as fast his legs could carry him. It was not fast enough. Without warning the little man seemed to appear out of nowhere. The boy tried to change direction, but the slippery muck made it impossible. Before he knew it his foot was caught by something in the underbrush and he was down on the ground rolling to a stop. Spitting out the mud, he shakily sat up and looked about. The man was nowhere to be seen.
Slowly, he recovered his legs, glancing about for any sign of the man. His heart pounded in his chest. Where was the stranger? The once dark forest glimmered in the moonlight, lending details he had never before seen. Every stick, every branch, every leaf stood out as if the sun were out. He no longer needed the sun. The moon was his sun now and he could see more clearly than ever before. What he could not see was where the man had gone.
Brushing off the forest litter from his shirt and kilt, the boy stepped out of the pile of mouldy leaves and cautiously made is his way back to the clearing in hopes that the man was gone. Even if he were not, then maybe he would be able to get back to his cave and grab his knife, bow and quiver. Winter was past. Finding a new place to live, farther away from people, would be easier. All he would need were the tools to hunt.
The boy stopped in his tracks. Anxiety filled him as the realization hit. He had left his bow in the forest glen last night! He rubbed his forehead with the heel of his palm in an attempt to hold the reality of his situation at bay. The arrows were useless now and as such he was without a way to hunt. A single knife would not be enough; he would still need it.
Taking a deep breath, he let it out in a huff and proceeded ba
ck to the open glen. With each step he checked around him to see if the little man was anywhere in sight. Relieved at the lack of the presence of the stranger, the boy hoped that maybe the man had left. In any case, this place was no longer safe. He was sure that the man would go back and bring others to shatter his self-imposed isolation. He hated the idea of having to leave, but it was best. The last thing in the world he wanted to do was kill a person, even if in defence of his meagre home.
The forest parted and he entered the glade. A faint orange light sparsely illuminated his cave. So far, so good. There was no sign of the man. Gingerly, he headed straight for his home. One thing he would not forget to take with him was some burning embers for a new hearth, wherever that may be.
Before he made it to the mouth of the cave he halted. Underneath one of the trees that bordered the entrance sat the little man, pouting in thought before looking up to meet his eyes.
“Please, listen,” implored the man, his eyes moist in the moonlight. “I am not going to hurt you. Whatever harm I–” He broke off and stared at the grass in front of his feet and sighed before returning the gaze. “What is done is done. I cannot undo it. It must be the Lord’s will. In any case I am damned.”
He closed his eyes and to the boy’s amazement he watched a tear escape to travel down the cleanshaven face. “Please accept my deepest, most humble apologies,” continued the man.
The boy stared, thoroughly confused. He did not know what to say. Here was the stranger he had shot with his bow, who then attacked him, and now this man was apologizing to him? He shook his head trying to get a grasp of what was going on and could not. He backed a step away and swallowed.
At the reaction to the apology the man got onto his knees, hands pressed together in front of his face and stared up at the boy, into his crimson eyes. “Please. Please forgive me. If you do not have it in your heart to forgive me, please allow me to help you,” begged the man.
The sight of the man’s tears took the boy’s breath away. There was a genuine air about this stranger. Something about him cried out that he was safe to trust, but it was so hard to do so. He wanted to forgive this man so as to stop his sorrow and what this man was offering seemed sincere. No one had ever offered to help him except Geraint and Auntie and he realized that a part of him desperately wanted that type of connection again. He lowered his head and nodded.
He was rewarded with a large smile, deep brown eyes connecting with his. “Oh thank you! Thank you!” exclaimed the man and he began to frantically look around on the grass before settling himself down underneath the tree. “Please,” he patted the ground next to him, hopefully. “Please sit. There is so much that needs to be said.”
Still wary, the boy gnawed on the inside of his lip. If he were to sit, he would be at a disadvantage if he needed to flee again. Then again, the man was sitting as well, and he was wearing robes. Hesitantly, he half crouched half knelt down on the grass several feet away. The man seemed disappointed for a moment, but accepted the situation.
“First of all, my name is Father Paul Notus,” began the man as he settled in his spot as if this would take some time. It was hard to look at the young man crouched before him. He had never in his long life seen such a person as this. He was tall, taller than any other man Notus had ever known. Slim yet muscular without looking skinny. Notus could see the well shaped muscles in the lad’s legs and arms, indicating hidden strength, and the way the young man moved was distinctly predatory, like the large cats he had seen in other lands.
His long white hair and pale skin made the boy ghost like, but it was the blood red irises and pupils that made Notus shiver. It was those blood red eyes that had scared him out of his wits, causing all rationality to flee and instinct to kick in. He would forever regret last night’s mistake, but maybe, just maybe, something could be salvaged from his broken oath.
Notus stared at the tall youth before him. “My attack on you last night was unintentional and will be something that I will regret for the remainder of my existence. It was out of fear and surprise, not to mention the pain of an arrow in my chest.”
The boy’s eyes widened in shock. So he had hit the man! He had not dreamt it. But if that was the case, the boy lowered his gaze before bringing his eyes to stare incredulously at Father Notus, then the man should be dead!
Seeing the confusion on the young man’s face, Father Notus continued. “Such things do not harm our kind. Hurt, yes. But not harm. If I had known you were there hunting the same stag as I; I would have let you have it. I do not know how you managed to come undetected by me and that too I will forever be repentant of, but what is done is done, and I am sorry for having attacked you.” He closed his eyes and whispered, “And I deeply and profoundly apologize to you that you survived the attack.”
He could not believe what he was hearing. This man, this Father Paul Notus, was apologizing that he was still alive - again!
Crimson eyes widened in shock and horror as he regained his feet. He had heard enough. He was not going to let this man have any chance to finish what he started last night. Arrows and knife be damned, his life was not worth it. If necessary he would find another way. He survived before. He could do it again.
Between the time it took for one heartbeat to run into another, Father Notus came to his feet. Fear and worry washing through him.
“Wait!” he cried as the young man took a step away. “That did not come out right. Please come back and sit. Please let me explain.”
The tall young man turned to face him, his eyes almost glowing red with anger. Defeated by his clumsy words, Notus chose the simplest way, silence and lowered his head in shame.
He looked down at the robed man. At his full height, Father Notus only measured to about mid chest and he could hardly believe that he had been afraid of this man. Without removing his piercing gaze, the boy crouched where he stood. He did not return the man’s smile.
Notus let out a sigh as the slender young man knelt on the grass, albeit a little further away. He knew he was being given one last chance and he could not afford to ruin it. Sitting back down under the tree, Notus folded his hands in his lap.
Without gazing into the young man’s eyes, he continued. “I had not meant to attack you. I was hunting the deer. It had been quite some days since I had sustenance and the stag was my first opportunity. I guess I was so focused upon the deer that I did not hear you enter the grove. As I was attacking I heard the release of your bowstring and turned just in time for the arrow to hit.
“All I could see was your figure beside the bush, and – Oh dear God, please do not be offended – I was afraid. I had never seen anyone such as you. I feared I was in the presence of a devil and instinct over rode logic and I attacked. It was only when you bit me did I realize what I was doing and fled. But the damage was done – to both of us.
“I went back to my camp and began to worry. I was afraid I had killed you. Worse I was afraid I had broken my oath never to Choose another. Panicked at that thought I came back to the glen and found you gone, but you had left a trail.
“I followed you back here. I could see you were in the pain of the transformation as you stumbled on. I hoped that you would collapse and let the sun finish my clumsy deed. God forgive me that I wished this so, but you did not fall. I have seen others go through the transformation. Many do not survive, even when it is intentionally done. I remember my own. Never before had I seen anyone do what you did. Never before had I seen anyone with such strength. God forgive me for my terrible thoughts. I watched you stagger into this cave and I prayed to the Good God that He take you instead.
“I waited as long as I could and then I went back to my camp to wait out the day. It was the longest day in my memory. I do not think I slept one minute. As soon as the sun was down, I was up and came back here to see what had happened during the day. My gruesome prayers were not answered. There you were in the rapture of your new senses and I could feel the connection between us.
“It was the
n that the full horror of my deeds implications hit me, and that I, Father Paul Notus, broke my vow to God never to make another alike unto myself.”
Father Notus broke his gaze from the young man’s piercing stare, too ashamed to look upon the results of his oath breaking.
Silence filled the space between the two. The boy could not believe what he was told. It seemed too much like one of the tales Auntie used to tell him. He did not feel like a character in someone’s imaginings. This had to be real, but how could it? Not knowing what to say, he let the lull continue.
Father Notus scratched at his arm, beginning to feel uncomfortable as the silence stretched out. He was starting to think that this young man, strange as he seemed, was incapable of speech. The sounds of frogs and night birds mingled with the roar of the waterfall.
“This is the reason for my poorly worded apology,” he whispered, his voice barely heard above the sound of rushing water. “It would have been better had you died rather than be brought into this hideous existence. An endless life where the slightest touch from the sun’s rays will ignite your flesh, burning you, possibly killing you, and the requirement of the blood of the living as sustenance in replacement for the enjoyment of food and drink.
“This is the gift of being Chosen. This is the trade off to be immortal: to never see the sun and enjoy the day and to be always part of but separate from the world of mortal men.” Father Notus sadly shook his head. “The Good God gave us His commandments so that we would live well in His sight, but it is difficult when the call of the blood rides us, as it did with me last night.”
Again the silence drew out between them. The boy stared down at the grass silvered by a moon that was high in the night sky. He could feel Father Notus’ eyes on him and he realized that he could not be afraid of this man. If what this man said was true, and there was no real reason to doubt it, then this man had given him a wonderful gift. It was not a curse. He had the day taken away so long ago it was hard to remember the land bathed in sunlight. If he had to drink blood to survive, well, he had done worse.