Thoughts of an Eaten Sun

by Kyle Tolle

  Hantle stood and, keeping a hand on the roof, tested his unsteady feet. The ripping sound earlier had been the waistline of his pants, which now threatened to fall off completely. To prevent that, he bunched up the material into his fist and held it tight at his belly button. Thusly secured, his attention shifted to the quiet night surrounding him. The fog was too thick to see farther than a few yards in any direction. It occurred to him that the wolf might still be in the area, so he listened. A few minutes passed before he presumed it clear; the beast would not have been so quiet.

  He left the roof and said, “Hello?” A wind picked up and split the fog, allowing moonlight to pierce through. Murky puffs of smoke, shimmering with an odd quality, drifted up and away. He crept his way through the village, unconsciously wary of making much noise. Every home he passed was demolished, many burnt and aglow. All let off an acrid stench. Aside from the tongues of flames and drifting patches of fog, nothing moved. His thoughts violently wrenched to Lorenca. Where was she? What of the children she watched? Forgetting his caution, he sped to his house. Upon seeing smoldering rubble in its place, he dropped to his knees and a pitiful wail escaped him. A glint of hope: mightn’t she be crouched and hiding under some debris like he had? In order to free up both hands, he stripped off his pants, then waded, completely naked, into the ash and charred remains. First, he flung back the largest fragments and called out, “Lorenca. Lorenca. Lorenca.” There were no signs of her at all. The soot he kicked up triggered another coughing fit, but he continued to turn over bits of furniture and shards of housewares, desperate to find some sign of her. Using the leg of a chair, he dug through a patch of charcoals cooling to a deep red. A glint in their midst grew his eye. He fished out the object and let it cool before picking it up. A ring, one he had given to Lorenca on her last birthday. The heat and collapse of the house had warped the silver, but, after wiping it on his chest, its stone shone green. Was this all he had left of her? As for the children she had been so eager to protect, there was nothing to show they had ever been there. The wolf was thorough. Tears mixed with the grime on his face, and he wept. At the start of the night, he had worked with a village full of people to defend his wife and their home. All of it now gone.

  He found himself talking to the ring, talking to her. “We shot it again, you know? Rounfil and me. And the other guards too. Shots to the belly hurt it the most. Where’s it now though? I suspect it’s gone on to find more people. In fact, I know it has. Harsenth is closest. Yet . . . they won’t have any warning it’s coming, unless I can get there. I . . . I let you down. And Hultier. And Dolcium. I let Founsel down. But I’ll get to Harsenth to warn them and help save them. I’ll see it through. I’ll see it dead. Make up for not saving my own. It can’t take you all from me without repercussion. No, it can’t take you all and not pay.”

  Closing his fist about the ring, he stepped out of the remnants of his life and explored further. All the lanterns had been either eaten or cast to the ground, so he was glad for the moonlight to help see by. Periodically, he shouted for survivors but received no replies. Even the farm animals and horses had been taken. A shirt, pants, and shoes he found and put on, placing the ring in the breast pocket so he could feel its shape against him. Food spilled from a few of the unburnt houses. He ate some of the bread, jerky, and fruit before gathering more into a small sack. Many weapons lay strewn across the village, giving him his choice of musket, powder horn, and bullet bag. Slinging the musket over his good arm, he winced. The pain stuttering down his back outweighed that creeping along his arm. As a counterbalance, the food in his stomach lent him energy and, when the pain subsided, he set off down the road. It was sheer luck that kept him out of view and alive at all, and he felt determined to make good use of that fortune. Bloody paw prints carrying for a ways on the dirt road lent credibility to his hunch that the wolf had left Founsel and was making its way toward Harsenth. They deserved to know about the threat coming their way. The larger settlement should have better options for both defense and offense. He was not sure how long the walk there would take, but the entire day was before him. With a sprinkling of additional luck, he might arrive before dusk.

  Birds chirped in the predawn light as Hantle came across the first pieces of the caravan wagons. The road and bordering grass were filled with debris, but the largest piles were humped up at the forest’s edge a few yards away. He guessed that when the horses spooked, they trundled toward the trees, pulling their wagons along until the wheels lodged in the roots. He searched the woods and shouted out to the miracle he hoped hid somewhere nearby, but, again, found no one. The most terrifying aspect of the wolf was its ability to devour completely. Hantle resumed his walk eastward. Ahead, the rising sun illuminated a sheet of clouds coming over the Knuckles. He took the ring from his shirt pocket and turned it over between his fingers. It was all he had left of family, home, or village.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  THE MOON PULSED and throbbed with light in the night sky. Hantle burped and his legs felt too small for his body. Suddenly, his hands dragged on the ground as he walked forward. But only for a moment, because he rocketed up on legs that dwarfed the trees in the surrounding forest. He saw for miles ahead of him, thanks to the moon’s pulsations. He strode on—now a giant. His legs created tornadoes as he swung them forward for his next step. Ahead was the wolf and, even though it also rose out of the forest on tall legs, to Hantle it looked like a pewter figurine.

  In just a few steps, Hantle approached the wolf and towered over it. It had destroyed a small settlement and the rising smoke diffused before reaching Hantle’s ankles. His new perspective was surprising and Hantle laughed. The sound boomed and echoed off the Knuckles in the distance and the forest canopy below swayed with force of the sound.

  The wolf looked up from his meal and locked eyes with Hantle. The tides had turned and Hantle capitalized on the moment. He raised his foot from the crater his shoe left in the ground and brought it down, swiftly, before the wolf could react. A little pop—like a pine needle in a blaze—was the last sound the wolf made. Hantle-giant bent over and picked up the decapitated carcass between thumb and index finger. The canine’s head had shot off and he watched it roll to a stop. So much trouble caused by this beast. A sound behind him. His wife’s call carrying on the air. She was still in Founsel.

  Hantle came back to the world and the morning as his boot caught on a root. He regained his balance and shook off the vision of squashing the wolf. Conquering the creature would have to be done at his current size. The distance he had yet to cross would take more than a few steps. Birds chirped in the forest and the air was still cool. How far off was Harsenth?

  The sun sat overhead and the atmosphere filled with the heat it brought. Hantle’s back ached and a sharp pain in his hip forced him to change the way he carried his weight. He finished the last of his food as he came upon a home. Everything but the chimney was destroyed. Smoke still rose from the stone column and he saw the fire smoldering yet on the hearth. Toppled trees behind the house led deeper into the forest.

  So the wolf had beaten him there. He knew there was no one left to find, but he looked anyway. Inside, he held the small hope that someone else would have the same luck he had. But no remains turned up in the wreckage he overturned. He was just a lucky bastard. No others would get his odds.

  The dirt road continued flat for some time and a scene played before Hantle. The wolf chased a man along the way. And when the man looked over his shoulder, Hantle saw his own face. The figures evaporated. He laughed. It was he who chased the wolf, wasn’t it?

  The sun began its descent toward the west and Hantle felt a stabbing in his side that he could not address. Pain splintered up his torso every few steps. Furthermore, he had passed no villages whereby to procure food. Nor did he have time to hunt. Setting his stomach’s grumbling aside, he appreciated the fact that the swelling in his eye had reduced.

  The ring was cool and light to his touch as he withdrew it from his
breast pocket. Sooted and mangled, but tactile. A testament to the family behind him. Totemic and sole reason he pressed onward, through pain and hunger and need for rest. He chased after the chance to right things. Whatever that meant now, with his family gone. But he would not focus on the guilt, because that would bring further failure. He would focus on stopping the wolf and preventing it from desecrating other families. He would somehow right things.

  Farther along, a small grouping of homes lay some distance from the road. All leveled but for a single broken lantern that lay in the clearing between the homes.

  Hantle’s exhaustion had settled in but not overwhelmed him. A cursory look and a few shouts were all he gave. His hope of finding any survivor had evaporated, and it detracted from progress toward his real goal: Harsenth.

  Another vision appeared before him. Nighttime fallen and the wolf howling outside homes that were still inhabited. Lorenca and their boys burst from the back door of one and made for the forest. Hantle felt an urge to move forward, but fear of the demon prevented him from taking a single step. The beast enjoyed the chase and played with his small, pitiful toys. The urge to vomit brought Hantle back to the present. He was afraid, yes, but he would not shirk his duty. He trekked onward.

  If only he knew Harsenth’s location, he could gauge how far or close he was. But as it stood, the sun sank beneath the horizon and he was an indeterminate distance away.

  The day was spent, but there was still part of the night to beat the wolf there. Mindful of how much his pace had slowed due to weary legs, he resolved to speed up. He saw and felt his limitations spread over every step that lay before him. The wolf, seemingly, had no limitations. What made that so? What set them apart?

  The final bits of sunlight left the sky and one tree root succeeded in bringing Hantle down. Pain shot up his injured arm—another limitation. His musket served to help him up, then he slung it back over his shoulder. To ignore the burdens threatening to halt him, he steered his mind to thoughts of what he would do in Harsenth. From an eagle’s view a thousand feet in the sky, Hantle saw the wolf arriving at the town similarly late. It began its attack and the people crumpled under it only for sunlight to blast over the Knuckles and push the wolf, clawing in protest, back into the forest. He willed himself to focus on the road, but the wanderings of the mind were hard to keep at bay.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  A HEAVY LINING of trees fell away from the road and the midmorning revealed smoke drifting into the air from a few smoldering places. It was quiet in the small village. Every building razed, even those of stone. Their cornerstones lay far from the foundations.

  A few minutes up the road, Hantle found another village’s remains. He spent no time on a search. There were more settlements between Founsel and Harsenth than he realized. Columns of smoke in the distance could indicate life or death. The warmth of the sun did not match the coldness of the dead places. He shuddered.

  Hantle reached the third village, which was also destroyed and filled with more rubble from larger buildings. Claw marks cut across the road, leaving cobblestones strewn about. He looked around and noticed the midday air felt obscenely empty without birdcalls. How many more ruins were there to discover?

  As he rounded a pile of stones and wood, Hantle found himself looking at a man in uniform, shouted, “Hey whoa,” and backed up several steps, fumbling for his musket.

  “Well, shit.” The other man startled as well and drew a holstered pistol.

  They each pointed a weapon at the other, stunned, until the uniformed man’s shock subsided and he called over his shoulder. “Lieutenant Vurm. I got someone here.”

  Hantle let out a bated breath, removed his finger from the trigger, and lowered the musket. “I was not expecting to see anyone here.” A living being in all this wreckage? How sure could he be this was not another vision?

  “Neither were we,” the soldier replied. He kept his weapon up but used one hand to adjust the kepi he wore and scratch under its brim.

  The lieutenant picked his way around piles of rubble. His legs covered great distances with every stride. He also wore a kepi atop his bald head, although a flourishing symbol made of red metallic thread set it apart. Precise creases ran down his tan pant legs, accentuated by flanking red stripes. Hantle noticed the lieutenant’s eyes narrow and jaw tighten.

  “I am Lieutenant Vurm. You are?”

  Hantle straightened. Even so, he had to look up to meet the lieutenant’s eyes. “Hantle Doolsun, sir.”

  Vurm continued on so quickly Hantle doubted the man even heard his name. “Where are the other survivors?”

  Hantle shook his head and raised his hands to indicate uncertainty. “I’ve only just come into the area. Alone. What do you know of what happened?”

  Vurm removed the kepi to reveal a pale bald crown shining with sweat. He tugged at the neck of his uniform jacket. “My squad and I were sent to investigate rumors of disaster. You’re the first person we’ve encountered.” Brass buttons ran in a single line down his front and the wool looked too warm for this weather.

  To a woman off to his side, Vurm shouted, “Any survivors your way?”

  “No, sir,” she said. “None.”

  Hantle nodded and glanced around the village. Several other troopers walked through the area, scanning the debris. “May I ask,” he said, “who sent you?”

  “Gully Rhet, mayor of Harsenth.”

  Hantle felt a rush of excitement. He had stumbled upon an armed force. One he might coordinate over the coming night to stand against the wolf. The opportune encounter served as vindication for his slog through exhaustion and hunger and many miles to get here.

  Vurm turned to Hantle as he replaced his hat. “I’ll ask you a few questions now?”

  “Okay,” Hantle said.

  “It’s strange you’re the only one here.” He waved an arm to indicate the wasted village. “Say you’ve just come in, have you? Where from?”

  Hantle looked directly into the man’s eyes and cleared his throat. He wanted to properly frame his forthrightness. “I spent all of the last day and a half walking from Founsel, on the Trasach Cove.”

  “Why so far a distance in so short a time?”

  Hantle told the lieutenant of the wolf destroying his family, home, and village. How it grew with every person it ate. As additional evidence, he raised his arm. He pulled back the bandaging to reveal the inflamed puncture wounds. The skin stretched taut around the injuries and Hantle winced. “I’m certain,” he continued, “the wolf was here as well. Last night. Two villages just west of us have also been taken.”

  The other trooper, the soldier Hantle had first encountered, asked, “If the wolf can lay entire cities flat, how did you survive?”

  “Pure luck. But I now chase it hoping to stop it from taking more lives.”

  Vurm huffed and shook his head. “You want us to believe a wolf is responsible for this?”

  Hantle exhaled. “I’m telling you what I’ve seen. You’re welcome to go on and witness the destruction for yourself. Same destruction as here.”

  Vurm’s eyes focused on the distance. Hantle turned and saw plumes of smoke standing dark against the sky. He turned back with another query. “Is Harsenth just up the road? I’m eager to speak to the mayor.”

  The lieutenant said, “We must complete our investigation before we return to the mayor.”

  “I’m happy to leave you to it.” Hantle gave a quick nod and started to move around him, but the lieutenant placed a hand on his chest.

  “I’m sorry, but we must escort you back.” Vurm motioned and the other soldier stepped forward with his chest thrust out.

  The physical contact surprised Hantle and he did not like the implication. “Am I being held here?”

  “Being held? No. We just ask that you give us a few minutes before we show you on to town.”

  Hantle knew the impression he made here would be pivotal to securing Harsenth’s support. He yielded. “Of course. I would be grateful
for your guidance.”

  Vurm rounded up a few more of his unit and addressed them. “We were tasked to bring back evidence, if we found anything had happened. What could carry more surety than the cornerstone of the village hall?” He pointed to the block in the middle of the road. One of its corners had fractured. “You two, make a stretcher to bear the stone back.” Vurm ordered the rest of the soldiers to attention.

  Hantle stood quietly as the soldiers found materials, prepared the stretcher, and loaded the stone on. It felt nice to stand still.

  Within a few moments, the project was complete and those soldiers fell back in formation. The strongest trooper in the squad, a tall, brawny woman, took up the improvised stretcher and hauled it to the end of the line. The lieutenant indicated for Hantle to stand behind the stretcher-bearer and he himself took up the rear. Vurm called the march, and they began eastward to Harsenth.

  Hantle looked about him as they walked. To his left sat the stable yard. The barn was in pieces, as was the fence, but Hantle noticed something in the mud. “Ah, Lieutenant?” he said. “Do you see the mark in the mud of the stable yard?”

  Vurm called for the squad to halt. “What mark?”

  “It’s a large depression, just beyond the fence line. May I inspect it?”

  He waved Hantle on.

  Hantle stooped down as he neared it and was thankful for this sign. “It seems the wolf left a print.” He made eye contact with the lieutenant and beckoned him over.