Realm of Druids

by Mark Hogenelst

  8.

  THE PALE STRANGER

  Late one afternoon, a day or two later, mother asked Saniel to head to the village square and pick up a few things. ‘I desperately need some cotton thread as some of your trousers need mending. I don’t know what you do to them?’ She asked. ‘Sorry mother’ he replied with a sly grin, ‘But its hard work carrying baskets of fish up the steep rocky paths.’ ‘Here are some coins and oh, if there is any change left get some eggs from Mrs. Henton. She should have some today. You should catch them before dark and then hurry home, please. Oh, and don’t let that dog mess up your trousers.’ Saniel popped the coins into his trouser pocket and whistled to himself as he shut the front door behind him. Mother was always upset when he came home with his trousers smelling of fish and dogs. The dog mother referred to was a small shabby brown village dog of no particular breed that liked the smell of fish on the boy’s trousers. It would rub against his legs and looked forward to the big friendly pats the boy would give him. A little yellow bird with blue wings and blue crown flew swiftly down from a large Elm tree branch. It sat on the neighbour’s thatched roof and watched Saniel walk past. The sky was still overcast with heavy clouds, but it looked like the rain was gone for now. On the way, Saniel stopped to investigate Mr Faber’s workshop. He was always mending or making something.

  Mr Faber was a giant of a man with a big moustache and a twinkle in his eye that was just visible under his great protruding bushy grey eyebrows. He was very hairy and wore a sizeable stained leather apron. His face was always red with a big wide fleshy nose and constantly covered in perspiration. Today was no exception as he bent over a huge black anvil. In one hand, he had a set of tongs holding a glowing red object and in his other hand a large hammer. Mr Faber was a friendly man, and as the only smith in the village, was kept busy making and mending shoes for the people important enough to own ponies. He would repair and sharpen swords and knives carried by the night watchmen and fix the odd steel hinge and door. He rarely made anything from scratch though, as metal was scarce to come by in that part of the land. Mr Faber saw Saniel looking in from the road and gave him a polite wave and grin.

  The little brown village dog ran out from Mr Faber’s workshop where he had just enjoyed a small bowl of goat’s milk. He nearly tripped Saniel up as he ran excitedly between his legs. Saniel reached down with his left hand and dragged his six fingers along the dogs back through his short hair. The dog stretched and grunted in delight as it was rare to find affection these days. Mr Faber knew that for some strange reason, animals are drawn to this boy. He called out after him with a laugh, ‘Take him home Saniel!’ But it was no good, Saniel had already attempted that in the past, and both he and the dog had been smacked by mother’s broom for trying.

  Along the Wandering Souls road into Saltwood from the north, a cloaked figure walked stiffly towards a sleepy watchman. The watchman, who had only recently commenced duty, was leaning on a wooden signpost next to the main open gate. He looked back towards the village as he could smell the most delicious blueberry pie that was undoubtedly someone’s supper cooling on a window sill. For some silly reason, he imagined that at any minute the cook responsible would bring him a piece of this pie. However, he received a different visitor to the gate. A sudden cold sensation brushed against his back, causing him to shiver as he turned to the noise of scuffling feet approaching. The figure was almost upon the watchman before he had seen him. He jumped to attention and brushed his jacket, which was two sizes too small for him with the sleeves ending just below the elbow. The long leather belt he wore was held together by an intricate knot, and off it hung a simple scabbard that housed a short sword. Narrow brown pants reached down to his furred shoes. He straightened his brass helmet that was crudely crafted to resemble a large ‘Bull Mouth’ seashell. It was entirely decorative and a way of showing off. At first, he thought the council had sprung another surprise inspection on him as Saltwood didn’t get many visitors these days.

  He soon realised it was not an inspection as he stared at this figure in the remaining daylight, with the sinking sun to his left impairing his vision. This figure was very tall and thin, dressed in cloth trousers, with the right leg full of small tears. It wore a scraggly black jacket and a black hooded overcoat of some sort. The brown leather shoes looked a size too big with a large hole in the side of one that was filled with dirt and grime. The cowl on the coat was pulled down low over the figure’s forehead. Thin white strands of hair hung down its face. His skin was pale, so pale in fact that he could have quickly passed for a dead man. Strangely elongated white hands hung down by its sides with dirty black broken fingernails and eyes the colour of pale blue fixated on the watchman. The eyes glistened wickedly and the watchman shivered, it felt as if this stranger was looking into his soul.

  This stranger carried no goods and did not look like any trader the watchman had ever seen before. ‘What else could he be?’ The watchman asked himself. At least he didn’t appear to be carrying a weapon that he could see. No sightseers ever came to Saltwood, and to come in this late? But what surprised the watchman, even more, was the large shaggy dog accompanying this stranger. The dog was grey and white with long thick matted hair, a long snout and paled almost white eyes. This dog resembled a Wolfhound by description, only bigger and everyone knew that the Wolfhound breed was long extinct from the company of men. The watchman was no stranger to other dogs; however, as the village had plenty to go around. Too many thought the watchman, who was continually cleaning the underside of his boots. But he had never seen a dog this big.

  The watchman mustered up more courage than he had and stepped out in front of the stranger and his canine companion. ‘What businesses have you here?’ He said bravely holding one hand over his eyes shielding his vision from the last of the sun’s rays. He noted the hounds curling upper lip revealing large white fangs as he swallowed and continued. ‘You had better keep that dog on a rope Mister. I don’t like the look of him.’ The watchman spoke with a slight waver in his voice and rested one hand atop of his sheathed short sword hanging by his side. The dog growled loudly as if he had understood what the watchman had said. The stranger seemed to struggle as he opened his mouth and formed the words to speak. The thin lips parted, shaping the mouth into some cruel grin.

  A row of sharp pointed blackened teeth was revealed inset into pale white gums, and he said one word in a strained rattling breath — 'Death.’ The watchman’s heart skipped a beat upon hearing this, and he stumbled backwards of balance while he attempted to draw his short sword with one hand while with the other hand he reached for the rope that rang the warning bell. As if trying to do too many things at once, the watchman did not manage to achieve anything, as the stranger immediately strode forward and raised a hand to touch the watchman’s chest with a long thin finger. Frozen blue veins splintered through the watchman’s chest up through his neck as he collapsed instantly to the ground, a look of twisted agony on his dead face. The Draugen witchling and the Wolfhound Crovar, a lieutenant from the Wildpack then entered Saltwood village under cover of darkness.

  9.

  RED WHISKERS

  Red Whiskers had run and dived into his den panting. He curled his tail up tightly around him and even though he was not cold, he shivered until the first rays of daylight beamed through gaps in the clouds upon the moors wet surface. He was not sure if he slept or not and woke himself fully as he coughed up a beetle wing. He then jumped up with a start and recalled the events from several hours ago. He had seen the goblins, the mist, a strange green light, and heard the horrible shrieks that followed. ‘What had happened?’ Living on the moors his entire life, he was no stranger to local creatures, including the ones that practised magic. He was also comfortable with the mists that covered the moor every other night; however, the mist that appeared near that ruined castle had a sense of dread. Something Red Whiskers had never experienced before, and then it was accompanied by the terrified screams. What did this mean? He must warn Bl
ackpaws, the Wolf King. Blackpaws was wise and would know what to do.

  Red Whiskers had never met a wolf. He only knew that they lived in large packs occupying the mountains to the east for the most part and that the alpha leader was a huge wolf called king Blackpaws, unbeaten in battle. Red Whiskers often spoke to the owls and Kite Hawks that frequented the moors as they shared similar hunting grounds. The flying order was a great source of knowledge. However, they provided as much gossip as well as true facts. They would often give him news of his two sons, having grown from cubs to mature age last year. They had left the den some months ago to strike out and explore new territory on their own. Red Whiskers was pleased to hear that his oldest son had taken a female and was living on the edge of a quagmire to the north within great hunting grounds. His youngest son had travelled east to live among an elf clan known as the Elvene, in the safety of their maze as a runner.

  Not all flying creatures were friendly, however. The Ravens flew the moors in large numbers, were very noisy and usually lived in one of the few wooded areas within the moors. They were also very rude, often calling out names to the ground species and had sent Red Whiskers scrambling inside his den on many occasions. The largest of the Raven order roosted in a wood not far from Red Whisker’s den. It was called the ‘Unkindness,’ which was about a day’s travel south. Red Whiskers had seen the Unkindness from afar once, and he recalls it was a tangled mess of dense Hawthorn trees. The leader of the Raven order was Skraww, a rare white raptor who was rumoured to have only one leg after a fight with a wolf years ago. It is well known that the Ravens were spies for the witches and goblins and allies to the Wildpack, a ferocious pack of wild hounds living in the far north. Where the Ravens patrolled the skies during the day, the nightbirds did so after dark. They are large leathery creatures with sharp talons and teeth that also did the bidding of the witches’ and goblins. Most animals thought it wise to avoid the Ravens and nightbirds, as one managed to live longer that way.

  From what he had learned from the birds, Red Whiskers knew that to reach the wolf kingdom near the mountains, he had to head east towards the rising sun. This was a week-long if not more journey. The fox had contemplated relating the story of what he saw to some trusted owls, but he believed that what he saw and feared was too important to be passed on as second-hand news to the Wolf King. Besides the horror of what he experienced last night still lingered in his mind and he had no wish to spend another night in that area. If he was quick about it, he could make it to the safety of the Elvene in only a few days’ travel where his youngest son now lives. ‘Yes’ he decided, the Elvene Princess was wise and would know what to do. Without a second thought, he set off at once and managed to snatch up a water mouse breakfast on the way.

  The first few hours of his journey were pretty much uneventful. He knew the paths to the edge of his hunting grounds towards the east as he hunted here quite often. Other than some rabbits, this area of the moors was usually still and quiet. By midmorning, the sound of arguing animals reached his ears as he came to a small shallow waterhole. It was surrounded by heavy black soil which grew a type of short thick moor grass that the wild ponies found a delicacy and often grazed. A brown pony stallion with a thick blonde mane was pawing at the ground snorting and facing off against a short black and white boar. The angry boar had his head down and was continually opening and closing his mouth. The sound of his bottom tusks and top tusks grinding were very apparent. The pony whinnied insults at the boar who returned threats through clenched teeth. Several mares and a foal stood afar watching the incident.

  Red Whiskers feeling important approached the two and stopped short at a safe distance. Barking in a high-pitched voice, the fox tried to catch their attention. He stood tall as the pony and boar turned to look at him. Well, he stood as tall as a fox could with his chest puffed out a bit and holding his bushy tail in the air. He said importantly, ‘I am on an urgent mission to deliver news to the Wolf King, have either of you witnessed any strange happenings in this area?’ The boar rolled his eyes in disdain for the fox and charged head down towards the pony. The pony dodged and spun around to line the boar up for a good kick. Red Whiskers leapt out of the way quickly and skipped across the uneven black soil to resume his journey. The swine clans were so territorial and stupid sometimes.

  After midday, he came to the border of his hunting ground. He took shelter inside a thick clump of grass to catch his breath and then a short time later resumed his steady pace and continued east. He came across a broad and well-used path made by ponies and swine, but he did not like it at all as it made him feel too exposed to the sky. He glanced up as if expecting to see a Raven and veered off this path to find a thin smaller one running more or less parallel, and in the direction, he was heading. Much to his satisfaction, it had plenty of shrubs, small trees, and damp reeds leaning over it to conceal its view from above. By mid-afternoon on the fourth day, he had reached the edge of a vast marsh. A mixture of water rushes, and reeds spread in front of him. It appeared endless to the left and the right as far as he could see. A few white marsh birds squawked noisily as they flew about just above the surface of the water. He contemplated testing the depth of the water and possibly swimming from reed clump to reed clump. He decided not to. Not because he couldn’t swim. He could swim quite well if he wanted to, but a set of eyes peering at him from the water’s surface not too far away gave the impression of something bigger underneath.

  His little ears moved slightly back and forth as he scanned the surrounds for any danger. He was fortunate it hadn’t yet rained today. However now with this marsh in front of him, he would never make it to the elves by nightfall and would need to find a hollow log, abandoned den or rabbit burrow he could shelter in for the night. Given that there were not many trees around, he didn’t quite like his chances of finding a log, let alone a hollow one. He decided that whether he went left or right did not particularly matter now, and he would think about that the next day after finding shelter. He paused and raised his nose in the air to catch what scent he could. Several insects flew around him, making loud whirring sounds from their wings. Some reed frogs began croaking challenges to one another across the marsh. A slight breeze blew from the north and with it came the scent of swine, rabbit, and an alien scent he did not know.

  As he contemplated whether to head north or not, a sudden commotion of water erupted in front of him from the shallow marsh. A dark brown creature resembling a fat snake, with a broad flat head and a grinning mouth of crooked teeth, yellow eyes and two front legs managed to slither and drag itself towards him. Contemplating all done, Red Whiskers made his mind up and shot off like a lightning bolt to the north.

  10.

  THE WOLVES

  For one hundred and fifty miles along the base of the Scarbia Ranges, there existed the kingdom of the wolves and the lesser provinces. Being divided into packs each made up of several dozen family bloodlines and a hierarchy structure of their own. They were very social, maintaining contact with neighbouring packs and their king. The kingdom of ‘Silent Ridge ‘was where the leading alpha male resided. To the north lay the province of ‘Duskfall’ ruled by a fair alpha, Prince Lothian and to the west lay Dreyfell province, home of the painted wolves. To the east rose the giant mountains, where the bovine herds ruled. Not much lay past the southern borders except frozen tundra and snow. King Blackpaws was a fierce warrior, challenged by many and beaten by none. He was larger than a typical wolf, having descended from the Gray Packs that migrated to the steppes from the pine forests of the northern mountains.

  The wolves of his pack were thought to be the largest wolves in the realm. However, size and strength came with great responsibility and he ruled his kingdom through respect and admiration rather than fear. He stood four feet at the shoulder, with a thick fur coat of tan and grey. While defending his leadership long ago against a challenger from a neighbouring pack, he lost one a canine, and his left ear now drooped badly where it had been savagely bitten. However
, he was generous merciful, and in most cases, would cast the losing challenger to an outer pack in the provinces rather than kill him. His pack lived in a sheltered pocket of woods at the southeast end of the Scarbia ranges in the foothills between the moorland and the mountains. This stretch of land was known as the steppes and was a vast tract of high, dry grassy ground where food was abundant and a place fitting for the ruling pack to live.

  A small gurgling stream ran along one edge of Blackpaws camp. It was fed from a spring high up in the foothills and ran a course of several miles, through the camp where it petered out miles away into the open grasslands of the steppes. It was crystal clear and shallow enough with ample rocks here and there for most animals to cross. Small fish wagered an endless battle against the current trying to swim upstream. It was rather a warm day with the sun at its zenith and beating down with little cloud in the blue sky to interrupt its gaze upon the grasslands. The heavier cloud always seemed to cover the distant faraway moors, obviously, some doing of the witches’ and goblins. The noisy hum and whirling of a multitude of insects in the distance mixed in with warm air created a very comforting, sleepy atmosphere. Blackpaws sat upon his haunches, licking the underside of a great right paw. He paused and watched some young whelps balancing on a rock in the middle of the stream and staring interestedly at some small fat fish darting around beneath them. Blackpaws grinned and commenced licking the other paw. Suddenly a splash, followed by a yelp, and Blackpaws yowled in laughter at the pup that was now floundering around in the shallow stream whining at first then followed by some yelps. The king barked at the other pups to leave the rocks; else they should fall in as well. Jara the pup’s mother bounded up after hearing the yelp and barked at the pup to swim to shore. Blackpaws leaning over into the water bit down softly on the scruff of the pup’s neck and gently lifted him from the stream.