Fionn: The Stalking Silence
Page 2
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After a time, fatigue crept up on her and she could hear the sound of her heart pounding from the effort of climbing. Her awareness of time and place began to fade, her step faltered and her fortitude was eroded by the ongoing exertion. The cold temperature under the trees did little to revive her. When she inhaled, the frigid air burned her throat. Each breath she released stuttered out like the vaporous gasps of a damaged bellows.
Exhausted, she came to a halt and braced herself against a tree, sucking in deep, greedy breaths, until her heartbeat slowed and her blurred vision began to clear. Peering uphill, she found that she was unable to perceive either the ridgeline or the cutting through the densely packed trees and scrub. For one horrible moment, she was convinced that she’d lost her way. Overwhelmed by despair and exhaustion, she was tempted to give up, to collapse onto the frozen ground and sleep until the frost, that lulling thief of life, came to pluck her final breath away. In the end, it was only the insistent presence of the child in her belly that kept her on her feet.
She’d regained her breath and was on the point of pushing onwards when a sudden instinct prompted her to twist her head, just in time to catch a flicker of movement from a distant thicket. She held her breath, stared then released a muted whimper as the wolf slowly, brazenly, emerged from the trees.
From somewhere inside her, a great fury erupted. Wielding the staff with renewed vigour, she shouted at the creature and advanced, stamping her feet. The wolf, unmoved by this display of aggression, simply stood its ground and regarded her almost sullenly. Slowly, its lips curled back, exposing a set of vicious-looking fangs coated with strings of mucous-like saliva. A threatening growl echoed in the empty air.
Bending down, she grabbed a nearby stone and flung it but, unfortunately, the recent changes to her body weight affected her aim. The missile landed on a sliver of snow several paces in front of the animal. The beast glanced at it contemptuously before returning its attention to her, a wide snarl drawn along its muzzle.
Grasping another stone, she threw again and this time her aim was true. The missile struck the animal in the side of the head, drawing an immediate yelp. Startled, and momentarily unnerved, it turned tail and fled back into the cover of the vegetation.
Muirne exhaled in relief but knew it was a short reprieve.
It will attack soon.
She forced herself to start walking again, controlling her breathing and maintaining a slow, measured pace while scanning the forest for any further sign of her pursuer. There was now no doubt in her mind that the wolf was actively stalking her. Unless she was able to find a secure refuge, it was only a matter of time before it attacked. In desperation, she halted to look up at the surrounding trees and wondered if she could climb the higher branches. Immediately, she discounted the idea. Scaling those brittle, lower branches would have been a challenge at the height of her physical ability, impossible in her present condition. In truth, such a course of action would have done little more than stave off the inevitable. The wolf had her scent. He would merely wait her out until sleep or the cold took her and she fell from the tree.
She struggled onwards, so consumed by the sheer effort of walking that it took a moment to realise she was no longer moving uphill. Raising her eyes she stared around to discover that she’d actually entered the pass she’d been seeking, the cutting spotted earlier from her resting place in the sun. A wide, barren gorge bordered by low granite cliffs on either side, it carved its way through the upper section of the ridge for several hundred paces before dipping gradually, veering downhill in the westerly direction she needed to follow.
Elated, she advanced with renewed buoyancy, slowing her pace for the downhill section where the thawing ice made the surface dangerously slick.
It was in this gorge that she finally discovered a potential refuge, a cave at the base of a particularly steep crag to the northern section of the gorge. In fact, it was more of an alcove than an actual cave, a tight hollow beneath the overhanging cliff face, enclosed from behind by the curving rock and, at the front, by a contorted wall of tangled tree trunks. Sometime in the distant past, a cluster of ancient pine trees had tumbled from the summit of the cliff above. Now they lay twisted, interwoven branches wedged tightly together to present a substantial barrier that reduced access to the hollow to a narrow gap between the logs and a bulky rock that protruded from the cliff.
Approaching this restricted opening, Muirne Muncháem threw a quick glance inside, surprised to find that the interior was larger than she’d expected and the floor comprised not of rock but compacted earth. Further investigation revealed that much of that space was cluttered, strewn with broken slabs of rock, the ancient droppings of previous animal occupants, and a substantial mat of dried vegetative matter blown in over the years by the prevailing wind.
As she edged into the enclosure, Muirne threw a wary eye back at the wolf. The animal had grown bolder, reducing the distance between them and now stood back along the pass, watching warily from a fish-shaped rock less than forty paces away. As she moved out of sight, it released an anxious whine.
It’s hungry.
It would not be long now, she knew. The beast’s hunger was almost at a point where its craving would overwhelm its natural caution and it would attack. Ravenous and tenacious, it would not be stopped, forcing its way through the tight little aperture to get at her.
Unless she could prevent it.
She immediately set to building a fire at the entrance, placing it close enough inside the rocky overhang to remain sheltered from the wind or rain. Scooping up the cave’s accumulated debris into a little mound, she overlaid this base with dried twigs and branches. She then proceeded to build a second, additional mound of fuel using larger branches and segments of wood broken from the ancient tree barrier.
From her satchel, she produced two sharp pieces of flint and holding them at the ready, assessed her situation. It would be a delicate business. The blaze would need to be sufficiently substantial to discourage her pursuer from entering, yet not so large or so high that the ancient trees might, themselves, catch alight.
A sudden rustling sounded outside. Startled, she panicked and struck the two flints together. Several bright sparks sprinkled over the pile of kindling and it ignited almost instantaneously. A moment later, the first yellow flames had taken hold and a small cloud of greasy smoke rose, tainting the air with a distinct odour of pine.
As the fire began to take hold, she added some of the smaller pieces of wood, gradually feeding larger portions until it was blazing strongly. Outside the shelter, above the sound of the wind, she heard a frustrated whine and she shivered with relief.
The temptation to sit and rest for a moment was almost overwhelming but she forced herself to remain standing. Her ordeal was not over. The wolf was still outside, growing ever more desperate. She had merely bought herself a brief respite, a respite she would have to utilise if she was to survive.
With an exhausted sigh, she reached into her bag and withdrew the iron dagger.
It was time to get to work.