Playing With Fire

by Adrienne Woods et al.

  Despite not understanding what it might mean, the men leap forward at the same moment the screams, and grisly shrills turn to something unrecognizable, sending shivers down the spines of the three Viking warriors. They quickly advance in that direction. With swinging sword, Audun breaks through one more barrier of foliage; flowers, leaves, and prickling twigs taking to the air in his wake.

  “Help me.” Audun’s strangled voice comes from beyond the bushes. Erik moves forward slowly, the smell of blood stinging at his nose. A few steps more, through the brush and the rays of the midday sun, they behold gigantic paws crowned by bloodied claws, lying motionless on the forest floor before them.

  Audun is trying hard to pull the bear, without success. Erik wants to help, but as he moves forward, king Ivor yanks Erik back to take his stance beside him.

  “Leave it be.” King Ivor says.

  Ivor and Erik take in the astounding scene before them; matted pieces of black pelt lay on the leaves at their feet. Erik and The King share a look while Audun tries hard to remove the branch from off the bear, then screams at Erik. “Help me Chevalier; the bear is crushing our prince.”

  The king steps forward then pulls Audun’s hand; the force of his yank causes Audun to falter, and drop the branch while falling to his haunches.

  “Look.” King Ivor tells Audun with a slap to his bearded jaw.

  Audun’s eyes fall to the movement coming from the bear piled on top of prince Khan. Only a piece of Khan’s blue tunic and a spray of broken blue beads peek out from under the form of the gigantic black bear. “What is it? What I am to see, my lord?” Audun cries out.

  When he directs his eyes back to the scene, a river of blood stains the soil a cherry black, and as Audun’s stare intensifies he sees movement. As the black bristly figure rises, they see their young prince has his feet under the massive form of the bear, and with an inhuman scream, giving one more thrust of his scrawny legs, the bear collapses to the ground, kicking up dirt and forest debris as its lifeless form smacks down on the earth.

  In reaction, Erik takes a step back, wanting to look the other way, but the three grown Viking warriors can’t tear their eyes away. From the dead body of the hulking black bear, their eyes shoot up to watch prince Khan rise to a slow stand. With disbelief they are anchored to the spot, unable to fathom what they think they see. Khan’s eyes are two bright golden orbs gleaming like a full moon against a starless sky. Their glow emitting out into the woods around them. Khan’s hands have extended to claws resembling that of an eagles’, dripping with blood and forked with fur and pinkish flesh; Khan’s face is masked with garish insides and drool.

  “It’s not real.” Audun murmurs, licking at his lips. Fingers pulling at his beard as he sends a nervous look Erik’s way. “The shadows are playing tricks…”

  Ignoring Audun, “You killed the bear, Prince?” Erik says with a hint of pride to his husky voice.

  Audun’s feet start shuffling backward, in his panic he loses his footing completely, but the king catches him before he can fall. And instead of finding an expectant look of horror on King Ivor’s face at what has replaced Prince Khan, the King has the smile of revelation. It is the look in the King’s eyes that gives it away- that of a hunter that has finally snared his prey, leaving Audun totally paralyzed, shocked to his core.

  “My Lord, you knew…” Is all Audun can get out before the king plunges his blade into Audun’s stomach and drives it up, tearing and slicing through clothes, flesh, and organs.

  “Father, no!” Khan leaps forward but stops when the King shoves Audun off his blade. Audun collapses to the floor in one bloody gargling pile.

  “Smell the spilled blood of your creation.” Ivor takes the knife and cleans the blood off his blade with the careful wipe on his pant leg. He then bends forward yanks at Audun’s ginger beard and severs it with beads falling to the floor like dying stars – life eclipse and forgotten in the rankings of Viking warriors.

  “That look on Audun’s face.” Ivor snorts. “He would have told the entire village of you, prince.”

  King Ivor spits to the floor, then looks to Erik’s ashen face beside him. “You were wrong, Erik; my grief did not madden me on that day.”

  Then Ivor looks to his son with the body of a man, the gleaming eyes of a vexing demon and blood-dripping claws of a beast. “I saw exactly that thing,” he points to the unrecognizable figure of his son, “The day my queen died, that was cowering in the corner.”

  The king says it so casually, it’s almost as if he planned the entire sequence of events, expecting with great satisfaction just this outcome.

  Kahn falls to the body of Audun, blood, and gore dripping from his face. The mournful prince gapes down at his strange black-stained arms tipped with thick, hard darkened claws. “You didn’t have to kill him.” Khan’s voice comes out in a low growl, debating if he should turn his claws on his own father?

  King Ivor steps forward, his blade pointed at Khan, “I was right. You are why your mother is dead.”

  Khan’s nordic eyes stare up at his father, then take in the pallid face of his guardian Erik.

  The King tilts his chin, “I don’t blame my queen for killing herself after discovering what she had spawned.”

  From the corner of his eye, king Ivor catches a glimpse of shared stares between Erik and Khan. He steps forward, severing their shared glances.

  “You have a choice to make prince Khan, be banished from our kingdom and be hunted for the rest of your life,” he stares his unrecognizable son dead in the gleaming golden eyes, “or yield to my commands.”

  Khan’s eyes flicker to his retracting claws, defeat blanketing his face, knowing he could never go a day without seeing his beloved Ashlan. And should he release the beast within him to kill his father, he’d lose her forever. She doesn’t deserve a monster which yields to murder.

  “What are your demands, my Lord?” Khan’s head bows in respect for his dead friend.

  “Ashlan.” The king’s tone is flat and slithering with spite.

  With a slow rise, Khan draws back his lips, snaring white teeth jutting out as he releases a low growl, ready to let the pull in his gut tear through him when his father casually says, “I think you have spilled enough blood today?” Ivor snorts with the flicker of his gaze hitting the body of Audun.

  “You killed him father, not me.”

  Ivor’s voice rises to a higher pitch, “I did it to protect you, what do you think would happen to you should the world know what you are?”

  Erik’s mouth opens to protest when the King swirls his head around to look his last remaining chevalier in the eye, “Ready the horses, we have a wedding to plan.”

  Ivor senses Kahn moving closer, and he drives his point home with words that he knows will save him his son’s wrath, and assure his son’s obedience unto him, “Or a funeral.”

  Ivor smirks before adding, “I doubt our people could recover from the death of another Queen...”

  The king swallows and sheaths his weapon. “I would rather Ashlan be dead than in the hands of a monster like you. Don’t you agree, son?”

  “Yes, my Lord.” Khan’s voice echoes into the begriming forest, drifting on a lonely breeze to be carried to a dark distance place among the trees.

  Chapter 3

  Wings of the supernatural

  Once Erik and Khan’s father had left him in the forest, the young prince takes it upon himself to give Audun a proper send-off, and pay his respects to the wild animal he was forced to kill. Without any tools at his disposal, he cannot build Cheveliar Audun a ceremonial pyre. Deeply saddened by the fact that Audun’s spirit would not be accepted into Valhalla through this custom, Khan acts on pure grief and does something no Viking before him ever has; he buries Audun in the soil, resting his body and bones beneath the base of a huge tree. Shaking dirt from his claws he takes to the forest, chasing down time as if demons were snapping at his heels.

  A desperate pang spreads across Khan’s chest in f
rustration; he needs to get to his beloved Ashlan before his father does. It doesn’t help his situation at all that his newly transformed state; clawed hands, and glowing eyes scared Audun’s horse away, so he is forced to go it on foot. Fortunately, he has not the time nor the luxury of giving in to his fears or lay victim to the constraints of such trivial things as dread. He would, for the first time in his young life be led by the ‘spirit’ he has harbored inside of him since birth. Viking Prince Khan is half-human, half-monster as his father put it, and even though this devastating fact threatens to cripple and crush him, he allows it to guide him instead. Searching deep within the curse of his hybrid self to save his beloved Ashlan from the real monster - his father. The fear for Ashlan’s safety is greater than the fear of what he has become, allowing him to run through the darkest, densest parts of the forest at inhuman speed without incident.

  The sound of the wind rushing past his ears causes all other noises of the forest to drown out, making it impossible for him to find his way. Khan slows down for a moment unsure of what direction he needs to go in; the jungle-like surrounds settling around him as he comes to a complete stop. Straining his ears to listen beyond his human capabilities, the lonely hoot of an owl calls in the distance, and beyond that, he finds what he so desperately needs to - the soft clattering of the horse’s hooves becomes audible.

  Taking off in a slow run in that direction, Khan catches the pungent scent of what remains of Audun’s blood on his father’s blade, he wonders for a moment if he’d ever forget the smell of it. In the shadows of tall trees, Khan keeps his distance but finds himself parallel to the horses in mere moments. Driven by recent events, and his urgent need to get to Ashlan before his father does, he feels ‘the pull’ of his already transformed self almost consuming him.

  King Ivor deep in the act of running the horses to his kingdom, senses something nearby. From the corner of his vision, he catches a glimpse of the looming shadow that gives chase, and on looking back, Ivor sees it narrowing in. With high confidence, the king knows the only unrecognizable beast remaining in the forest is son Khan. Excited that his plan seems to be going perfectly, Ivor drives his heels deeper into the ribs of his horse, increasing its speed into a race of death. The King feels confident that by running them at top speed, Khan will never see the next phase in his diabolical plan unfold. Keeping him off guard is the best way Ivor can be assured Khan will remain one step behind, snared in his trap.

  Khan is aware of the horse’s speed; his father’s horses are the fastest and most resilient breed in all the lands. It is what has given their kingdom the advantage over most, especially during strategic times of battle.

  Anger, frustration, and defeat plague Khan’s mind; tiring his body. With arms pumping, burning lungs and pounding feet, the struggle to keep up with the horses becomes increasingly harder. With the thought of Ashlan being in the bed of his cruel and crude father, he once again finds it in himself to push all self-doubt and insecurities aside - burying them beyond the place he keeps the grief for his mother. He finds within him the strength he has always shunned since birth - the young prince gives into the inhuman origins of himself, knowing it is the only thing he can count on to win this high-stakes race.

  As the trees start to fan out, allowing the light back into the woods he crosses over into familiar territory. The smell of oak trees and wildflowers drift past him, reminding him of Ashlan. The very thought of him so close to her elevates his efforts, and it is as if the very wind around him boosts him up from the ground and propels him into the trees. He quickly jumps from one branch to the next, his claws digging into their barks, and pulling Khan with such a great force he finds himself leaping from one tree to the next with not much effort at all. For the briefest of moments, all worries dissipate from his mind, and a smile makes it across the prince’s face as he indulges in his strength, agility, claws, and supernatural sight, propelling him through the trees effortlessly. His movements become almost mechanical, the stretch of his arms; grab and dig of sharp claws, and the kick-off into the next tree parallels that of a bird in flight.

  The airstream stings his eyes; branches cut his face and arms, the world around Khan a beautiful blur as his path becomes a tunnel to his destination. Before he knows it, he has ‘outrun’ the horses to such an extent he no longer senses them anywhere nearby. His sights on the bright light that marks the end of the forest, to where their fortress lies only a few kilometers away. He slows down just enough to sniffs the air, catching only smells of the forest and the tang of blood from an injured fox.

  Out of nowhere, he feels a force strike him down. His shoulder jerks back with a sharp pain, and he goes somersaulting down, hitting a branch with the taste of blood and then dirt. Getting up, he uses his claws to dig in and propel him back into the trees. He wonders if he’d gone so fast some objects might become invisible to the naked eye. It is after all trial an error at this point taking into account his newly found powers. In no time at all, Prince Khan finds himself moving so fast once more he is back in the tunnel of blurring forest, with the mix of familiar village smells that will lead him to Ashlan. Khan moves so fast, the air whistling past his ears is deafening. One more time, something sharp followed by another, and another hits in various spots on his body causing him to lose all balance and grip; and he comes tumbling down, hard. Breaking branches all the way down to the forest floor. With a loud yell, his voice is barely recognizable to his own ears. He gets to his haunches on high alert, unsure of the cause of his painful descent. Once again the smell of fox-blood scrambles his senses.

  Looking down to the tender areas on his body, he notices protruding arrows; their feathers’ beaded with their Viking tribe’s distinctive blue and silver beads. His claws are too big, he can’t find a good grip around the slim shaft to pull them out. Khan senses the slow burn of the poisoned arrows working its way into his bloodstream. Using his hardened claws, he gouges out the arrows protruding from his thighs, calf, and ankle. His body quivers with pain as his flesh and blood come out in chunks. With a deep breath, he feels ‘the pull’ in his gut intensify, leaving him breathless. He stares down at the arrows stained with his blood, knotted with the fabric from his gray trousers and the whitish pink of his flesh. His heart hammers so hard and fast behind his ribcage he is afraid the hunters might very well hear it. The heat and quiver of his body and wounds becomes unbearable. He looks up to the sliver of sky stealing through treetops and focuses on the wisps of white clouds drifting past, in prayer to the gods for strength.

  Once he gathers his senses, his heart rate slows down, and he notices the poison flowing through his body has burned off quicker than it could flow through his veins. Slowly he reaches up trying to climb the trees higher to get him away from the assault but with each pull and each push higher into the tree, another cluster of arrows hit him - in the back, neck, legs, and bounce off his hardened claws. He jumps down onto a low branch with a loud yell; and as another cluster of sharp poisoned arrows come his way, he uses his claws as a shield to hit them away. But it might be too late, his mind and body are numbing quickly...

  Ashlan he cries unto the skies as his body succumbs to the paralyzing poison. Falling from the tree, his body spins around to face the fall head-on. He hits head first, with an explosion of stars, blood, mud, and water in his vision. He finds himself face down in a puddle, and in its reflection, he notes not one, nor two, but ten poisoned arrows buried bone deep into his flesh with blood and ichor spilling into the water and soil around him. As the sensation of drowning overcomes him, his thoughts turn to this unforeseen situation. His father had laid a trap for him - somehow he knew what would transpire. The betrayal leaves him outraged.

  His heavy lids surrender to the darkness, his spirit calls out to the gods,” Just this once,” he says under his breath, “Help me, please for the safety of the woman I love, I pray not for me, but for her,” swallowing against the tautness in his throat he continues, “Do what you will with me when it is all over.
I beg for strength, for this poison to have no effect on me so I may get to Ashlan."

  At the end of the darkness like a beacon in stormy seas he feels the spirit of the beast inside him, tell him to listen carefully. There are voices, and they are not near, which means the hunters have no idea what they have shot down, there is still hope for him yet, and in that moment he finds the soft hum that soon becomes so loud it is the only thing he can hear. The deep pulsating of the spirit’s heart inside him. He stands, and from his back a tear of skin, clothes and bone. He can’t be sure how or what, but he feels each arrow get flung from his flesh, the poison clear of his veins.

  Without much thought or hesitation, he leaps from the cold puddle and muddy ground, feeling the prick of pine needles on his naked feet. Now he realizes his feet are paws, strange furry, clawed mauls. He hears the voices come closer, the bristle of leaves crunching into the forest, the smell of fox-blood descending on him. Beneath the mask of animal blood, he smells seven humans coming his way.

  Khan climbs higher into the trees until he reaches the very top, where the sun catches his silhouette; casting his fully transformed shadow onto the clearing below. He has a tail and horns? Standing tall, his paws wrap around the branch without bending them, he raises his claws before him. Massive eagle-like talons as hands. He uses them to leap one more time from treetop to treetop, his tail seems to give him grace, finesse, and a whole lot more balance. He moves without sound now, and in no time he finds himself finally at the edge of the forest, the sun beaming down on the wildflower fields before him.

  In the distance, the circular castle rises like a mountain out of the earth. Ready to leap, he realizes he has nowhere to hide from onlookers. Worse than that, Ashlan cannot see him like this. So he does the only thing he can, and looks to the heavens one more time praying he be human again. “Just this last time,” he whispers into the wind, “grant me my human form.” Unsure at this point if he’d ever be a man again, he has never transformed this far, into something this beastly before. Not even on the day of his mother’s death.