Aketa's Djinn (The Caine Mercer Series Book 1)

by Cale Madison

  It was in these few seconds, when all hope appeared to be lost, that I heard a strange whistling tune echoing in the distance. With the light from every candle in the tavern suddenly snuffed out and the air becoming frigid and thin, I could feel the overwhelming presence of omnipotence as it dawned upon us. The door swung open, revealing the Djinn standing in the opening with a bellowing darkness behind him. All of the patrons turned towards the agape entrance but none could see him.

  “Evening, gents,” he announced, knowing that they could not hear him either, “you have disrupted our plans tonight and, my-my, we are on a very tight schedule. I’m afraid your discrepancies have cost you dearly.”

  “Bloody wind.” one man said as he approached the door to close it.

  “I come to you, the bringer of death.” the Djinn proclaimed, stepping to the side casually as a hulking beast sprang through the doorway and launched the approaching patron into the air. The terrified screams of the men rattled my brain, gnawing at my eardrums as I tried my hardest to ignore them. Petri shrieked and hid beneath the torso of a gutless victim, prompting myself to do the same. From beneath a man’s limp body, I watched as a large, brooding monster leapt between the shadows and tore apart everyone in the tavern, splattering blood in all directions. Their cries of agonizing pain rang out into the still night. The chaos subsided within minutes; the creature then bounded into the night and left us alone amidst the slaughter.

  “Like untended sheep, they mindlessly flock together.” said the Djinn who appeared to have been spectating from the comfort of a chair in the corner.

  “Is this some kind of game to you?!” I shouted, coming from a place of shock and anger at his calmness to the situation. I spoke to him directly, “I am no monster-hunter, Djinn, nor am I some idiot. That was a werewolf you just brought here, wasn’t it?”

  “They deserved their demise. Remember, I prefer to act through proxies.”

  I looked around the tavern and noticed the piles of carcasses, their throats ripped open and intestines spilled out onto the floor, then replied to the Djinn, “You prefer this madness? At the Quinn Estate, you killed those guards before they even hinted to harming me and now this shit!”

  “Maybe it would be wise for you to trust my instinct; this isn’t the first time I’ve saved you. Now, we haven’t much time. I’ll await you once you’ve retrieved the Aven. Hurry now; time is running thin.”

  After the Djinn teleported away, I pulled the bloodied body from atop Petri to check if he had survived the onslaught. Once revived, the merchant shoved me aside and ran screaming for the door, cursing the fact he had ever wandered upon me.

  * * * * * *

  Snow. I had never seen so much of it. White, powdery ice that fell in heaps, fighting its hardest to drag me down the mountain as I climbed. Thin, nearly impossible peaks became slippery ridges almost instantaneously and the howling of wolves echoed through every chasm above and below. I could no longer feel my fingers or the soles of my feet. Wisps of hot air sprang from my mouth; with every breath as they became shorter and more rapid in the thinning atmosphere. It seemed that the higher I ascended, the harder it became to breathe adequately.

  I checked my weak pulse and rubbed my hands together, desperately trying to spark some kind of warm friction between them. My body shook violently as the wind howled all around me. The sky was no longer the beautiful, star-filled chasm that I remembered, instead replaced by a blizzard-spawning, hell of an eternal winter. Once the vertical climb was over, I lay on my back to catch my breath.

  “Fuck snow.” I said to myself, almost trying to make myself laugh. This cold reminded me of the freezing nights I spent gathering firewood while Aketa lay inside, prying the hearth with an iron prod. We never accepted defeat. We always tried to make a greater fire instead. I rose to my feet and tightly bundled myself in the heavy, fur coat I had borrowed from the tattooed man in the vacant tavern. Ignoring the smell of frozen blood, I pressed on into the darkness.

  Hours passed before suddenly, a man appeared from a ravine to cross my path, bearing his crossbow as I approached. This traveler appeared to be a huntsman, wearing various wolf pelts and grey skins draped along his belt. With a scruffy beard and dark, untrusting eyes, he kept his bow steadily trained on my every move.

  “Who are you?” he asked, quietly.

  “Does not matter,” I answered, grudgingly, “step aside.”

  “None come to my mountain with such disrespect. State your business.”

  Realizing that I was standing at the other end of a loaded weapon, capable of splitting my skull open in mere seconds, I then changed my tone, “Let’s be civil now. I’m Caine.”

  “What’re you doing on my mountain, Caine?” the huntsman asked.

  “I’m searching for something.”

  “Nothing here is worth searching for. All you’d find is a bitter death. I may look old but I am no fool. You’re looking for the wolf-man, is that it?” the huntsman asked.

  “What do you know of it?”

  “I know that only a fool would dare attempt such an endeavor without a weapon or the proper clothing. So you mustn’t be looking for death. What are you here for?” he asked.

  “A Scarlet Aven, I’ve heard-”

  He interrupted, whispering, “Shh…” motioning for me to be silent as movement could be heard from a ravine ahead. I held my breath, thinking momentarily of familiar hunting trips with my father as a kid. The huntsman crouched motionless, as if taking in every gust of wind and each animal’s breath on the mountain and we waited for our uninvited company. After several minutes of patient silence, a tiny rabbit emerged from a snowy bank and we breathed a collective sigh of relief before continuing.

  “You’re tracking it?” I asked.

  “Every full moon, I follow its trail. Sometimes, it’s maimed and leaves pools of blood and sometimes, there’s no trace.”

  “You’re certain it’s up here now?” I asked.

  “I am. It retreats to a cave on the summit with its wounded prey and feeds for many nights. Tonight, it hasn’t returned yet, meaning it’s still hunting.”

  “How do you expect to take down such a monster?”

  “With this,” he explained, pointing to his arrow, “the arrow tips are dipped in powdered aconitum and forged with one purpose.”

  “Wolfsbane - to pierce their skin.”

  “So you know the world, do you?” he replied, nudging my shoulder in admiration. He then returned the arrow to his bow in preparation for any further surprises.

  “Why hunt the beast?” I asked. The huntsman sighed heavily, a sigh that told me more than he yet said. It was obvious that it was personal, and that he had not had anyone to talk to in some time.

  “My son always loved to climb this cursed mountain before dark, the adventurous little bugger. He used to accompany me on hunts and always talked about bagging the ‘biggest trophy in all of Ataman’.”

  “Seems he was trying to impress his old man.”

  “Seems so,” he continued soberly, “but now he’s disappeared, been gone for twelve days now. My wife fears the worst but we haven’t given up hope. I will bring down the wolf or he will lead me to his lair. That’s how-”

  But just as the huntsman was about to speak the next word, a fierce howling rang out from the peaks above. Rocks cascaded down, followed by the panting of a large animal moving through the snow. Instantly, I could feel the presence of a creature among us; it was stalking us, watching from the shadows. This had to be the same monster from the tavern earlier. It moved from behind the mountain trees - a massive shadow. The huntsman grasped my shoulder and yanked me into the depths of the ravine in a rushed attempt of inconspicuousness.

  Just as I tried to catch my breath, my frozen ears caught another bone-chilling howl. The hairs on the back of my neck began to rise as I realized what was nearing us. The titanic creature stood on its hind legs, stretched its muscular, hair-matted neck and began sniffing the air. I could see its bloodshot ey
es, the glistening fangs as it snarled and the brute strength of its posture and size. The most I had ever learned of these beings came from child manuscripts and fable stories.

  Unaware in my examinations, I had not noticed the huntsman crawling towards the snowy bank that separated us from this beast. He raised his bow in the shadows, aiming the poisoned arrow with taught precision. Sensing my moment to escape, I began easing backwards toward the ravine; before I could duck out of sight, I caught a glimpse of a lone arrow cascading through the air. It stuck into the bulging chest of the beast, seeming to have momentarily wounded it.

  The huntsman started to retrieve a second arrow from his quiver but was sharply interrupted by a ferocious strike from the werewolf’s left claw. The powerful blow knocked him into the air and across the ravine - the creature quickly pulled the arrow from its chest. Within seconds, it then leapt upon the wounded huntsman and began tearing him apart with sharpened claws and gnashing teeth. His screams echoed through the mountain pass, pushing me to sprint faster in my escape. I rounded the corner, following the narrow ravine as far as it would take me, only to find myself staring across a cliff. I was trapped.

  Behind me, the werewolf’s growling became louder. It snarled with an endless rage, steadily approaching me - a predator stalking its prey. Dark, thick blood fell from its mouth, crimson starkly contrasting with the pure white snow. Some faint, shallow voice buried in the depths of my brain beckoned for me to jump while another voice told me to bravely face the oncoming threat. Reacting quickly, I spotted a slight chance at survival and lept to my right, catching a dangling branch that hung from the mountain-side and barely escaped the beast’s claws. I moved along the cliff’s ledge, further and further away from the howling monster.

  Once I reached stable footing on the other side of the cliff, I noticed that the werewolf had disappeared. Icy snowflakes cascaded down in heaps as a blizzard began to approach. Unsure as to how I was to find this blooming rose amidst this chaotic environment, I continued onward, climbing the treacherous mountain-side. From this height, I could see across vast miles of tree-tops and green hillsides below, lush forest terrain that remained untouched by this mountain’s curse.

  After what seemed like hours of bottomless trenches and trails, I spotted a building in the near distance. A lone cabin rested between two hills at the base of the final summit, contained by a fence that appeared to be weakened from years of poor maintenance. Rotting corpses of animals hung from meat-hooks outside of the cabin’s front door; each carcass filleted and skinned, revealing only gristle coated bones. My fingers had long been courting frostbite and, in my state of desperation, I blindly threw open the heavy door before collapsing inside.

  Once I had caught my breath for a few moments, I was finally willing to open my eyes and glance about the room. A roaring fire lashed out from a hearth and paintings hung across the walls above plush furniture.

  Who could live up here?

  Everything indicated to recent signs of life. I lowered myself against the wall in the corner, trying to regain full control of my strained muscles. Through the faint light of the flames flickering against the cobblestones, I stared into the empty room, waiting for the storm to subside. Minutes turned to hours as I sat, shivering and tightly holding my chest. Eventually, I lost count of the time. A few mere inches of wood separated me from the bellowing horrors of mother nature outside. This frightening thought constantly reminded me of my luck as the wooden planks in the walls shook violently in the frigid cold.

  In this moment of peaceful tranquility, I imagined Aketa in our garden. In the heat of the summer, she would be plucking tomatoes and smiling at me as I stood in our doorway. Reminiscing on the simple times always breathed life into my weary bones; soon without realizing, my eyes began to close and I drifted asleep.

  * * * * * *

  There she sat, atop the tree stump in the clearing near our home, patiently waiting my return home. Lovely as the yellow flower in her hands, Aketa smiled as I rounded the trail in my steady approach.

  I carried nothing to return but several skinned rabbits strung across my belt. She laughed as she realized this, as if she could hear my thoughts.

  “Flower for a squirrel.” she said to me, grinning with sarcasm.

  I paused for a moment to look her over. I studied every detail of her delicate face, the bones moving in her cheeks as she smiled and her thick, flowing hair. It was as if we were young again, new to the wonders of the world around us and its seemingly endless possibilites.

  “Rabbit, darling. This here,” I said while untying the carcasses from my waist, “this is a rabbit. Rarest of rarities in these woods.”

  “My rabbit slayer. Mercian wives married to soldiers boast stories of their husbands’ conquests in war. Now I have one of my own to tell.” Aketa laughed before grabbing my free hand to plant a soft kiss. She smelled of spring flowers and fresh rose bushes.

  “Family to feed.” I said, forgetting that my free hand was covered in rabbit blood as I ran it across hers. She laughed and shook her head, saying, “Two hours and this how you repay me? I definitely feel the love now.”

  “My, my, sarcastic today.” I replied, sitting down beside her. This particular tree-stump meant a great deal to us. Memories were made upon this wood that could never be duplicated or extinguished.

  “This old stump,” I said, “it’s funny how time flies. One minute we’re sitting here, wondering if your father would give us your blessing to marry. Now, you’re holding a flower and me with my, eh…”

  “Catch of the day,” she continued for me, “were you ever nervous?”

  “About what, exactly?”

  “What he might say? Surely, you thought about the possibility. What would you have done if he told us, ‘no’?” Aketa asked.

  “Kidnapped you - swept you away in a paper sack to the De la Nome islands, where it’s summer year-round, like we always planned.” I answered with a laugh. My wife shrugged and replied, “What could have been if only he didn’t approve.”

  “We’ll never know.”

  * * * * * *

  I awoke to the sounds of harsh grunting. Something heavy sounded as if it were being dragged to the front door of the cabin; I grabbed the first sharp object I could reach, which happened to be a fire poker resting by the hearth. Without a moment’s hesitation, the door swung open and a naked man collapsed onto the wooden floor. He appeared to be bleeding profusely from claw marks down his arms. I cautiously stepped to his side to examine.

  “What happened to you?” I asked, primarily speaking to myself as I checked for a pulse along his wrist and throat. I could feel a faint heartbeat hiding beneath his battered skin. The man coughed before rising to his knees. His brown eyes were darkened with mystery, hardened from years of hardship and his long, silver hair flowed with age and wisdom.

  “Why are you here?” he asked me.

  “I sought shelter from the blizzard. This is your home?” I answered, gesturing to the cabin. He nodded, spitting blood onto the wooden floor.

  “You must leave. It’s not safe here.” the man warned, fighting to control his balance as he rushed to the window. I ignored him and continued asking questions as he peered into the darkness, searching for something.

  “The werewolf?”

  He turned his head, nodded then replied, “It’s not safe for you.”

  “I’m not leaving this mountain. Not yet.”

  “Then you’re as dull as that poker in your hand,” he replied, turning towards me, “you will be killed here, boy. I’d recommend you take what little you have left and head home while you still have your life.”

  I stood my ground, my fingers running across the steel rod in my grip.

  “I see,” he said, dressing himself in tattered garments across the room, “you must be from Ataman with that sense of perpetual entitlement.”

  “Mercia.”

  “Ah, close enough.”

  The amount of sarcastic characters I came acro
ss in my travels truly amazed me. This man stood with such confidence, his wounds barely affecting his walk. Upon his thigh, I spotted a claw mark, deeply embedded into his skin.

  “Seems that we share a mutual friend.” I said, breaking the deafening silence.

  “So it does. What’s your name, Mercian?”

  “You can just call me Mercian.” I answered.

  “Everyone in your country as friendly as you?”

  “Welcoming, just not trusting.” I replied.

  “Well, Mercian, do you believe in the supernatural?” he asked.

  “Supernatural?”

  “Elements that cannot be explained through logic. Nothing that could ever be reasoned with science or analytic perspectives.”

  “I’ve seen my fair share,” I answered, “Why?”

  The man rested against the wall after shuffling the burning wood in the hearth, replying, “It’s been years since I’ve had a house guest. I ask this because of what you’ve heard lives on this mountain.”

  “Seen it with my own eyes.”

  “Oh, have you now? And what exactly did you see?”

  I studied the excitement in his voice. What - was he a fan of this creature?

  “I saw anger and fear. An unprecedented malice in his movements.” I answered, cautiously. The man nodded and returned his gaze to the whispering flames.

  “Territoriality. That’s all that drives him anymore.” he announced.

  “Are you not worried that his scratch will turn you into something like him?” I asked, pointing to his gaping wound. He shook his head then answered, “You believe in myths, son.”

  “I’m not sure what to believe anymore.” I replied. He ran his fingers through his scraggly hair and breathed quite heavily for a man of his size. I noticed this irregularity, dismissing it as paranoia.