by Cale Madison
“Is there a woman awaiting you in Mercia?” he suddenly asked me.
“Yes.”
“Then heed my advice, for her sake. Go back to her. There is nothing for you here but imminent death atop a frozen rock.” said the man.
“I told you. I’m here with a purpose and I shall not leave until it’s over.”
“Your persistence blinds you. What could be of such grave importance you would risk your young life for? A blood-thirsty beast prowls these hills and, mark my words, will dismember you without a moment’s hesitation.” he asked, advancing towards me.
“Her life depends on this.” I answered.
“You do this for love? How nice. Well then, seems if we’re to wait out this storm, we should learn more about one another. Assuming you decide not to leave, flee with your life intact.”
I nodded. He seemed to relate to this reasoning, avoiding eye contact with me as I approached the fireplace. Resting on the hearth was a golden plate with an inscription engraved into the cold material. I read it silently:
Do not be afraid of what stirs in the dead of night
True nightmares come with the morning light
“I loved once. Not in the form of a wife, but a brother. We grew up closer than I thought possible. He was the favorite of our family. I was given lashes and ridicule while he was promised the world. Me, the youngest, would be caught climbing the castle walls and made an example of. He learned from my mistakes, you see. It wasn’t until…” he halted, his voice trailing off as he found the following words, “everything changed that I realized what shame meant to a family such as ours.”
I understood everything in that very instant. Waves of realization flooded into my head like a monsoon washing over an island. His scars, his remote cabin in the mountain; it all made sense.
“You don’t strike me as an imbecile, Mercian. You know what I am.” he said.
“You’re him. The monster.”
His eyes brightened against the flickering of the fire. My hand gripped the steel poker tightly as I prepared myself for what may come next. The man did not appear aggressive but I would take no chances.
“Why have you come to my mountain? I’ve seen hunters and even some adventurous travelers crossing the countryside but you do not strike me as either. You’re a long way from your home, Mercian - why are you here?” he asked.
“You’ll get nothing from me. I know what you are.”
“Do you now!?” he shouted, slamming his hand against the wall, enraged at my statement. He tried to calm himself before continuing to speak, “You think of me as this mindless beast! You and every fucking degenerate that hikes this mountain, all the same!”
“I just seem to have a track record with distasteful characters.” I replied, calmly. His tone began to shift, as if slowly declining from a raging anger.
“Tell me why you’ve come, Mercian. I won’t ask again.”
“A flower. One that blooms here,” I answered, understanding that by withholding further information would only complicate the matters at hand, “once I have it, I will leave and never return. You have my word.”
“Scarlet Aven,” said the wolf-man, “tell me why.”
“How did you know?”
“Honestly, Mercian, there are not many flowers that thrive here. Lower your weapon. It won’t penetrate my skin and you won’t live long enough to realize it.” he replied. I shook my head, realizing that the power in this fight had suddenly shifted. He was right; I dropped the fire poker.
“Who are you?” I asked, tired of being the one always answering questions.
“Do you really wish to know or is this some ruse to distract me?”
“I want to know.” I answered.
“I came here many, many years ago. I sought refuge in the shadows of this mountain and brought with it my curse. It’s only fitting that stories would bring treasure-starved fools to my doorstep, waving their pitchforks and torches.”
“What did you do?”
“Only what was necessary,” he replied, “my brother searched for me. I remember watching from the trees as search parties turned over every stone to find me but, eventually, he lost all hope. Search parties became smaller and smaller while the days in between, few and far. Eventually, they held my funeral and pronounced me dead.”
“You’re Ulrik. King Ramses’ brother.” I stated, finally coming to the sudden realization. They even slightly resembled each other. He nodded.
“What does the Aven have to do with your curse?” I proceeded to ask.
Ulrik paused for a moment as if he hesitated to tell me more.
“My fate is tied to that rose, Mercian. It was my mother’s favorite of all flowers. She used to pick them from the palace gardens and paint them in her study. Almost a decade ago, she caught an awful fever over a harsh winter, one she would not recover from. Rather unskilled in the practice of necromancy or dark sorcery, I sought the help of a magical creature who could breathe life back into her soul.” he told me.
“Magical creature,” I interrupted, “you don’t mean a Djinn?”
Ulrik’s face became hardened as the words left my mouth. He nodded, then continued unravelling his integral story. I felt as if we had more in common than we both thought.
“We had an accord. That night, my mother appeared at our easterly gates, but she was not as I remembered - just this walking monstrosity, denied of eternity among the stars and expired past her time on earth. She roamed in the forests outside of Ataman, frightening young children and travelers. Her voice and mind were tarnished from death. I found the Djinn and wished to bring her peace but-”
“He refused,” I interrupted, “used her condition as leverage.”
“You know him as well, it seems. He required three impossible tasks which I could not achieve by the seventh day. I was condemned to this hellish nightmare and that flower on the highest peak must remain untainted by human touch by the Djinn’s decree. If someone were to take it, I would cease to exist and my mother would become his eternal property,” Ulrik explained, “thus, I’m cursed to protect it from the hundreds of adventure-seekers out looking for it.”
“Your mother, she’s still here?”
“Nowhere near us. The Djinn forbade her to ever lay eyes on us again. She will spend the rest of her days avoiding her own sons,” he explained, his eyes dropping to the floor in pain, “sometimes I can see her from the easterly edge of the mountain, down in the valley. Never stops walking. Never lifts her head.”
“I also summoned him,” I replied in an attempt to prove that I relate to his story, “my wife fell ill as well. He gave me three tasks, one being to bring him the Aven.”
“He wishes for you to find it?”
I nodded.
“You must understand that I cannot allow you to take it, Mercian. My mother’s soul depends on this. My reason for existence is to keep her safe and out of that devil’s hands.” he argued, slightly darkening his tone.
I thought carefully, realizing that Ulrik would not allow me to fulfill my second task with ease. A determined and stubborn man he was, but not as motivated as I. Without words, I merely shook my head in disagreement. It was at this singular moment when the tides of fortune began to turn on my behalf. Ulrik’s eyes blazed with rage after I did this, understanding that I fully meant to finish my assigned task. He lunged and wrapped his large hand around my throat, shouting, “You will not take the Aven, Mercian! He’s sent you in his place to kill me!”
The skin on his hand began to shift as if he was starting to transform into the monster. Somewhat sunned by this sudden attack, I managed to maneuver out of his grasp and sprint for the door; my eyes darted across the room, searching for another weapon or some fateful means of survival. Ulrik tackled me, knocking my legs from underneath and forcing me to the hard floor.
“He won’t get away with this!” he cried out as stringy hair began to protrude from his shoulders and arms. His human mouth twisted into an elongated shape, a snout starting to form
in place of his nose and pointed ears replacing his own.
I buried my knee in his stomach and he collapsed beside me, struggling to breathe. As he fought to inhale, I reached for the fire-poker and retrieved it before my attacker could rise again; in one motion, I impaled his left hand into the wooden floor to restrain him. Apparently, it could penetrate his skin, after all. I then escaped through the front door and quickly disappeared into the cold darkness as he continued to scream, “He won’t get away with this!” The wind howled a fierce song through the night air and multitudes of brisk gusts ran across my trembling skin. Mounds of white snow fell from every direction, making it difficult to see my path ahead. The dark shades of sky above twisted with the clouds as the cursed mountain continued its never ending reign of winter.
Howling echoed in the distance, ringing through the peaks and summits below as I climbed. I could imagine Aketa walking across the streams at home, wondering how I fared and what came of my ventures across the seas. The farthest I had ever traveled before this endeavor was to the market square of Mercia. She was now my only motivation to endure this harsh cold, being hunted by a ravenous beast.
The air became thinner the higher I traversed. Continuously, I would shake piles of snow from my shoulders and feel a hundred pounds lighter. After what felt to be hours of treacherous ascent, I finally reached a point I thought to be the highest summit. My arms were heavy and my strength had all been exhausted, yet I dared not rest or steady my determined pace. With a last heave of resilience, I dug my hands into the cold snow and climbed to my feet - with nowhere else to go, I recognized this as the peak of North Mountain.
Overwhelmed with vehemence and starry fortitude, I turned back to see how far I had come; below the summit, the path looked so small. A fall from this height would certainly kill me. Dug into the icy snow across from where I stood rested a captivating box made of glass and within, a beautiful scarlet flower laying atop a silver podium. The wind roared its fierce song, lashing my eyes with snow and burning my uncovered skin in a frenzy of ice.
I approached this glass case, my eyes fixated on the Aven inside. Something about it continued to draw me closer to it, almost making me feel as if it were calling for me through the roaring wind. It sat, untainted and magnificent, beckoning to me from across the mountain top. Snow fell but never collected on the top of the case; the curse caused the falling ice to pile in a large circumference around it. After pulling a heavy stone from the snow, I raised it above my head, preparing to break the glass and retrieve the flower but a raspy voice interrupted me.
“Please, don’t.”
I turned to see Ulrik, in his werewolf form, on his hind legs, emerging from the darkness. He appeared to be breathing heavily, the wound on his hand bleeding profusely onto the white ground below. I could hear the desperation in his plea.
“You don’t understand. I need this for her.” I argued, raising the stone again.
“As do I. The Djinn has fed you lie after lie, can you not see that?” Ulrik warned as he approached, “his words are a steel trap you’ve fallen into. Break his bond and I will help you, I promise. Don’t bend to his will.”
I knew what had to be done, replying, “She needs me.”
“Mercian!”
I raised the stone above my head.
“NO!”
Before I could break the glass, a heavy, hairy body swept me off of my feet. We rolled for several yards, almost grazing the ledge of the mountain. I opened my eyes to see Ulrik bearing his blood-stained fangs and raising his yellowed claws above me. I then remembered the vial that Petri gave to me before his departure and instinctively, I opened its cap and threw it as hard as I could. A loud, piercing noise erupted upon the vial’s impact on his snout, shattering the stillness of the night air and temporarily blinding the stunned werewolf. He tore at his eyes as the hot liquid sprayed across his fur, filling his nostrils as the poison nearly suffocated him.
“You’ll let him win again,” he snarled while scratching the poison from his eyes, “we can thwart him together, Mercian!”
I remained silent.
“We have the advantage now. Let’s use it and bring him down. For your woman and for my mother. Listen to me - he is evil,” the werewolf rasped, blindly searching for me in the snowy darkness, “his words are poison. He’s a treacherous reprobate with no moral code!”
Holding my breath, I stayed quiet as he tried to catch my scent. The behemoth lumbered around, feeling the snow while searching with what senses had not been botched by Petri’s poison.
“You think you’re safe in the dark? I’ve killed hundreds of men like you, Mercian. You’re nothing different,” he said, “even before this, I knew how to hunt. You stay as still as possible and then...let your prey reveal themselves.”
My foot rustled a heavy pile of snow on the ground and the werewolf caught the sound; his ears perked upright as he paused for a moment to locate me in the blackness. With my back turned to the cliff’s ledge, I watched as Ulrik spun around and then blindly leapt towards me with full force. I fell backwards and launched him over me, using his weight against him as he flew through the air and toppled over the side of the mountain.
I scrambled to the ledge to discover Ulrik with his claw wedged in a protruding boulder, clinging to the mountain with all of his strength. He pleaded, begged and bargained but I had a singular, determined goal. I crossed the summit and approached the glass case, retrieving the stone from where it lay. With one swing, the rock in my hand collided against the glass, shattering every inch into a thousand diminutive fragments that swiftly dissipated into the wind. Behind me, Ulrik released one final howl before his body disintegrated into the clouds below.
Falling to my knees in utter exhaustion, I breathed a heavy sigh of relief before raising the aven from its podium. Light as a feather in my hands, I held it tight as the roaring wind rushed over the peak.
“Once again, you’ve proven yourself, Caine.” said a hauntingly familiar voice.
The Djinn descended from the sky to the summit beside me with a grin. My initial impulse told me to leave a scar upon his face with one of the many glass shards at my feet but I resisted the urge.
“Tell me the truth, Djinn. Why are you making me carry out your dirty work? Each task has involved a curse, a broken pact and an associate of yours gone rogue.”
His grin lifted into a smile as he joyously laughed, replying, “In no way, shape or form have I made you do anything, my boy. You are here on your own accord. For your own reasons.”
“That man did not deserve this,” I said, pointing towards where I had last seen Ulrik Ramses, “nobody deserves this.”
“What man do you speak of? The jealous younger brother of a king? His ill-fated mother can finally be at peace now.” the Djinn replied, “can you not see the good you have brought upon us tonight? The scandalous have perished and their wrongs rectified. We should be drinking over a warm fire, not bickering over spilt blood.”
“Spilt blood?” I spat back, my words slicing through the cold air between us, “you leave waves of death in your wake and send me to hell and back on errand missions, calling it spilt blood!”
“All for her, Caine. You’ve come this far; don’t ruin your chances for a good thing on the last hurdle.” he wheedled.
His words rushed over me in a cool, refreshing way. My brain, reeling with emotions and clouded judgement quickly depressurized as my wife’s face broke the surface. Her safety served as my only purpose anymore. Nothing else could matter.
“She waits for you. Every morning she sits on the hill overlooking the sea, wondering how you fare and where you are in that moment. She wonders if you think of her.” said the Djinn.
“I think of her every day.” I replied, his cold stare meeting my gaze.
“Then finish this so you can return to her.”
I nodded, approaching the cliff’s ledge to glance across the horizon. The falling snow began to lessen as the rays of the sun ascended into the
sky, dissipating the curse and its ominous, brooding command of the skies. The warm rays made me feel as if I hadn’t felt the sun in decades. The Djinn stood behind me, his arms crossed, watching me closely in my rumination on this venture. I returned to him and held the Aven in my outstretched palm. His eyes flashed with delight as he grabbed it from me and raised it to his nostrils, laughing while he sniffed it.
“Where am I to go from here?” I asked in a half-joking tone.
“You strike me as a man of education. What have you learned of the Southern Isles?” the Djinn asked. He always seemed to require an enigmatic question prior to giving instructions.
“The Southern Isles?”
He nodded.
“Eh, ran by a ruthless, crazy bastard but his name I cannot recall. I only remember pieces of what I learned from locals in Mercia...eh, a chain of uninhabited islands. Home to nothing but animals seeking refuge from the sea and tropical birds.” I answered to the best of my knowledge.
“Almost, Caine. The crazy bastard’s name is Skalige, the Baron of the Badlands, as self-appointed titles go. But the Isles are far from uninhabited, I fear. A rogue country that knows no law. Pirates, vandals and monsters alike tread those waters, preying on merchant ships and passing convoys.”
I stepped backwards, preparing myself as I replied, “I don’t assume my third task would involve such a treacherous place...or to even be simple.”
“Rightfully so,” said the Djinn, “for your third task is not as guided as the other two: you must convince Skalige to return to the Tower of the Crescent Moon.”
“You expect me to convince a warlord of that?”
“Caine. I don’t expect you to do anything, whatsoever. From this point, you are handling the business-end of a transaction that will inevitably be your wife’s saving grace or her downfall,” the Djinn responded, admiring the shattered remains of the Aven’s case, “if you should choose to continue, I will send you to the furthest boundary of my magic’s reach. The Southern Isles are mystic waters as dangerous as it’s inhabitants are and thus, interferes with my ability.”
