The Golden Stag

by Mark Baggett

precious air into his burning chest at last.

  With that token bit of air came a rush of relief. He could again breathe! And with it came a lessening of the pain, of the twisting and the knots inside his guts. As he resumed his breathing, though still somewhat haltingly, the ugliness within – the very creature he would someday be – slipped ever deeper into the depths of his fragile soul. The wolfen was gone. For now.

  A full half hour after it had commenced Dmitri’s ordeal came to an end and he sat up drunkenly. His coat was sodden with freezing water and he shuddered and trembled in the aftermath, but he was alive. For that fact he was thankful.

  “Ah, the pup rises,” chortled the stag as it lingered near the trembling boy. Dmitri winced. He now owed this heathen beast his gratitude? Just how cruel was life determined to be? Hadn’t he lost enough already because of this… thing?

  Stubbornly the boy bit his lip. He adamantly refused to acknowledge that the murderer of his brother had just saved his life. Why should he? Had it not shown its ugly head he would never have lost his composure in the first place. None of this would ever have happened.

  “Your brother chose his own path, young one. Not I. Sadly he was not prepared.”

  Stunned by this leeching of his innermost thoughts Dmitri shook his head frantically. Was the cursed beast inside his mind or was he going mad? Perhaps he too was dead! And then all of this was…

  “Oh, pup that would be king,” snorted the stag as it swung its massive rack side to side. Stray sparks and stars were slung aside only to gravitate back to the sharp tips. “You are not in purgatory, whelp. Not as yet.”

  That said the creature ambled away aimlessly. But young Dmitri was suddenly deluged with the need for answers. Did he not deserve them for the torment heaped upon him? For all that he had lost?

  Reluctantly he was forced to chase after the enormous animal.

  “Wait!” he called out after the stag. His short limbs were woefully unable to match the formidable gait of the Golden Stag.

  The beast swung its head to one side and spied the struggling child. “You are also unprepared, pup.”

  “Wait,” he pleaded a second time as he fell into the deep drifts of icy snow. Unable to trudge a meter more he watched bitterly as the stag picked up its pace and easily extended its lead on him. Soon it vanished into the dark woodland and he would not see it again for long months.

  Following this episode, and scolded by his sisters for broaching the subject of the Golden Stag in their home, Dmitri was further shamed into depression. While his red eyed, drunken father had seemed to listen intently – though silently – to his boasts, his mother, Ulyana, appeared to blanch as if having seen a ghost. Tearful and as white as a sheet she had fled the communal area of their home with a terrified whimper.

  This spurred Dmitri to withdraw as well. No one believed him. Not a soul.

  Sulking he left the room and sought out a spot to be alone. Someplace where he could think. But he quickly became bored with the chore of contemplation. It seemed he was not born to be a thinker. Ah, be to be outside that was the life.

  With a lopsided grin, proud of having solved the riddle of his displeasure, young Dmitri decided that to be in the forest was exactly what he needed at the moment and set off to collect his coat and hat. It was dark, and frigid, out tonight. But when was it ever not so in winter? He would simply have to be doubly careful.

  Without a worry in mind he rounded a corner and plowed directly into his father who leaned against the wall for support. Half hidden in the shadows his elder scowled at his second – now only – son.

  “Where do you think you are off to, you little beggar?” Daniil slurred angrily. The man reeked of liquor and sweat. Dmitri’s sense of smell, while completely normal for a child, was disgusted by the foul odor thrust into his face. Cringing backward Dmitri crinkled his nose, which his father absolutely saw.

  “You little shit!” bellowed the angry drunkard as he forcibly shoved his son back into his room and slammed the door behind them.

  Leaning forward precariously his father railed and screamed, a horrid belch smothering the boy who cowed before the raging man. And then his father hit him.

  “See what you have done,” bellowed Daniil as he stared at a bloody gash upon his knuckles. Swollen eyed and dizzy Dmitri could not discern whether the blood was his or his father’s. All that was certain was that he hurt. Badly.

  Still fuming about his bleeding hand Daniil ranted incoherently over Dmitri.

  “You have again wounded your mother’s fragile sensibilities, boy. She will be all but inconsolable this night and I will be forced to sleep by the fire for warmth. Damn you.”

  Lifting his ham-sized fist to backhand Dmitri the man lost his equilibrium. In the time it took him to regain his balance he had all but forgotten about his son and soon lurched out of the room.

  Now alone the boy allowed himself a moment to cry. But he did this discreetly, for if his father were to hear a single whimper he would surely return.

  And so Dmitri turned inward. Here he cried and grieved for his losses, for his innocence, and wished futilely that Grigory were alive to champion him. Nothing of this sort would ever happen if his brother were still here.

  Over the subsequent months and years Dmitri became more desolate and lonely. His beatings in turn increased in frequency and harshness. His stays out in the wild became more often as a result.

  His mother had died in bed just two years after his first thrashing. They said she had died of a broken heart. But Dmitri silently wondered if his father’s fist had been involved.

  This he held close to his heart for Daniil had ears in the back of his head, or so it seemed. Every whisper, every shrug of discontent, from the frail boy brought another beating. He learned quickly to avoid the man completely.

  The forest continued to call his name. And with his sisters finally fleeing the increasingly violent drunkard that had once been their father Dmitri now had little cause to return home. Why should he? For another harsh tirade? To allow the man’s iron fisted reign to continue? Dmitri thought otherwise.

  In time the house, in his eyes, was nothing more than boards and nails, empty of its soul, and eagerly awaiting its future demise into the forest floor.

  Stripped of his family and toughened by the back of his father’s right hand Dmitri began to wind up in trouble more and more often. Fights were a weekly event. Theft was a way of life and sleeping in the crook of a large tree a welcome torment in comparison with the beatings waiting behind that door.

  All things change. Everyone grows older, wiser and perhaps more worldly. But Dmitri’s sadness over the loss of his brother Grigory – balanced forevermore upon his narrow shoulders – never waned. The death had become a burden that he felt reserved purely for him and as such he aged quickly. Soon he could no longer remember how old he actually was anymore.

  Another thing that had definitely not changed was the peculiar happenstance of crossing paths with that mysterious beast, the Golden Stag. So often this had begun to occur that he often did not even notice the creature any longer. But like a concerned father figure the stag had become. Most often noted lingering in the deep wood, Dmitri the sole object of its attention, the stag would ever lurk nearby.

  In the beginning the boy had gratefully spread the tales of these appearances. But it was a sure cause for conflict, for the Golden Stag was a purely mythical beast and regulated to tall tales. And to lies. Thus the fights.

  No one believed him. And rightfully so. For although Grigory had clearly been killed by a huge stag in a fight no one had ever caught the killer. Nor had they even found the scent of the beast. And these were full blooded wolfen men. If they could not track down the animal that Dmitri proclaimed responsible then no one would.

  To add insult to injury he often announced his sightings to all who would listen. No other had seen the mythical beast once, let alone multiple times. Clearly he could only be lying.

  But unnoticed by him the
re were some who were indeed listening to his wild boasts. Perhaps too closely.

  Unaware of what he had done Dmitri had set into motion a series of events he never could have foreseen. For the youngster had come to the attention of two brothers, Eduard and Erik, deserters from the army if rumors were true. And no good thing ever came of their intentions.

  The two men became very curious to Dmitri’s tales for they believed there must be a kernel of truth to his boastings. And so they set out to prove whether the Golden Stag was indeed following the child.

  They would do this by stalking the boy’s every move.

  Weeks passed slowly. Dmitri was stunned by the prolonged absence of the stag. Having haunted him so frequently, and generally quite obviously, it was quite startling to not find it lurking in the shadows.

  Little had he known that he had been followed all this time. But their efforts being of no avail for the brothers they came up with a new plan: to enlist the boy’s father Daniil.

  The drunkard agreed enthusiastically. To possibly having the chance to confront the killer of his son? Of course he could not refuse. Daniil eagerly joined their plan. He would abstain from eating, from sleeping, whatever it took to track down that monster.

  And this was exactly what the brothers wished. They simply loosed Daniil onto his son’s trail and waited. He would do their vile work for them.

  Unlike the stealthy, though at times