However, it had now become apparent, at least to the woodcutters of the North, that this present darkness had not come to be an indifferent neighbor, but rather the harbinger of an evil predator. And what man, no matter how brave or noble, could assume he can abide long in a darkness that hunts him? The heavy weight that settled over the camp on this morning was indeed the very dimming of their naïve hope.
Cal stretched and groaned, willing the soreness away from his tired muscles and now-calloused hands. He walked among the yurts and tents of his new brothers and surveyed the life of the cutter camp in the amber light of the tree. Tired yet relentless men took their watch in the lone tower of the camp while the watch fires and braziers still blazed, doing their best to ward away whatever dangers the forest held that could still be spooked by burning coals. He inhaled the smoky, cool air of the faint amber morning, and thanked the THREE who is SEVEN that there were no more floating, green eyes peering in from the edge of camp.
Cal strolled the length of the corral for a moment. It’s hard to believe that so much carnage happened right here just yesterday, Cal thought to himself before slipping inside the crude fencing. Most of the beasts were up by now, and had somehow managed to make a forgetful peace out of yesterday’s chaos, breaking their fasts by chewing at the troughs full of hay grass.
The black Percheron walked up beside him, and Cal embraced the enormous horse with both arms the way old friends have been known to do.
“Well,” Cal said to the large, black horse, “Hollis says that you are mine now.”
The black Percheron stared back at the young man, seeming to be fully aware of every word that Cal spoke to her.
“If that is going to be the case, if you and I are going to be friends up here … well, I can’t just call you horse, now can I?” he said playfully. “I am sure someone gave you a name once?”
“Moa.” A voice from behind Cal spoke. “Her name is Moa.”
Cal turned around and saw Yasen standing just on the other side of the corral’s fence, holding a steaming flask of some kind of spiced drink in his hands. The steam from the drink carried with it the sweet aromas of anise, cloves and cinnamon bark, and brought with it a familiar feeling of home to this cold wild of the North.
“Moa, huh?” Cal turned and placed his hand upon her strong neck. “Is that your name?”
The horse rested her nose on Cal’s left shoulder in a gesture that softly said without words, I am.
His hands set about brushing the straw from the night’s rest out of Moa’s mane.
“What does it mean, this name, Moa?” he asked Yasen.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Yasen replied as he took a large draught of the steaming drink. “It means Mother. From what I heard, it was this horse that watched over you and protected you, almost the way a maddened mother would protect her little ones if danger were about.” Yasen spoke with a slight smirk. “The men said it was her that felled more of the shadow cats than our own axes.”
“She was brave,” Cal said, looking back at Moa with a curiosity in his eyes. “There is no debating that.”
“Indeed,” Yasen said. “Make sure you take care of that one there, groomsman, for it is not often that a horse chooses her rider. Usually it is the other way around.”
Yasen turned his gaze from the corral and looked over at the retreating forest. “A friend like that is worth its weight in gold out here, and by the look of that Percheron … I would say you are a pretty rich man.”
“Yasen?” the young groomsman asked tentatively. “What did you see out there? What was it that happened in the forest?”
Yasen continued to look out to the trees in the east; his face was pulled taut in troubled concentration. The sweet spices of his drink wafted in an almost irreverent playfulness as the hero of the North stared worriedly eastward.
When he finally did speak, the smirk in his voice was completely gone and his face reflected his grave answer. “I do not know, but whatever it was, you can be sure that we will need to be on our guard for its return.”
“I pray,” Yasen spoke now with a hint of compassion in his voice, “that your restitution will be paid in full long before we see that kind of evil again.” He continued without taking his eyes off of the forest. “For it would be a waste indeed, if some ill will were to harm the good in you, groomsman.”
He turned now to face him. “Let us pray that it does not return at all, for I fear our axes will not be nearly swift or sharp enough to fell this kind of evil.”
Cal nodded, not necessarily because he knew what it was that Yasen was talking about, but rather because he understood the unease that hung in his words. While he stroked Moa’s neck, the thought came over him that perhaps this uninvited feeling of unease would serve him well, keeping him on his guard from the unknown danger that had so terrified these brave leaders of his.
“Well, make yourselves ready,” Yasen said as he pointed to the two of them, doing his best to break the tension. “Our duty still must be fulfilled … and you still have some amends to be making to those Priests in the city.”
He continued speaking as he turned towards the gathering men, sounding like he was trying a little too hard to convince himself of his own confidence. “We must strike the dark with our blades this day, for I fear that the people of Haven might turn into something just as beastly as the phantoms in the forest if they do not get their rations of timber in time.”
Yasen turned once more to Cal and the two newly-made brothers embraced arms, as was customary for the men of Haven, and bid each other an uneventful day. As Yasen left, Cal turned to ready his large, black Percheron.
“You are a brave one, aren’t you, Moa?” Cal mused aloud in proud laughter. “I suppose Yasen is right, huh? I guess I am a pretty rich man!“
Cal stared into her black eyes and scratched the soft space just behind the ears of the massive horse. There in the noise and hustle of the cutter camp, an intimacy of sorts was born between the two of them.
Moa nickered, Cal smiled, and a friendship was solidified. “Come on girl, let’s see about getting you ready for today.”
Hollis had observed the conversation between Yasen and the groomsman with solemn consideration. He knew the North Wolf was right. The whole of the camp knew their holy assignment and how all of Haven depended on their efforts here in the last forestlands. The men would have rather mourned their fallen brothers, and truth be told, Hollis would have rather joined them. Some would have taken to building stronger defenses and Hollis would have preferred that as well. But timber was the most precious commodity that there was in all of Haven, and the woodcutters were not worthy of such an extravagance, no matter how justified the reasoning for it was.
So Hollis did what he could to provide some measure of solace and safety for his men. He ordered that the riders be dispersed across the entire forest edge, acting as both watchmen and protection for the woodcutters as they labored.
He nodded to Yasen as the hero mounted his horse. “The last thing we need is another one of those damned cats making off with more of our men. We have not enough backs as it is to meet the demands of the Priests.”
“Aye!” Yasen shouted back in agreement as he departed for the forest. “I’ll keep a sharp eye out for our brothers, Chief!”
“You make sure to keep an eye out for yourself, too,” Hollis whispered.
So as the camp emptied and the men once more went to battle with pine and birch, Yasen and his riders left to patrol the area and offer whatever peace of mind they may.
Cal and Moa had been given a new assignment. They were to safeguard the timber carts, keeping a careful watch over both drivers and beasts alike. Multiple times a day, smaller carts would travel to the forest edge to retrieve the lumber hewn by the woodcutters. Their assignment was then to transport the smaller hauls to the larger carts at the south of the camp.
The bigger carts could fare well on long roads, providing that they were relatively smooth and free of opportunisti
c highwaymen. Teams of oxen, who were made for the long haul, drew these larger carts every couple of days from the cutter camps to the walled city. However, they could not traverse the rocky and muddy routes of the forest edge, so smaller carts, drawn by teams of mules or draft horses, were employed to expedite the precious timber.
Cal and Moa kept a careful watch over the three mule-drawn carts that were here at the northernmost position. The day had been long and mostly uneventful. When Yasen rode up from his patrol to get a report from the woodcutters on the northern front, Cal was happy for the company.
“Yasen!” Cal called out. “I am glad to see you. What is the news from the rest of the camp?”
Yasen rode up at a casual gait, and the two men embraced arms. Both were relieved to be greeting one another without the drama of a fearful event.
“Thank the THREE who is SEVEN, today has been relatively normal,” he said as he pulled the flint from his neck, quickly kissing it in a superstitious fashion and then placing it back inside his coat. “How about you here? The north team, has it been without incident?” Yasen asked.
“Yes,” Cal answered. “Well, unless you want to count Brádách.”
“Brádách? What happened to him?” Yasen asked.
“He’s been agitated all day. He kept saying he was hearing noises in the woods. He swore up and down that they were real … that something was out there,” Cal told Yasen. “The men were getting scared, but not just because of Brádách’s words. No one else had seen or heard as much as a rabbit in the brush all day. But they were beginning to grow more afraid of the nervous way he was swinging his blade than they were of his troubled suspicions.”
Yasen’s eyebrow lifted in aggravation. He was not easily amused with stories of recklessness like some of his riders were.
“The men were taking bets on who would lose a limb first; the tree, one of them, or Brádách himself!” Cal continued, smiling at the thought of such a large man so easily spooked. Yasen did not appear to be equally entertained.
“In truth, Brádách was probably a good distraction, keeping the men’s minds off of last night. That was … until he mis-swung his axe and buried it in the top of his boot!” Cal said.
“His boot!” Yasen exclaimed.
“One of the riders took him back to camp a few hours ago. The men were not entirely sure that he didn’t bury that axe in his foot on purpose!” Cal laughed. “You should have seen him on the back of that poor horse.”
“I am pretty sure a few of the winning wagerers are going to get an extra portion or two today come meal time,” Yasen said as he tried to allow a real smile to cross his face. He wanted nothing more than to share in the distraction of levity for a brief moment, wishing to find the same measure of humor as Cal did. But something in the back of his mind—or perhaps it was on the back of his neck—did not allow him to fully give himself over to the moment.
A crack came from within the forest, and the two men stopped their conversation in a cold, concentrating silence.
Another crack followed the first. The horses and the mules began to get agitated, and Cal and Yasen shared a knowing glance, realizing that the apparent safety of the moment had vanished.
Yasen ordered Cal, “Stay here, keep watch over the beasts and carts.”
He searched the northernmost point of the forest edge like a hawk would scout for mice, carefully looking for the slightest bit of movement before he struck. Again, another loud crack, like trees breaking under the weight of too much snow, filled the tense silence of the clearing.
“You have your horn?” Yasen asked Cal.
“I do,” Cal answered.
“Okay then. If you see something, let it ring once and let it ring long. If danger comes upon you, give it two short blasts and I’ll come as quickly as I can,” Yasen commanded.
“Aye,” said Cal. “The same goes for you.”
Yasen glanced back at him with a slight twinkle in his eye, bemused and intrigued with the natural bravery this young man possessed. He nodded and spurred his horse onward. The North Wolf rode into the trees, leaving Cal with the carts, the beasts, and a bad feeling in his stomach.
“Maybe Brádách wasn’t as crazy as we all made him out to be,” Cal said to Moa. The black Percheron stomped and shuffled her feet with nervous agitation, making it known that she was just as uneasy as the rest of the beasts in the clearing.
Yasen rode stealthily through the pine forest towards the cracking sounds. The deeper he went, the louder the noises grew.
CRACK!!
A small elm snapped and hit the forest floor not one hundred paces in front of him. He heard the sounds of heavy footsteps breaking branches and crunching leaves as something made its way towards him. Yasen patted the neck of his horse and kissed the leaf-shaped flint that hung around his neck, easing closer to whatever creature awaited his arrival.
Yasen’s horse stepped upon a fallen branch, causing it to crack loudly under the weight of horse and rider. Its sharp noise rang loudly and Yasen cursed under his breath. For a moment—just a moment—all was silent. Yasen kept his mount still, waiting in the faint amber light beneath the trees of the retreating forest, hoping that whatever was out here had not heard him.
That hopeful thought was quickly interrupted as a deep growling roar woke the hairs on the back of his neck and sent ice through his blood. The thump and crack of something large moving deliberately through the underbrush of the forest played in harmony to the loud and anxious thumping of his own heart.
Thump and crack, thump and crack, the sounds of the charging beast grew louder by the second. His ears were filled with dreadful noises as the small clump of birch trees, not twenty paces from his position, exploded in a brown fury.
In an instant, the largest brown bear that the great hunter of the North had ever seen rose strong and angry on his hind legs. The monster of a beast stood at least thirty hands high. His large, yellowed teeth were bared in a horrifying snarl as he let loose a roar loud and dreadful enough to empty a grown man’s bladder or stop an old man’s heart.
The horse that Yasen was riding snorted and bayed loudly, obviously frightened and ready to run. Yasen secured his grip on his axe and his reins, ready to defend himself while doing his best to keep the frightened horse under control, but knowing full well that it was a rather futile effort.
The bears of the North were formidable enemies. Aside from the rows of bloodthirsty teeth and their soul-chilling scream of a roar, they had razor-sharp claws affixed to their mountain-sized paws. Yasen had heard the stories and seen the aftermath of those unfortunate enough to rouse the anger of the northern brown bears. Legend had it that they could part a grown man’s head from his body in a single deadly swipe. It would not take a mathematician to calculate that the reach of this angered beast out-spanned the swing of Yasen’s axe.
He knew that he could probably outrun the bear, as his horse was swift and more than eager to put as much distance as he could between them. That, however, would leave this monster loose to freely hunt his comrades as they unknowingly felled the trees of the forest. He could not leave his brothers to such a fate, so Yasen raised his horn to his lips and blew once—but before he could purse his lips again to sound the horn for the second time, the huge bear attacked.
With a violent roar, the bear took a swing at Yasen. It was in those brief moments, in the split seconds between the movement of the claws and contact with flesh, that a great and valiant act of sacrifice occurred. Yasen’s horse, Filip, reared up in defiance, kicking wildly with his hooves at the face of the bear. The horse’s body blocked the deadly swipe and took the full brunt of the vicious claws. Blood rained from the neck of the brave horse, showering both bear and rider in his sacrificial offering. His piercing scream echoed through the forest with horrific finality.
The horse toppled backwards, the life now gone from his huge, grey frame. He fell on top of Yasen, pinning his rider between the ground and his own dead body. The collision combined with
the crushing weight of the beast stole the very breath from the great hunter. And so it was with what little awareness and whispers of breath that he had left inside his crushed lungs that Yasen blew his horn for the second time.
Chapter Fifteen
Moa’s ears perked up, and Cal could instantly sense that her feelings of dread mirrored his own. He had heard the horn of Yasen only once, but he could not shake the feeling of danger. The sounds of the woodcutters felling trees in the distance created a constant din, but Cal could have sworn he heard something like a roar out there amidst the noise.
Just then, a second blast sounded, and horse and rider moved into action as one. Cal gave the large horse her head, and Moa wasted no time as she took off towards the bellow of Yasen’s horn. Cal quickly brought his own horn to his lips to signal twice for danger. Almost immediately, he heard the horns of the nearby woodcutters sounding back their response.
It took just a few moments for the swift and determined pair to reach Yasen. Cal knew that he could not have gotten far in the forest, so he was not surprised that he quickly found the North Wolf. What he had not counted on was the horrifying shock he felt at the sight of what his eyes beheld there in the shadows, under the cover of pine and oak. The largest bear that Cal had ever seen was standing tall and angry, covered red in blood and towering over his fallen comrade. Yasen, the hero of the North, lay crumpled beneath the mangled frame of his prized steed.
Moa reared and snorted with fury as Cal blew his horn again, desperately willing the woodcutters to hurry to his aid. The bear lowered his gaze and stared into Cal’s eyes, growling a deep and angry growl. That is when Cal saw it. The bear’s eyes! They were the same color green as the shadow cats’. The same unnatural, godforsaken green as before.
Cal yelled in panic mixed with anger. “You cannot have him!” He raised his axe and shouted again, “You cannot have him!”
Cal circled around the beast, doing his best to draw the attention of the demon bear away from his trapped friend. The bear swung at them, but Moa leapt backwards, just out of reach. The jolt nearly unseated Cal, but he held fast as his mount did her best to save them both.
The Great Darkening (Epic of Haven Trilogy) Page 12
