After a few more gaits, I pulled so hard on the reins that Smoke slid to a stop and reared up right next to the cowering Martin.
Time again slowed to a crawl; but this time it was for him. Terror spread across his face and his mouth fell open in shock. He had no time to react.
In one fluid movement, I pulled out my own musket, flipped it in the air, catching it by the cold barrel, and swung it in a low arc. With a sickening crunch, the butt crashed into the side of Martin’s head, causing his body to cartwheel and sprawl prostrate on the ground. Blood poured from his smashed skull and soaked into the dirt.
Smoke’s front legs slowly came down as my eyes locked with the hollow eyes of Martin’s ghost. It was not the first time I had seen a spirit—I’d seen a man die before. However, it was the first time I had taken a life.
The ghost looked bewildered, like it couldn’t figure out what had just happened—not realizing it was dead. The specter tried to figure out how I’d missed. It didn’t take it long to understand. Something caught its attention and it lowered its hollow eyes to the crumpled body that lay unmoving at its feet—and it knew. The spirit of Mr. Martin began to scream a horrible, unnatural shrill. I don’t know if it was a cry of fear or that of a damned soul; but I was sure I was the only one who could see or hear it.
The shock of what had happened began to wear off and men leapt into action. The fallen scrambled to their feet, groping for their muskets. Stealing a glance behind me, I could see the riders returning from my cottage. There would be no going south and joining the hunting party now.
I turned Smoke into the black night and, with a small kick, we shot forward down the main street, and through the fields, heading for the forbidding forest. Cottages and farms whipped by. As I neared the boundary, I looked back on the town; more lights were appearing through the windows of the homes. From the chaos and the noise, there was no doubt the whole settlement knew by now. Bad news always spreads quickly in a small village. In Syre, it appeared to travel faster than the pursuing riders. Almost by magic, I thought ironically. More horsemen joined the chase as they passed the town hall. With a fleeting look, I counted six.
We crashed into the dark woods. I knew Smoke could see in this blackness; however, I wasn’t so sure of my abilities. If a protruding branch knocked me off, it would take Smoke a few moments to realize what had happened before coming back for me, assuming he even did. Though, at this point, he seemed to be enjoying the ride. So, I let him choose our path and turned my attention to the daunting task of hanging on.
Smoke found a narrow, overgrown path, and we followed it. I settled down in the saddle as low as possible, leaning forward, almost to the point of lying down—which I would have done, except for the heaving, powerful muscles that rose and fell, making it impossible. I was always amazed at the strength, speed, and endurance that Smoke possessed. It was exhilarating to be on such a creature. To hear the rhythmic, thumping sound that his hooves made, as they tore up the ground beneath us, was intoxicating. We catapulted through the trees. As long as I hung on, there really wasn’t much of a chance the pursuing riders would catch us.
After a long while, they seemed to have come to the same conclusion. The crashing and cursing behind me faded. Even in their numbers, they wouldn’t risk traveling very deep into the woods at night. Too many things could go wrong and one could easily get lost.
Suddenly, there in the darkness, I wondered if Thomas and Mr. Shepherd were right. Had the woods grown dangerous over the last few years, particularly to the north? The few who ventured there never returned—or at least that’s what the rumors were.
The direction I’m traveling, I thought glumly.
I slowed Smoke’s gait to one he could hold for some time. Putting miles between me and Syre still seemed the best choice. After all, they might decide to try again in the morning.
Dark shadows encroached all around us as we traveled deeper and deeper into the woods. The trees grew thicker and the path disappeared. A canopy of leaves blocked the light of the moon and stars. Sinister branches reached out as if to pull us into forbidden paths. An owl hooted somewhere, hidden in the blackness. I was glad to have lost the riders, but a strange part of me wished they were there; at least they were something tangible I could fear. Now, before me stretched the unknown, unending, ominous forest.
After losing track of time and distance, and no doubt completely lost, we burst into a small clearing that was bathed in pale moonlight. I shivered. The temperature had been dropping steadily as the night progressed, but this felt unnaturally cold.
A mist hung low over the ground, swirling angrily behind us, as if disturbed from a deep slumber by our mere presence. I slowed our pace and looked around. After a few minutes, we stopped completely. Smoke’s breathing grew more regular. Steam rose off his gigantic, sweating body; and puffs of vapor shot out his nostrils. I strained my ears to listen…nothing. Except for Smoke’s breathing, and the cold settling around us (if there is such a sound), the woods were completely silent. Upon realizing that I had been holding my breath, I slowly exhaled, careful not to disturb the now sleeping mist.
The forest sounds (or in this case, the lack of them) could play tricks with the mind; but something didn’t feel right, and I decided now would be a good time to arm myself. I looked at the musket strapped to the side of the saddle, a tool that had a tremendous amount of power and distance; but there were drawbacks to using it. For one, I wasn’t terribly fast at reloading, and even worse was my marksmanship. Unless both the target and I were stationary, the target had a very good chance of surviving.
Deciding against the musket, I turned in the saddle and reached for my crossbow secured to the outside of a pack. Unlike the musket, I was a much better shot with it and could reload quickly. Quietly, with a few fluid movements, I strung the bow. Any bow kept strung up for too long would eventually lose its spring and would be worthless. However, a bow not strung up in time of danger could lose its master—a situation I considered to be infinitely worse. I strung it twice, because it was really two bows mounted to the same stock, giving me the added advantage of an extra shot. Its master began to relax, but only a little.
I gently squeezed my legs against Smoke, giving him the signal that it was time to go. Slowly, we crossed the remainder of the clearing. A strong, nauseating scent of something rotting drifted across my nostrils.
Smoke felt uneasy, too, and he started to whinny a little. His ears swiveled in all directions, trying to detect some minuscule sound. I could sense his muscles tense and his movements become jerky. I wished he were more quiet, but realized there was nothing he could do about his breathing, or the occasional swishing sound that his legs made as they moved through the grass.
I felt like I needed to hear something—something I was missing…even something, perhaps, out of place. Straining my ears, I looked around, trying to detect what it was. I pulled the crossbow closer. Despite the cold, my palms were sweating. Ridiculous, I thought. I’m just scaring myself. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was out there. It felt like having all the pieces to a puzzle, but unable to put them together. Why do I think that?
***
It all clicked in my head at once: the dead silence of the night, nothing moving—as if all the animals and birds were holding their breath, waiting for a predator to make its move. With a start, the puzzle pieces fell into place. I realized that the swishing sound wasn’t only coming from Smoke—there was something else. Moreover, I could hear breathing: a very quiet, occasional rasp that had also been masked by Smoke.
Before I could finish kicking him in the flanks, Smoke was off like a ball shot out of a cannon, as if he were saying, “What took you so long?”
We flew across the remainder of the clearing. Straining my eyes, I looked back, trying to see what it could be. Bear? No, bears usually don’t stalk humans. A mountain lion? Probably not, we were too big for one of those. Possibly wolves, but that didn’t feel right, either. Whatever it
was, it seemed like it was just waiting there. A clearing would be a good place to wait for prey, at least from a human standpoint; you could see farther than you could through the trees.
Just before we sailed back into the dark forest, I caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of my eye, not too far from where we had stood. A gigantic, black figure rose out of the mist. It appeared to be almost as tall as me sitting on top of Smoke, just standing there motionless, watching us flee. The moon reflected off its eyes, making them appear ghostly silver in the light. The silvery shine of an animal’s eye at night was a sight that always disturbed me a little, no matter the animal. However, this was completely different—the beast looked like that of a demon rising from the smokes of Hell. However, what I feared more than the eerie scene before me was the void I saw in that brief glimpse into its eyes. Whatever the monster was, it had no soul.
Chapter Four: Monsters
A shiver ran down my spine that extended through my arms and legs. Tearing my eyes from the creature, I urged Smoke to go faster, hoping that whatever it was, it could be outrun.
Almost immediately, upon leaving the clearing, it began to warm. I couldn’t tell if it was really getting warmer or just the jubilant feeling of escaping the wretched beast.
Poor Smoke, I thought. He had already been pushed beyond what he should. Still, I felt sure he preferred this to facing whatever it was in the cold mist.
We traveled on, not daring to stop for some time. Eventually, the faint sound of a bubbling stream reached my ears, and I decided I shouldn’t push my luck, or Smoke’s, any further. We slowed to a walk. Reaching the stream, I dismounted and took out some dried apples to eat, while making Smoke cool down before I let him drink.
Though we both needed a break, stopping here for long could be perilous. It would be too easy for someone (or something) to mask their approach in the sound of the stream. What’s more, I still didn’t feel far enough away from the clearing. Whatever was back there terrified me. It would be getting light soon, and I promised Smoke we’d stop then.
After a short rest, I took Smoke by the reins and led him away. I wouldn’t make him carry me any farther without a longer respite if possible. In the meantime, I kept the crossbow gripped tightly in my free hand.
Eventually, morning came and, as promised, we stopped. With the growing light came some unwelcome news.
“Rain,” I muttered to myself.
Dark clouds gathered, blocking out what I had hoped would have been the welcoming warmth of the sun. The clouds weren’t even the gigantic, puffy thunder clouds I loved so much. Instead, they were thin and gray and went on forever, covering the whole sky and sucking the life out of everything, including me.
I unloaded the packs and gloomily thought of my cozy cottage in Syre, with its warm little stove and, more importantly, its roof. Stripping Smoke of his gear, I let him wander around, feeding on whatever he found palatable. I selected a tree that looked a bit more comfortable and a little less moss-covered than the rest, and slumped down to the ground using it as a backrest.
Opening my packs, I checked my food supply and found it exactly as expected: enough for one meal, maybe two if I could exercise some self-control. Most of the supplies I’d planned on taking were still waiting for me back at my cottage, ready to be loaded onto another packhorse. Also, I hadn’t intended to go in this direction. Fleeing to the south and meeting up with the hunting party had been my original, hasty exit plan; or, if that went awry, perhaps on to another settlement, where I could miserably exist until they, too, learned what I was. I thought of the irony and wished I really were a warlock and could magically pull a steaming roast from my pack. Instead, I ate dried fruit and a few pieces of dried meat. As it turned out, I didn’t have the self-control I’d hoped for—I only got one meal. I made a mental reminder to kill the first thing that moved for dinner. Smoke wandered past…other than him, of course.
During our long journey through the night, I gave some thought as to where I should go. I came up with four options: I could continue up north and live off the land; but with winter around the corner, that choice didn’t really sound too practical. I could return south and try finding the hunting party; but then I’d have to travel close to the clearing and the creature that lived there. I shivered involuntarily. Plus, the riders may think of the same thing and start watching the surrounding country. Thirdly, I could travel east; but there I ran the risk of meeting those from previous settlements I’d fled. The fourth possible choice seemed the best: travel west for a few days and then turn south. I would find a town where I could get news of Syre, or perhaps someone who would deliver a message to Mr. Shepherd for me. While in the midst of pondering the last option, I allowed my head to droop; and I gave in to sleep.
While I slept, I dreamed of a strange cabin lost deep in the forest—a forest much like the one I found myself in now. For some reason, I knew I was supposed to go in, but found the prospect frightening, and I didn’t know why. Hesitantly, I walked up the stairs, across the porch, and slipped inside. At first I thought there was no one home; but after a moment, I heard the faint sound of women talking. As silently as possible, I crept through the cabin, toward the soft whispers. Stopping outside a door, I listened, straining to make out what they were saying. I heard my name and realized they were talking about me. Curious, I warily pushed the door open, unsure of what to expect. As I peeked inside, the hushed voices suddenly changed to screams of terror. The door burst into pieces and I was greeted by a gigantic, dark, shadowy monster staring at me with silvery eyes. Stumbling back in fear, the house erupted around me into flame and smoke.
I woke in a panic and found Smoke gently licking my cheek with a big, wet tongue. I reached up and stroked his muzzle affectionately, while trying to banish the dream from my thoughts. “What time is it?” I muttered, knowing I would get no answer other than another big lick on the cheek. Somehow, hearing the sound of my voice brought me comfort. It helped me realize the whole world hadn’t gone dark and silent, at least not entirely. The clouds had darkened even more during my restless slumber, bringing the smell of impending rain and making it difficult to tell how long I had been asleep.
With a sigh, and some protest from my aching muscles, I slowly lifted myself off the ground and picked the direction that looked most west to me. After tacking up Smoke, and with reins in one hand and the crossbow in the other, I set off on foot, still trying to give him as much rest as possible.
The rain started to fall lightly. In response, I pulled the hood of my cloak over my head and did my best to wrap it tightly around myself, just in time for the rain to intensify. In this condition, we spent the remainder of the day traveling.
When the light eventually began to fade, so did my promise to find something edible. I found it strange not to see another living creature all day, not even a squirrel or a bird. They must be seeking shelter from the rain, I reasoned. My stomach growled, as I sought in vain for anything to eat—edible plants, fallen nuts, or a berry bush—even the remains of a dead animal would have been savored.
We stopped for the night when the forest grew so dark that sight beyond a few yards grew impossible. At first, my cloak had kept me dry; but after hours of rain, I had grown miserably wet and cold. It started with my breeches, undergarments, and boots, then steadily worked its way up to my shirt until I was soaked to the skin and shivering uncontrollably. I huddled at the trunk of a large maple, as the night slowly progressed and the temperature plummeted.
I tried everything to get warm, from hugging Smoke (who refused to lie down on the wet ground with me), to leaning against the tree. Ultimately, I settled under the partial protection of a white pine with my arms wrapped around my knees.
The woods were silent, except for the soft, never-ending sound of raindrops falling on foliage. In the total blackness of the night, my mind began to wander, and I thought about the complete and utter isolation of the deep forest enveloping me. If something happened, no one would be aroun
d to help; if hurt, no one would hear my screams. I thought of the soulless creature in the moonlit mist. Could I kill it if I had to? If not, would it kill me quickly or would it be slow and painful?
The mental exercise just made things worse. Shaking now from both chill and fear, I retrieved the crossbow. I also grabbed the musket, even though I wasn’t sure it was dry enough to fire. It would still make an effective club, I reassured myself. I crouched back down and resumed my position, as well as the torturous thoughts of hunger, loneliness, and the beast. After what felt like an eternity, the rain eventually stopped and, shortly thereafter, the blackness of the night began its retreat to the light of day.
When I was finally able to see more than a few feet in front of me, we resumed our march. Again, I walked. This time it wasn’t so much for Smoke as it was an attempt to warm my own stiff and tired body. However, before long, exhaustion overcame me, and I climbed onto Smoke, spreading my damp cloak over his back, which made me look something like a tent atop a horse. I hoped the heat from his body would rise, get trapped in the cloak, and generate some warmth.
As the day wore on, the clouds again darkened, and soon the rain resumed. By the time the light started to fade, I was once again shivering beyond control. I removed the pack, saddle, and bridle from Smoke, trusting he wouldn’t wander off too far, or get spooked and bolt.
There I waited, through an insufferable amount of time, hoping the sun would end my misery. Eventually, the rain did stop and the clouds broke up, revealing the stars, and sending the temperatures even lower. The shivering stopped—a dangerous sign. Briefly, I fought the overwhelming desire to sleep. But in the end, I found myself not caring. What’s there to live for anyway? I let sleep win, bringing with it a black unconsciousness that washed over me and enveloped me in a welcomed oblivion.
Marysvale Page 4
