by BJ Hanlon
Edin opened his eyes and saw something he couldn’t understand. The crillio stood staring at him through a haze, as if Edin were seeing him through a piece of foggy glass. Edin blinked, then he looked around and saw a bubble surrounding him, only interrupted by the ground and ruined wall.
Everything outside seemed whiter and shimmered in the glow.
“What magic?” Edin said.
A second later, the shimmer disappeared. The cat was glaring at him again, it’s head tilting from side to side as it pawed at the air. It hissed and began circling around where the bubble was just seconds before.
Its four-inch claws raked the air as it moved closer as if expecting to feel whatever it was that stopped him. What was that? Edin quickly pondered.
The cat stepped forward and all Edin’s attention returned to the animal. His heart was in his throat. That brief reprieve felt more like torture than anything. Why didn’t it just kill him and get it over with?
Edin rose facing the animal, blood dripping from his arm, his mind feeling tired and woozy like he’d had too much stolen ale. “Come on,” Edin yelled at it, puffing out his chest.
The cat took another step forward and leaned back ready to spring at him again.
He felt another tug and twist inside him as the cat leapt at him. Edin watched it this time, trying to keep his legs from shaking and keeping hold of his bladder contents.
Edin’s bloody arm lifted like it was being pulled by a string. In front of him, a pure white light burst from the ground directly beneath the cat. A shaft pierced the animal’s chest.
A quick pained scream burst forth. Edin dropped to the ground and covered his ears.
Then, all was silent. He opened his eyes, his body shaking. In front of him, he saw the crillio slumped over its motionless paw a hand’s length from his face.
Hanging in the air from an ethereal spike was protruding from its back. Edin felt his mouth go dry. In the distance he could hear barks of dogs and shouts of men. There was no strength left to call out for help.
2
The Abomination of Yaultan
Edin’s head pounded as his consciousness came back. His stomach started to gurgle and he turned to his side and expelled the contents. The sick splash and equally pungent odor attacked him as he rolled over. He became conscious of the pain in his arm. Edin felt tears rolling down and clasped his good hand around the injured bicep. The world spun as he tried to sit.
Where was he? A crisp gust of wind chilled him as a shiver ran down his spine. He was freezing. A moan crawled from his lips.
Voices of men and barks from dogs sounded close.
Edin tried opening his eyes but they burned as though he’d been staring at a forge’s flame. The lids dragged open revealing a dark and hazy world around him. “Here,” he called his voice barely audible.
His strength was fading fast, just holding himself up was draining. An eerie white fog began to appear from what could’ve been the trees or maybe the ruins.
Shivers ran down his spine as he saw the motionless black corpse on the ground in front of him. Blood bubbled from its body and flowed mixing with the loose earth. Was it dead? In the darkness, he couldn’t tell.
It was the devil of the forest, a crillio. Slowly the memories filtered back. The fangs, the attack… the ethereal light. The images were hazy, like a dream that disappeared after waking.
Then he remembered Berka was with him. Edin twisted, spotted a form being devoured by the approaching mist. Berka was paler than normal—something Edin didn’t think was possible.
The sound of dogs barking moved closer.
“Here,” Edin moaned. He began crawling around the beast toward Berka giving the body a wide berth. Edin saw blood around the shoulder, the tunic was frayed and soaked red.
What could he do? He tried lifting the tunic, it stuck to the body in three deep foot long gashes. They needed a healer and fast.
Berka whimpered.
“Help,” Edin called. By the sound of the dog’s yapping, he could hear they were getting closer to him. He heard the jangling of metal armor and movement from beyond the dark tree line.
A flicker of orange appeared between the foliage. He felt completely drained.
A brown and white hunting dog burst through the foliage followed by another. They yelped and spun in a circle eyeing the dead cat. A few heartbeats later a man jumped from beneath a low hanging branch to his left, he held a sword in one hand and a torch in another. In the glow he saw the deep blue color of the man’s jerkin. A manor guard.
“Edin?” the man yelled as he moved toward him with slow, methodical steps. The man’s eyes shifted around the scene.
“Grent?”
“Yes,” the warrior whispered eyeing the beast and then looking at Edin.
Edin wondered if he looked like a draugr, a risen corpse covered in blood and decay.
Grent drove his blade into the beast and leapt back as if it were going to slash at him with the deadly ferocity Edin remembered seeing.
Edin tried to think of what happened and started to feel dizzy again. Confused. Was he injured? He swayed on his knees and put an arm out to brace himself as he fell to the side collapsing. The pain made his mind go blank and he moved back into unconsciousness.
Sweat beaded on his forehead as his body involuntarily trembled. His skin had a sticky sheen to it. A cold, damp washcloth caressed his forehead. Voices came in soft whispers from around him, while a log crackled in the hearth.
Edin opened his eyes. The sunlight pierced a small crack in between his cloth shades. Another shiver ran through his body causing his teeth to clatter. Multiple goose down blankets were covering him but he felt the chill in his body. A fever.
His mother nearly jumped as she saw him open his eyes. Her golden-brown hair looked unkempt. Wild strands were tossed in every direction with a couple standing in loops atop her head.
“Edin? You’re awake… how do you feel?” she gushed. Her eyes were red and exhaustion was etched on her face.
“Fine…” Edin said with a croaked voice. “A little cold.” Unless he was pretending to be ill, he’d never admit to it.
A chuckle came from the other side of the bed. Master Horston was seated in a chair beside the fire looking at him over his reading spectacles. Beneath the large white beard, he could see the man’s upturned mouth cracking a smile.
“Fine? You were attacked by a crillio.” She put her hand to her chest.
Edin nodded, he remembered the fight… if it was a fight. The attack, the slash on his arm. He didn’t feel any pain. He tried raising it, it was tight but normal. “My arm?” he said with a look toward Master Horston.
“We had the crotchety healer sent up from the village as soon as you were brought home. He wasn’t happy about being torn away from dinner.” Another smile came over Master Horston’s mouth, “but Grent convinced him that it would be in his best interest to come.”
His mother reached for a mug on the stand next to his bed and put it to his lips. “The healer made tea.”
“Not mintweed…” Edin asked eyeing it suspiciously.
“No… when Grent found you in that place, you’d lost blood, were shivering and muttering. This should help fend off the chill and lessen the fever.” His mother said. She looked toward Horston. “Since you were found in the grove… there’s also the possibility of…”
“Of what?” Edin asked sitting up. He grit his teeth as a throb pulsed through his arm. He took a sip and grimaced, it tasted like month-old rain water left in a stale oak barrel with tree roots.
“Drink it all,” his mother said not answering. He tilted it back and as the hot liquid flowed down his throat a warming sensation ran through him. “No more talk now,” his mother said, “you need your rest, in the morning… if you’re feeling better–”
“And not possessed,” Master Horston said grinning.
His mother whipped her head around and shot a stern look toward Edin’s tutor. The man always had answe
rs. Most were correct, even if he didn’t know something he’d make a sarcastic comment only to give the real answer later. Master Horston was resolute in his own knowledge almost to the point of being prideful and pompous.
“What about Berka?” Edin asked quietly.
His mother looked down toward his blankets and began flattening a crease. “He’s alive, but he hasn’t moved… hasn’t spoken. He’s with his family in the guest rooms. I offered to let them stay as long as they’d like.” Her voice trailed off.
“Will he be alright?” They lived through the attack, he couldn’t die in a bed at a young age.
“He lost a lot of blood. It could be days or weeks before we’re certain,” his mother ventured, then her eyes met his. “The healer has hopes he’ll recover fully… the priest is uncertain.”
“He’s a superstitious fool,” Horston said.
Edin felt his eyes closing and laid his head back on the pillow. He tried sliding deeper under the blankets and his mother tucked them in around his neck like she used to when he was a small child. This was probably the first time in years she had been in his room. This was Edin’s sanctuary, he rarely even let the servants in unless it really needed a cleaning.
“What happened out there?” Master Horston asked as Edin was half asleep, his voice churning with a curious tone.
“We’ll talk later, let him sleep. We can talk about events… and his punishment, when he is feeling better.”
“Laural, we need to know if—”
“I said no. We’ll discuss it later.”
Edin barely acknowledged the promise of her wraith, behind his closed eyelids he saw the crillio staring at him with the deep soulless eyes. Then the ethereal light that saved him. What was it? How did he survive?
Edin’s eyes closed again and he was back asleep.
It was daylight when he woke, his stomach growled. His body was still sticky with sweat and his mouth was dry. A mug was on the table and he reached for it. He was thankful it was filled with water and not the tea.
The heat from the hearth and blankets seemed oppressive. He kicked them off and felt the dull throb in his arm. Edin glanced at the cloth bandage. The cloth was clean but beneath he wondered what it looked like. Edin tried to spin his shoulder in a circle; it was stiff and weak.
After a few moments, he saw trousers and a tunic folded on the chair Master Horston had occupied. He dressed and put on a pair of calf-high boots with slight difficulty.
He moved down the hall slowly. To his left, one of the guest room doors was closed. He reached for the handle then thought better of it. He didn’t want to see Berka. He couldn’t, not yet.
Edin didn’t even know what saved them. He remembered the light but didn’t know what it was.
It seemed like magic, but that couldn’t be. He wasn’t a mage. He couldn’t be.
Mage’s were evil, their souls corrupted, unfeeling and wicked. They used their spells, their powers for control. Magi enslaved humans, forced them to do their bidding in any way they wished.
The tales of oppression from many generations ago were numerous. The old Kings of Bestoria, were mages. For thousands of years they ruled with an iron fist, destroying any who stood up to them. History stated it was the rise of the Duke Ecari of Frestils and his discovery of wan stones that saved the land. The black rocks absorbed energy, trapping the natural powers of the magi cutting access to the wicked abilities. According to the Vestion, wan stones were said to be a gift from the god Nelput as this one factor that changed the bloody civil war.
Cities were destroyed, with only few major ones left on the entire continent. From the ashes of this war grew the three city-states. Dunbilston, the land east of the Great Cliffs. Resholt, the midlands, and the deserts of Porinstol, west of Resholt.
It all seemed so simple to Edin when he was taught the histories. Magi were bad, mundane peoples were good.
Edin descended the stairs and entered the great room—a room three times larger than his bedroom with a pair of stone fireplaces on the south and west walls. They both burned and the wood crackled sending the smoky aroma into the manor.
The room was painted a light color that seemed to make it feel larger, white flowing curtains with red flowers were pulled back letting in an evening sun. A pair of support logs cut the room into thirds. Animal hide sofas and chairs surrounded tables and the hearths.
Few animal heads hung from the walls, not something Edin was fond of, but apparently his great-great grandfather was something of a trophy hunter, traveling all around the old kingdom and even across the Crimson Ocean east to lands people in town knew nothing about.
Out of the corner of his eye, Edin spotted a new head. He felt his blood run cold staring at the head of the demonic beast. A chill seemed to cover the entire room as the crillio’s head stared at him through pitch black eyes. Its short triangular ears poking up as if trying to hear the sounds of prey, the mouth closed in a malevolent grin.
“Mother!” Edin yelled, his voice cracking.
Claps of footsteps and the squeal of hinges came from the right. She appeared from the door to her private study, a worried look crossed her face as she rushed toward him. There was no hint of that subtle anger. “What is it?”
“Why is that here?” Edin asked. It took the place of a huge horned elk. The glorification of dead animals wasn’t something he enjoyed.
“It is the head. I had it done when they brought the carcass back.”
He looked away from the beast. “Get it out of here. Sell it, burn it; I don’t care. I do not want it in the house.”
She crossed her arms and stared at him. “And I don’t want you in the forest at night.” She paused for a second staring at him still with a reproachful glare. His mother sighed and went into the study, reappearing moments later.
“A tradition here is all who have killed a crillio wear one of these,” his mother said glowering. Dangling from her fingers was a large white fang attached to a woven leather necklace. “Because of your disobedience I was not going to give it to you… but Grent feels I must.”
“It’s the…” he looked toward the head quickly. Edin cupped the five-inch fang and stared at it. It was a pure white, different than he’d expected since it surely had supped on many other creatures, maybe even humans. He half expected it to be stained like Old Ulson’s teeth, crooked and yellow from too much pipe and as his mother said, too little hygiene.
But not only was the fang not stained, but a light white glow also seemed to be emanating from it. He swallowed, picturing the beast running its large tongue over it in anticipation of its next meal.
“What’s with the shine?” Edin asked.
“What shine?” His mother raised an eyebrow. Edin didn’t respond. Did she not see it? “I’ll have the servants prepare a supper for us. No physical exertion today. You hear me?” Her tone was one that carried a punishment if he disobeyed.
Edin nodded.
“I am still working on what to do with you…” she said and disappeared into the dining room.
Edin glanced back to the head and shuttered. He suddenly felt warm, stuffy in here. He wiped sweat from his brow and went out the back.
The cool air bit into him. A large chimney of smoke came from the pit to the west where the servant Ali was spinning the handle on a spit.
She noticed him and quickly looked away.
He turned his gaze toward the forest and squeezed his hand into a fist. He felt the constricting muscles beneath the bandage and the dull pain thumping. Staring at the dark forest line he watched for movement.
Edin took a seat on a chopped log and tried letting his mind go blank.
There was no way he knew how long he sat before he heard his name being called. “Come get some food,” his mother called. “The servants have been roasting a hog all day.” Her voice an octave higher than normal.
He pushed himself up and followed her into their dining room. They took their spots at the ends of a table large enough to fit twel
ve men. Sometimes they had guests, people who farmed or raised cattle on their lands, families she lent money to.
At times, she’d even forgive the debt in desperate situations such as a husband passing or becoming grievously injured, a child born with a rare malformity, or a mother leaving the world while bringing in a new soul.
During a difficult season, she would allow a farmer to forget their rent. This made many people love her, but others in the village would seethe, nearly demanding she did the same for them.
The common folk may not say it outright, but too many people want a handout. Something for nothing.
The door to the kitchen opened and Master Horston stepped in taking a seat toward the middle of the table. “I invited Horston for dinner,” his mother said with a smile. “We will need to discuss certain events.”
“It is much overdue if you ask me,” the old man said curtly before quickly changing his tone. “But it smells delicious, Laural.” Master Horston slapped his wrinkled hands together.
“Smoked pork, potatoes, and some surprise. The chef was mum about it but said we’d love the surprise for the young crillio slayer.” Her words held some hesitation as she glanced at Edin.
“Yes, the heroic lad,” Horston said in his usual sarcastic tone. Then he spoke softer. “Let us keep our voices down,” Master Horston said looking at Edin. He took a sip from a wine glass. His lips smacking, he rested his elbows on the table. The cuffs of his gray robes dropped to his elbow. His arms displayed the same coarse hair that emanated from his beard.
“That is a good idea.”
“Of course it is, it’s the only kind I have.” Horston smiled at Edin. “I am curious though, how were you able to kill the beast. You had no weapons and even if you had, it takes many men to bring down that ferocious animal.”
Edin grabbed a mug next to his plate, a dark amber liquid. Ale? He took a sip and looked toward his mother who shrugged her shoulders.
“The alcohol should help with the pain,” Master Horston said.
