The Redwoods Rise and Fall
Page 13
Just as Astley had done, they were both attempting to make back for civilisation, for each of them believed that Virtus would protect them. Little did they know how wrong they were, and that neither of them would return alive.
Vivian had no intentions of sparing either of them.
Suddenly Zander was sent careering off sideways as an invisible blow struck him from the right, catching him full in the chest and stealing the air from his lungs. He gasped as he stumbled and a root protruding up from the ground caught his foot, forcing him off balance and sending him spiralling.
That had been Vivian’s intention from the beginning however, and as the poacher instinctively and reflexively stretched his arm out towards the ground to catch himself, to break his fall, he only saw the small, square pressure plate, covered by leaves and dirt, at the very last second.
For that brief moment his eyes widened with horror, knowing exactly what was coming, knowing that from the very beginning she had planned this, and knowing that he had absolutely no way out.
His hand came down heavily on the small square of metal, bracing against the impact, and Zander felt the terrifying clunk of the mechanism activating beneath him.
Ripping up from beneath the ground then, just as they had done countless times upon numerous unwary and innocent animals, the hulking metal teeth crashed together with bone shattering force, trapping Zander’s arm in their huge metal teeth.
The cry of sheer anguish he loosed then soared up and over the trees like an eagle carried on the strongest winds, reaching the ears of even his partner, fleeing back towards Virtus with all the speed he could muster. Astley recognised the tone of Zander’s shrill cry, and a violent shudder worked its way up and down his spine, forcing him to continue onwards, driven by sheer terror.
The great jaws ripped through the puny flesh and muscle of Zander’s arm, spraying blood out in every direction, and split the bone like a matchstick. He writhed and squirmed in agony, but the more he did so, the more the trap pulled on his tendons and flesh, sending fresh and amplified pain coursing through him.
Finally, Zander ceased his endless wriggling and glanced around skittishly, breathing in short and sharp bursts, the adrenaline masking the pain.
Then he saw her. The one who had attacked him. Vivian Featherstone.
He met her gaze coldly, as she stepped out from the shadows without a sound, stalking towards him over the fallen leaves, though still somehow moving silently, without so much as a crackle to accompany her steps.
“You…” He breathed, though he found sound difficult to utter, for the pain returned tenfold when he attempted to speak.
Vivian did not speak a word as she approached, tilting her head this way and that, much in the manner of the red bears, though at that moment it was the only similarity between them: the bears had never been ruled by such terrible emotion.
She had, one day long ago, sworn to live the same way, but it seemed that those promises had been long forgotten, as all too often seems to be the way.
Vivian crouched low next to Zander and he recoiled back from her in fear, though he was unable to move more than an inch or two before the awful pain forced him to remain. She reached forward and wrapped her hand firmly around the stake she’d driven into his shoulder.
With a slight smile then, one certainly born of malicious thoughts, Vivian twisted and jerked her hand, wrenching the branch painfully out from Zander’s chest. He screamed again and dropped to the floor, his eyes wide and streaming, but besides that, he could do little else.
By now the ground all around them was saturated with his blood, his face was paling noticeably, and Vivian knew if she left him there much longer, he would surely die from loss of blood. To some extent that thought pleased her, for it would be a long, slow process, but at the same time, she felt a twinge of jealousy at that notion, for she would not be the one to deliver the killing blow.
No, she had to kill him herself.
She wanted to do it herself.
Fingering the stake she had just wrenched so brutally from the poacher’s chest, Vivian eyed the man dangerously. Her intention all too obvious, Zander suddenly began to writhe and squirm once more.
“No!” He gasped, forcing his words out through clenched, terrified teeth. “Don’t! You can’t! Please!”
But it mattered not what he said, for he certainly would not sway Vivian’s decision.
She was calm now: so much so that not even her heart was racing, as it always had done in these moments in the past. Just before the kill, blinded by rage and lust, her focus had always been hazy.
Now though, everything was crystal clear, and through those new eyes, no longer blurred by such a fog, Vivian revelled in her victory even more so, her devolution very nearly complete.
Grabbing her victim by the scruff of his neck then, leaning heavily and purposefully on his wounded chest, Vivian dragged Zander down across the ground roughly, and raised her free hand high above his head, holding the bloodied stake still, her actions slow and precise.
“Please! No!” He begged again, his voice draining away to a whimper. “You can’t!”
“I can.” Vivian replied menacingly, her voice quiet and sure. “And I will.”
And then, without even giving him another chance to protest, Vivian drove the stake down abruptly and harshly, plunging the slightly sharpened end deep into his face, twisting it and forcing it in under her weight, for it was not really all that sharp.
Zander’s body convulsed and jumped horribly, but that did not stop Vivian, and she wrenched the branch out yet again, spraying herself with thick blood as she did so, and drove it in again. And again, and again, no longer in a frenzy as she had been before, but instead her movements were cold blooded and meticulous, and she savoured every detail and emotion, prolonging her kill for as long as she possibly could.
Nonetheless, all too soon it was over, and the gruesome, bloody remains that she now stood over were barely even recognisable as human.
Satisfied, adrenaline flowing freely, Vivian smiled and ambled off into the forest once more, not hesitating even once. She picked up her pace once she found the trail she was after, and then instantly she was on the hunt again, stalking the second poacher.
Astley raced through the trees still, though his pace was somewhat slowed and his breathing laboured. He had lost his way once or twice in his panic, but now here and there he saw things that he recognised: a certain shaped clearing, split trunks and broken branches, old trap sites.
He was nearly back now.
Virtus was almost in reach.
But then the hairs on the back of his neck braced and stood on end, sending a shiver crawling down his spine. He wiped the sweat away from his forehead and crouched low, glancing all around, terrified, feeling heavy eyes set upon him.
After waiting for another two or three minutes, straining his ears and eyes to the silence and the overpowering redness all around, Astley finally returned to his wary pacing, often pivoting and startling as he continued his way back to the city. Somehow he knew that he wasn’t alone. He would just have to be very careful.
As it turned out however, that simply was not enough to save him. After throwing a quick look over his shoulder and seeing nothing, his breath suddenly caught in his throat, petrified.
He turned again, more slowly this time, to stare at exactly the same spot he had just examined.
Moments before, it had been empty, abandoned.
But now, after a mere second, she was there.
The Featherstone.
Vivian’s eyes bore into Astley with a measured and controlled hatred that had no equal, and her stance: tall and bold, her fists clenched, reeked of a lust to hurt, to inflict pain, to torture, to kill.
The poacher swallowed hard, facing Vivian directly now, his own stance fearful and timid, just as it always had been.
“I…I’m…I’m sorry…” He stammered slowly and quietly, barely loud enough for even himself to hear, let alone Viv
ian. That didn’t matter though. She did not need his voice to be loud in order to hear him. Had she really wanted to, she could have plucked the very thoughts from his mind.
But it wasn’t his words she was interested in.
Beginning slowly, her bloodied stake still in hand, Vivian strode towards Astley with deadly purpose, closing the gap of barely thirty metres between them faster and faster. Before he knew it she was sprinting towards him, mere seconds from reaching him, and yet, amidst all that, he could not move.
Astley’s feet and legs simply would not obey him. He couldn’t turn away, he couldn’t even blink; his gaze was fixed solely on Vivian’s charging attack. Her eyes were wide and her face was full of grim satisfaction, and she even bared her teeth as she launched into the air, her features wild and animalistic.
There was silence for a second, as if the whole world had come to a standstill, and Astley’s heart skipped a beat. But of course that was not the case: that was just how it felt in the heat of the moment.
Adrenaline and fear was built up so heavily in his veins, that the poacher barely even felt the pain of Vivian crashing into him at full pelt, driving her crude and improvised blade into his face. She sent him flying and cascading backwards, pinned to him fiercely, spraying the essence of his life in all directions, yet again bloodying the very place that had once been her beloved home.
17
Indeed, Astley had not been wrong. He hadn’t been far from the outskirts of the great city Virtus at all. Even now as Vivian peered through the trees, wiping the blood from her eyes and spitting it from between her teeth, she could see the vague outlines of farmsteads: mills and grain houses, stores and cottages.
Knowing she couldn’t return to civilisation in this state, Vivian simply abandoned her second carcass, just as she had done the first, and swept casually through the woodlands once more, heading now for Featherstone Keep.
She thought of Kael then, almost guiltily, and wondered whether he was thinking of her. If she left now he wouldn’t be able to follow her, and he would remain safe. That thought comforted the young Featherstone a little.
Her calm and relaxed attitude towards the immediate abandonment of her more murderous self, frightened Vivian somewhat, as her normal human senses and emotions returned to her, flooding back in fits and flurries.
She put the thoughts out of her mind however, knowing there was nothing she could do about it now, and also that she might never even see Kael again, and simply continued northwest up towards her first home.
The rest of that day passed by in a blur, with the morning having already somehow slipped by, the hours having disappeared unseen in her calm and calculated rage. Almost before Vivian knew it, left unattended in her wanderings, the afternoon had also eluded her.
Exhausted and drained from her exertions, the young, troubled Featherstone bedded down for the night, building a fire just as she had done in the old days: the days when she and Red and Clover had been happy, and when she had not been a murderer.
Sleeping well, though dreaming in fits and starts of her terrible actions of that day, Vivian awoke to a bright and early sunrise, her fire having stifled and died at some point during the night.
When she awoke, rubbing her weary eyes, having seen far too much of late, Vivian found once again an audience surrounding her. For some reason though, as she sat up and surveyed their expectant faces, she felt as though she had let them down, and couldn’t even bring herself to smile.
Had she summoned them during her sleep?
What did they want from her?
Vivian had no idea.
It was perhaps even possible that they’d followed her all day previously too, but she’d simply been too lost in thought to notice.
The Redwoods itself however, as Vivian trudged onwards, remained silent, and she thought that probably best for her, as well as for the great ancient forest, since her defiance to their words had been so outright. She doubted that she would even be able to face their voice now, and simply continued on.
Knowing she had acted rashly, now that her human logic had returned to her, Vivian thought she would regret her actions. But, strangely, she didn’t. Between her lust for blood, her almost overwhelming responsibilities, and now Kael too, she had little else to live for.
Perhaps, even though all of the wrong she had committed could not be undone, Kael might give her more to live for?
Perhaps he would even forgive her?
It was an unlikely, farfetched dream, but nonetheless, we’re all allowed to dream.
Finally, after far too long, Vivian reached the heavy, iron gates of Featherstone Keep, the trees thinning and the old, abandoned Keep coming into view not a moment too soon.
For the past day and night she’d heard the baying howls of her enemy in the distance, growing closer by the hour, though not showing their faces to her just yet. She knew she had very little time, and moved swiftly.
The gates creaked and squealed mechanically as Vivian nudged them open, passing through swiftly and on sure, steady feet. This was a path she had taken many times now, but each time she’d come here in the past, she’d been full of open ended questions, eager to expand her knowledge in any way she could.
Now though, clearly, things were very different. She had only one intention, and she refused to leave without the answer to her question. In fact, she doubted she would even be able to, and somehow Vivian instinctively knew that this would be the last time she’d ever visit this place.
She still loved the ancient Keep. It was not forsaken, but by the week’s end, for some reason, Vivian thought it probably might be.
In fact, her inherent knowledge that, one way or another, she may never return here, or perhaps never leave, either way, surprisingly did not fill Vivian with dread. On the contrary, it was quite a comforting thought, and indeed one that gave her a view towards a sense of completion, and perhaps even, if she was very lucky, contentedness.
It had all begun here, it seemed rather fitting that it would all end here, and that once it did, her new life would finally begin…
The enormous doors of her old home groaned on their hinges as Vivian made her way through the endless expanses of ruptured stone and charred wood that were the abandoned hallways.
As she walked onwards, for some reason her mind kicked into overdrive, throwing up memories from Vivian’s past, up until that point long gone and forgotten.
Passing the now cold and dusty kitchens, the aroma of freshly baked bread and a slow roasting spit filled Vivian’s nostrils, engulfing her senses completely. Of course there was no food to be had, for it was simply her memory stimulating her senses, but the sensation felt so real that she was convinced she could have entered and picked up the warm bread, just as she had done when she was a child. She remembered tearing off great chunks and savouring the taste, for there had always been something about the taste of fresh bread that she loved so.
Next, as she walked by another door to her right, beyond which Vivian remembered to be the nursery, she thought of all the days she had spent there as a young girl. Her mother and father had poured many long hours of love and affection into those early days, and Vivian knew that many more had been snatched away from her when they had been killed.
Another pang of guilt struck at her then, when the images of her most recent victims flashed before her eyes. But she waved them away, shaking her head resolutely.
They had all been bad men. She had done the world a service by disposing of them. But then of course, the Greystones had always thought the same of her family, she remembered, for they had always seen the Featherstones as evil.
Was there even such a thing as good and evil?
Vivian had used to believe there was, but now, after everything that she had endured, pain and loss, and all in fact that she had caused, suffering and anguish, the line between the two seemed blurred and faded, almost even to the point where it no longer existed.
Eventually she reached the library.
She smiled briefly at the thought, but then the sound of urgent bays and roars echoing in the distance reached her ears and hurried her into movement.
Pouring over the large book yet again, Vivian immediately found the passage she had last been reading.
And the greatest of all the changes came to those fearsome beasts to the south, for their power, even before William Featherstone had raised his hand, was unrivalled by any other. This new power brought to them strength and knowledge and everlasting life, never before seen in any creature.
Vivian looked up briefly as a new sound reached her ears. It was a roaring bellow: not that of the dragon she had heard the other night, though at the same time it sounded strangely familiar, hauntingly so in fact. She continued, her eyes flitting across and up and down the strange, thin columned text.
Though their power was vast, such a thing always requires a rival, for without one, there is no balance. And so, since there was no equal for these beasts, the time would come when man, just as they had created them, would divide them, and pit one against the other.
Just as before, there would be one amongst man with the power to bring change to the world, and restore peace. This burden would yet again find itself resting upon Featherstone shoulders, for only the final heir to William Featherstone’s power, fabled Vivian, had the will and the strength to see it done.
Vivian breathed deeply then, her heart racing. She was reading about herself in the past tense now, discovering that this task, whatever it was, fell to her, as if she’d already completed it. Her mind was running in circles, struggling to keep up.