by Ross Turner
She decided it was best to just push on, knowing, or at least hoping, that it couldn’t get much more confusing.
Her subjects would flock to her at her beckoned call, for the wilderness was more her home than any other place, and true, just as it had been for her ancestors before her, it was under her protection.
In time she would discover that such a call to the wild, such unification, would be the only way to save them.
Though fabled by mankind beyond all measure, Vivian Featherstone’s solemn promise of protection came at more cost than her subjects could ever have imagined, for many of them simply accepted her as a saviour, blind to the whole truth of the dreadful Featherstone rule.
Certainly now Vivian was struggling to understand. She read and reread the passages several times, ensuring she had not missed anything. But even then, after checking and double-checking, still it did not add up.
She could make sense of it in places, here and there, but in others, she was well and truly stumped.
Divide them?
Call to the wild?
Who would be unified?
The dreadful Featherstone rule?
The Greystone’s rule had been dreadful, certainly, for the people had starved and suffered and died at their hands, much of the time most callously and carelessly.
But her mother and father’s rule had never been so, or at least not as far as Vivian knew, and she had never heard anyone speak of Miranda and Dorian Featherstone otherwise.
So then, what about her own rule?
Was she so terrible?
Her people weren’t suffering: as a matter of fact, they were thriving. She had given up her life to ensure their happiness and safety and security, just as she had done for the Redwoods.
Perhaps the passage wasn’t referring to her people, Vivian thought then. Perhaps instead, it was referring to her. For in many ways her rule had been dreadful, but only for her, for it had come at such a great cost, and still even now seemed to do the same.
Immediately, Vivian thought of Emerson. She had known him for barely a day, if that, and yet still he had been taken from her. All she had left to give was her life, and Kael’s, and if she was perfectly honest, only one of those did she care about.
She whispered a silent prayer, to someone, she didn’t really know who, thankful that she had made Kael stay behind, for at least there he would be safe.
Several more hours passed and the day wore on ominously, turning to afternoon and early evening without warning. In that time, Vivian found little else of use in the library, no matter how hard she tried, or how many different books she pulled open, the answers to her many questions eluded her.
That fact seemed oddly and ironically fitting, she thought to herself with a rueful smile, as she climbed the spiralling stone staircase, leading up higher and higher into the Keep. It seemed that for her whole life the answers she had sought had escaped her, so why should things be any different now?
Naturally then, darkness followed, and Vivian made her way up to her old bedroom. Never even once since she had fled Featherstone Keep all those years ago had she returned to that room, and what she found stuck a lump of sadness in her throat.
Her old tapestries were ruined, destroyed by the fires that had raged, and here and there the walls had crumbled and rotted, though they were at least still somewhat intact, and the elements hadn’t yet penetrated the room.
She hadn’t eaten for some time, but Vivian wasn’t hungry. In fact, she felt as though her body hadn’t changed in the slightest. She wasn’t any more tired. She wasn’t any hungrier. She wasn’t any weaker. She was simply being maintained by her vast power, ticking along, waiting for whatever was coming next.
Nonetheless though, she retired to bed, climbing in gratefully after all those long years away, though the last time she had slept here she had awoken to find that her home had been invaded.
Settling for the night, Vivian drifted off into a hectic sleep with a comforting sense of belonging and a strange smile from the past painted across her face.
Mercifully, her dreams that night were good ones.
Vivian saw Red and Clover, their every detail preserved perfectly and in pristine condition in her subconscious memory. They weren’t at the forefront of her dream however, but instead quite a ways off, in the distance between the trees.
They were watching Vivian through the sea of red trunks, a pleased and content look evident on their faces. Observing from their viewpoint, they could see quite clearly that their sweet Viv was not alone.
The young Featherstone looked up, as if she had just awoken, and her gaze immediately settled upon Kael, staring back at her, his eyes loving and adoring, just as Red’s had always been, but then somehow also in a completely different way.
There was definitely something there between them. It was something that no one could see, but at the same time, it was impossible to miss. They both felt it, and clearly Clover and Red could sense it, and they looked on approvingly, smiles spread across their furred faces, if that was even possible.
Vivian took Kael’s hands then, acting on impulse, and caught him in a tender embrace. At least here in her dreams she was safe, with nothing but that moment in her thoughts: finally happy, at long, long last.
18
Somehow, though her dreams had been pleasant, more than pleasant in fact, which made a refreshing change, Vivian still awoke with a start, déjà vu prominent in her thoughts. She found herself swimming in a disgusting, sticky pool of sweat, her sheets saturated, just like the last time.
All around there was silence, besides the sound of Vivian’s heavy, laboured breaths, but still she knew something wasn’t right. Though she couldn’t hear anything out of the ordinary, her senses told her, rather worryingly, that there was definitely something amiss.
She half expected to hear the shadow’s voice creep through the darkness towards her, though of course she knew he was dead. Clover had killed him years ago, but the fear still remained in Vivian’s heart, and it pounded violently as she clambered from the bed and swept across the pitch black room, her feet silent upon the cold stone.
Nudging her bedroom door open, Vivian stole away and down the corridor, as always unseen and unheard in the darkness. Even in the dim light she could see the scalded and charred walls, and she even shied away from them, fearful of the memories they brought her.
She slowly pushed open the door to her parents’ old bedroom, though she didn’t really know why, and checked briefly inside. For a moment she could even have sworn that she saw their figures asleep in the bed, but of course that was impossible, and it turned out to just be a trick of the shadows, playing havoc with her eyes in the night.
Sneaking back the way she had come, closing her parents’ door behind her in a manner that felt strangely significant, as if that very act gave Vivian some sort of final closure that she’d been seeking for years, she strained her senses as best she could.
At first she detected nothing, and she merely wandered slowly and uneasily down the vast corridors, keeping her footsteps silent and her breaths shallow. But then, soon enough, she began to hear something, and indeed also smell something, most peculiar.
The sound was a faint, irregular clicking, echoing off the smooth stone walls and bouncing around in the darkness, throwing Vivian completely, for the reverberating noise meant she had absolutely no idea which direction it was coming from. She’d had this problem before, she remembered.
And the smell, though also bizarre, was one she did however recognise, but she could not for the life of her place it. Breathing deeply, Vivian pondered it for a minute or so, standing there alone in the darkness.
Soon enough the answer came to her, and her body turned icy cold as her realisation filled the young Featherstone with dread.
As Red would have said, it smelled like the plague: it smelled like death.
A lump caught in Vivian’s throat at that memory, but at the same time, her hairs stood on end, and fea
r coursed through her veins like wildfire.
The odd clicking sound continued, echoing all around Vivian, but growing louder with every passing second. She had a good idea what it was now, since she’d pieced together the long-forgotten memory of the smell, though she hoped fervently that she was wrong.
Nevertheless, sure enough then, as she pressed her body firmly against the cold stone of the wall, peering cautiously round the corner at the very end of the corridor, Vivian saw the shapes she had feared, shifting through the darkness unseen, but not quite unheard. With every step the jet-black, plague ridden wolves gave themselves away, as their claws tapped and scraped lightly on the cold stone floor.
Bringing her hand up to her mouth, catching any loose sound from her breathing that would surely give her away, Vivian stole back down the corridor towards her old bedroom. She had no idea how many were in the Keep, but her heart began to race and thump heavily against her ribs once more, suspecting that it would likely be many. She darted back into her bedroom and pushed the door to, though she didn’t close it all the way.
It was not the first time Greystone filth had invaded her home during the night.
At least this time she knew they were there before they knew where she was, but, in all honesty, she knew that did little to improve her chances. They likely already had her scent. She probably had only mere seconds before they were upon her.
Swallowing her fear, deciding what she needed to do, what she had returned here to do, Vivian summoned all the courage she could muster, and stepped back out into the hallway. The instant she did, she felt the atmosphere change, and the clicking stopped dead.
Within seconds, knowing she had little time to react before surely she would be killed, Vivian summoned a streaking blaze to each of her hands, launching them in opposite directions down the corridor, lighting the paths laid out before her: the paths she had chosen.
As soon as she did however, the light from the flames she conjured illuminated her enemy, almost blinding her in the process, and revealed to the young Featherstone at least a dozen wolves in each direction, poised ready to strike. The wolves too were blinded by the intense flashes of light, and were stunned for a moment.
A moment was all she needed.
Vivian took every advantage she could and moved immediately, striking out at those beasts to her right, sending them all careering off into the walls, breaking necks and spines and skulls in the process. She was more powerful than they were, and she knew it, but she wouldn’t be able to put up much of a fight if she was surrounded and overwhelmed.
Sprinting between the dead bodies, the broken carcasses twitching and jerking, Vivian careered round the corner wildly. Vicious snaps and snarls were instantly at her heels, barely missing her. Vivian was spared only by the sharp turns she made, flinging herself round corners and crashing into the stone, battering and bruising her body uncaringly, for it was the only thing keeping her alive at that moment, as the wolves skittered and skidded on the cold stone with their sharpened claws.
Finally though, after nearly throwing herself down a treacherous staircase, scraping and bloodying her arm as she did so, she came face to face with yet another dozen of the beasts yearning after her life, blocking her way.
She launched herself into a room off to the side of the corridor, the nearest of the wolves snapping at her heels hungrily.
Just about managing to evade its razor sharp teeth and bolt the door shut before it caught her, Vivian gritted her teeth as she braced her body against the wooden frame.
She glanced around desperately, searching for a way out. Long ago, she remembered this room being used for storage, and sure enough, as she sent a brief flame skittering through the air, it illuminated old chairs and tables and pots and pans, all coated heavily in thick layers of dust.
The noise outside the door now was almost deafening, howling and barking and snapping and snarling, ramming the heavy wooden barricade relentlessly, undoubtedly close to breaching the room.
Suddenly then, Vivian spotted another door at the back of the room, smaller than the one she was attempting to secure, but a door nonetheless.
Without another thought, driven by desperation, Vivian leapt towards it, propelling herself madly over the tables and chairs, her eyes focused in the fading light of her flittering flame dancing above her.
Just as she reached the door at the back of the room, ramming her shoulder against it, forcing it open, the main door behind her splintered and shattered, folding in half as the wolves barraged through it brutally. Vivian didn’t stop however, shutting and locking the smaller door behind her, having to duck slightly to get through it, and turned to the room that she now found herself in: the kitchens.
She took off immediately, gathering her bearings as she ran, navigating as best she could through the vast kitchenettes, hearing behind her the sound of the second door breaking and groaning under the strain of the wolves’ attacks. It wasn’t long at all before they were in pursuit of her yet again, their claws scratching the floor behind her. But this time Vivian had been gifted a slight head start, enabling her to lay a trap of her own.
The first of the beasts charged through the kitchens, black as night, and blind to everything beside Vivian’s scent. The others followed, vicious wolves to the hunt, but unknowingly also sheep to the slaughter.
Just before they burst into the room within which Vivian lay concealed, hidden behind a low set of counters, also covered heavily in dust, unused for years, she sprung her trap.
Exploding out in all directions, hidden in the shadows and silhouettes around the room, a hundred knives and blades erupted into action, spraying out and pouring over the attacking beasts terribly, Vivian’s action brutal and unforgiving. The plagued monsters yelped and squealed and cried out in agony. Hearts were pierced and lungs were punctured in great waves as the soaring blades met their marks, over and over.
Almost in an instant, the blackened wolves fell to their demise, though some had not been killed, only wounded, the vast majority of them were not left standing. Vivian grimly rose to her feet to finish her gruesome work.
She looked upon the wolves that so desperately wanted to kill her, those that were still alive crawling and limping towards her falteringly. She sighed deeply, regret and sorrow filling her for a moment, knowing that if it were not for the Greystone’s plague, these poor animals would never have had to die by her hand.
Blood trickled across the floor and stained Vivian’s brown leather boots red, just as her whole life had seemed to be.
Closing her eyes, she gathered her will and focused upon the task at hand, terrible as it might have been. Vivian brought to existence yet another spark, and this one she ignited upon the jerking and whining bodies of the fallen wolves, lighting them in an instant.
Killing these poor creatures was not an act that Vivian took satisfaction in, for she loved the animals of the Redwoods so. It seemed that only the deaths of her fellow humans could satisfy her, without bringing sorrow to her heart.
Within moments the smells of singed fur and smouldering flesh and boiling blood filled Vivian nose and mouth and lungs. She gagged and wretched awfully, feeling sick to her very core at her actions, but unable to vomit, for she had not eaten a thing for quite some time now.
That, coupled with the fact that she had drawn heavily upon her power recently, both in fighting off the wolves, and in keeping herself alive and functioning, the young Featherstone was feeling decidedly weak.
Stumbling out of the smoky kitchens, smelling of scents most awful, Vivian reeled and retched as she made her way back out into the corridor: the one she had eavesdropped over Archer in all those years ago.
Gathering her thoughts, the troubled young woman leaned heavily on the wall, cold to the touch of her dirtied hands.
At least she was safe now, Vivian thought to herself.
But, sadly, that was not to last.
As the sounds of the flames died down beyond the door, the smoke filtering out
beneath it, another sound snatched Vivian’s attention. It was a low grumbling, a growl, like the sound Red and Emerson had always made when sensing danger.
She turned and glanced around in the darkness, unable to see a thing, but knowing instinctively, as she usually did, that something was wrong.
Just as before, she raised her hand and lighted the corridor with a small burst of flame, sending it jumping up into the air, spitting calmly with intense heat and light.
The second she did however, she almost wished she hadn’t, as her sparkling ball of flames illuminated three enormous black bears. They stood unmoving, their focus entirely on her, barely six feet from where Vivian stood.
Her mouth dropped open in a mixture of awe and terror.
How had they managed to creep up on her so?
But that didn’t matter then, for they closed in on her immediately, baring their massive teeth and powerful claws.
Not knowing what to do, barely even having the energy left to react, Vivian simply fled, sprinting without a sound blindly and wildly through the darkness, and the great black bears pursued her immediately, not missing a single step.
Vivian had not the energy to keep running however, for she had drained herself more than she’d realised, and within minutes her legs felt heavy like lead, and her breaths were terribly laboured. She flung herself through yet another door, locking and bolting it behind her, only to find herself trapped in a broom cupboard.
Heart racing and hands trembling, Vivian braced herself against the heavy door yet again, though this time her actions were much more desperate, and indeed also much more useless. The three massive bears took turns in throwing their enormous hulks against the thin barricade concealing Vivian.
This door was smaller and stouter than the one that had shielded her from the wolves had been, but nonetheless, the bears were more powerful, and it would stand little more punishment.
