by J. Thorn
“We haven’t seen anyone on the king’s road since last night. What are the chances we will be seen?”
Thom didn’t answer. His eyes centered on the mouth of the pass the way a rabbit watches a fox from the tall grass. He signaled the women to remain quiet and, as he led them out of the safety of the bordering trees and onto the Mylan Road, he loosened his shirt collar.
Odd, he thought.
Though the cold afternoon air pressed against his bones, he felt warm. The unending grip of winter grasped him again and the momentary warmth left.
As they crept onto the road, he felt exposed. An unease itched at him, as though he stood in a dark room with something unseen breathing down the back of his neck. Thom’s eyes darted between the trees and the black maw of the pass. When he glanced behind to ensure his family was close, he saw a plume of snow rising into the air in their wake, following them down the road like a phantom. The plume would be a beacon to their position for anyone or anything tracking them.
The shadowed entrance drew nearer. The women looked between the long, dark pass and the tall cliff tops which jutted toward the road at the bottom and top of the walls. The Meekses proceeded as if they were walking toward grasping claws. Thom kept close watch of the cliff tops where jagged rocks and boulders lined the plateaus. If an enemy were to spot them from above, a simple shove against a boulder would spell their doom.
They entered the gloom of the pass, the sounds of their own breathing deafening between the walls.
The temperature plummeted and the cold felt heavy, as though smothering them beneath an unseen blanket. The sheer cliff walls seemed to rise toward the heavens and Thom had the unsettling sensation the sides might begin to close against them. The milky white of the sky filled the top. The opposite end of the pass appeared miles away—a thin strip of white light splitting the horizon.
Shattered gray rocks on the side of the road stuck out of the ground like fangs. Thom pushed his family to move faster. The sooner they came out of the other side, the safer they would be.
For several minutes, their footfalls echoed hollow off the walls. Thom divided his attention between the northern and southern openings of the pass, hoping they could traverse the road without being seen.
A quarter of the way through, a silhouette materialized out of the fiery white of the far exit. Thom brought the women to a halt. Whoever was entering the northern end of the pass would spot them, and there would be no escape.
Realizing they walked too far into the pass to retreat unnoticed, he whirled about, searching for a place to hide.
“Behind the rocks,” Thom said. He pointed toward the boulders leaning in on each other in the road’s western ditch.
As they scrambled behind the makeshift stone barricade, Thom peered around the side toward the far end of the pass. The approaching shape appeared too long and bulky to be a group of soldiers or a man on horseback. He was certain, and relieved, it was not more dread wolves. It wasn’t until the silhouette entered the pass that Delia’s eyes opened wide and she pointed toward the rider.
“Peddler.”
Thom pulled her back behind the boulders, his hand covering her mouth. He squinted as the rider emerged from the charcoal gloom. A lone man sat atop a horse-drawn wagon, a hat tilted sideways on his head. The girls smiled and pointed, whispering despite Thom and Kira’s shushed warnings to remain still.
“The peddler can take us to Mylan,” Sarra said, pulling on Thom’s sleeve.
Garish red and yellow paints adorned the wagon with Granderson’s Fine Wares emblazoned on the side in flowing strokes of cursive. The wagon crept within a hundred paces of them and though Thom recognized the peddler’s wagon represented their first real hope since the burning of Droman Meadows, his instinct told him to stay hidden.
Kira smiled and held hands with her daughters as the peddler approached. He was a short, portly man of middle age with clean, brown hair combed under his hat, as though he strove to keep a neat appearance even on long journeys. The wagon rumbled forward, now twenty paces away. Thom’s heart raced. If they showed themselves now and the peddler turned out to be an enemy, there would be no escape. But the man had kind eyes and this was their best chance to procure travel to Mylan. He had to take a chance.
As Thom shifted toward the front edge of the boulder, the sound of galloping horse hooves emerged from the south.
“Quiet,” he said.
Thom ushered his family back behind the boulders while an odd feeling pushed goose bumps out of his skin. It felt as though a snake slithered up his pant leg. He stayed low, wanting to gain a view of the rider but understanding how grave their situation would be if both the rider and peddler turned to attack his family.
“Who goes there?”
Thom pressed himself against the face of the rock as he heard the horse come to a halt in front of their place of hiding. He thought he recognized the rider’s voice. He saw Kira staring up at him, her eyes questioning his as though she, too, heard the voice before.
“Jarin Granderson, my friend,” the peddler said. Through a thin opening between the rocks, Thom saw the peddler remove his hat and bow his head.
“What business do you have on the Mylan Road?” the unseen rider asked.
“Why, I am a peddler of course,” Granderson said, making a sweeping gesture with his arm toward the multi-colored wagon. “I serve Mylan and all points southward along the good king’s road. I travel to Droman Meadows with only the finest wares. Perhaps I may interest you in some—”
“Droman Meadows is gone, peddler.”
Thom bristled. Yes, he was now certain the voice belonged to someone he knew.
“Gone? But I was there only months ago, at autumn’s end.”
“Gone. Burned to the ground along with all of its heretics.”
“Heretics?”
The peddler’s face turned pallid.
“That’s right. The world will not miss their kind.”
“No sir,” the peddler said. “Though I have never known the good people of Droman Meadows to be—”
The man on horseback cut the peddler off with a question. “So you understand you have no business going south along the king’s road?”
“Yes. I suppose I do not. But, mayhaps I can interest you in some of my wares before I leave, good rider?”
The whisper of a steel sword released from its sheath caused the daughters to cower against the base of the boulder, tears streaming down their cheeks.
“If there is something of yours I require, I will take it.”
The peddler stammered as he spoke and Thom saw the man’s hands searching underneath the seat of the wagon. “No n-n-need for swords, k-kind sir. T-t-take whatever y-y-you need, sir. I h-have dried m-m-meats, needle and th-th-thread, paper an-and ink—”
“Quiet.”
The chill of the pass deepened, the air as still as the inside of a tomb.
“And place your hands where I may see them.”
The peddler raised his hands into the air, his palms facing outward to show he posed no danger to the rider. The horse advanced on the wagon.
“Very good,” the rider said. “Have you happened upon a man of long, dark hair? He would be traveling with his wife and four daughters.”
Thom’s stomach flipped and his tongue stuck to the side of his mouth.
“N-no, sir. I have seen no man of that description.”
“You wouldn’t lie to me, would you? My friends would not like it if you lied to me.”
With Kira grasping his shoulders to pull him back, Thom bent low and cocked his head around the base of the boulder. He pulled his head back into hiding, pressing his back against the rock with disbelief etched into his face.
“Dain Felcik,” he said, bending toward Kira’s ear.
“Dain? What on earth is he doing here? And why is he searching for you?”
“That’s what I mean to find out.”
As Thom’s hand slipped inside his cloak to the sword hilt, the unmistakable howl o
f a dread wolf echoed down the pass.
“As you can see, dear peddler, I do not travel alone on this day.”
Granderson inhaled and the sound from his throat was like a frog on a summer’s eve. Thom edged his head around the rock again.
The peddler muttered through choked sobs, his eyes fixed on the gargantuan nightmare emerging through the southern entrance to the pass. “It can’t be...it...can’t…”
The horse whinnied and reared up, threatening to tip the wagon. Dain smiled a toothy grin, his eyes remaining pointed and sharp.
The snarling and growling drew nearer. The dread wolf’s feet scraped along the road, kicking up clouds of dust and choking the air. Delia and the twins clutched at Kira, their eyes wide. Sarra pressed back on the stone, her eyes closed and her breaths coming in short gasps.
“Now that you know you will not make it out of this pass alive, I will allow you to decide your own fate, for I am not a cruel man.”
The dread wolf smelled of decay—like wet fur rotting in the August sun. The monster’s shape stretched across the cliff walls and eclipsed the shadowed pass. The air chilled in its wake.
“You will profess allegiance to the Shadow,” Dain said.
“Th-th-the Shadow isn’t.. Isn’t…”
“Isn’t real? Look upon this bringer of death, Mr. Granderson, and tell me again the Shadow isn’t real. Nothing but a fairytale, I suppose you would say?”
The dread wolf howled at the sky, saliva hanging from its razor fangs and dripping on the road like an unholy rain. Delia squeaked and Kira covered the youngest daughter’s mouth, pulling her close.
An uncomfortable silence rushed in. Thom’s blood thrummed through his head, thinking they had been found. At any second, the dread wolf would tear them to pieces. When Dain spoke again, Thom felt a guilty sense of relief.
“Profess allegiance to the Shadow and you shall die swiftly and cleanly by my sword. Fail to do so, and my...friend will rip each limb from your body. What will it be, Mr. Granderson?”
Thom unsheathed his sword. Kira shook her head, tears painting gray lines down her dust-smudged face.
“I have to help him.”
“You’ll be killed,” Kira said. “We will all be killed by that thing.”
“Profess.”
A low growl echoed the command like thunder rolling out of the hills.
Granderson’s voice shook, his face white. “I...I profess...”
“Yes?” Dain asked.
“I profess allegiance to the Shadow.”
Except for Granderson’s sobs, silence filled the pass. Thom bit his lip and prayed the peddler would be spared. The dread wolf growled and then the snarl increased into a hungry roar.
“I lied,” Dain said.
Granderson screamed. The dread wolf howled and bounded toward the wagon. Thom wrapped his arms around his daughters, trying in vain to shield their ears from the horrific sounds filling Drake’s Pass.
He heard the crunch of bone as the dread wolf ripped the peddler’s arm from the man’s body. His screams trailed off as the dread wolf bit through the peddler’s neck. The dread wolf turned its attack on the harnessed animal and the frenzied wailing of the peddler’s horse punctured Thom’s ears like an insect burrowing into his head.
Thom gagged on his shame. Shame he had not fought for Granderson. Shame his family watched him cower in hiding while Dain Felcik and the beast massacred the peddler. Shame he was powerless to stop the madness consuming the pass.
The attack ceased but the dripping blood continued to pool on the road as Dain brought his own horse around to the wagon. As Thom watched, Dain rummaged through the wagon. Puddles of blood covered the road, the dismembered head of the peddler and his horse staring wide-eyed at the strip of sky above the pass.
The rattled caw of a vulture broke the silence. The shadowed image of the predator swept across the dust like a specter. Thom’s heart dropped again as Dain pillaged the ample food stores from the wagon. He hoped something would be left to feed his family, but now Dain was stealing the food.
Dain wheeled the horse about as Thom threw his body against the rock and closed his eyes. The wind sang hollow between the cliff walls, melding with the labored grunts of Dain’s horse and the growl of the monster.
We’ve been found, Thom thought again.
He drew his sword in a whisper covered by the wind, pressing himself against the boulder and waiting for the snarling to come closer. Waiting for the monstrous shadow of the dread wolf to pass over the rocks. He waited for Dain to rush toward his wife and daughters with drawn sword. Thom held his breath and his sword, listening to the vacant cry of the wind through the pass.
Dain pulled his horse toward the southern end of the pass.
“Perhaps they haven’t made it through the pass yet,” he said to the dread wolf.
The shadow of the dread wolf moved over them like a cold pool in a warm lake. Thom sidled to the southern edge of the boulder, positioning himself between the monster and his family. The growling faded to the south, followed by the gallop of Dain’s horse racing out of the pass.
Thom lowered his sword and drew a deep breath. The girls cried, still clutching their mother like newborns in the wild.
Thom counted to thirty before creeping out from behind the boulder, fearing that as soon as he emerged he would see the dread wolf’s fangs dripping with blood. But the only evidence remaining of Dain and the beast was the gray plume of snow dissipating through the southern entrance to the pass. When Thom twisted his head, sickness roiled through his belly as his eyes scanned the butchered remains of the peddler and his horse.
He circled around the rocks and stood before his wife and daughters.
“They’re gone, headed south. We have to get through the pass as soon as we can, but I want all of you to cover your eyes before you look upon the road.”
“Thom—”
“There is no arguing this, Kira. None of you want to see what happened out there.”
He led them out from behind the rocks, the women forming a line with Sarra in front and Kira at the rear. Sarra clutched the back of Thom’s cloak as though balanced on the edge of a cliff, hanging onto the only lifeline. Her sisters—Delia, Krea, and Jasmine—followed with their hands on the back of the sister in front of them. The wind carried a coppery smell as they edged their way over broken rocks and onto the better footing of the road.
Thom looked down as they passed within a few feet of the broken bodies. As they were about to clear the slaughter, Krea opened her eyes, spotting the horse’s severed head and the whites of its eyes staring up at her like a broken doll. She gasped, setting off a chain reaction that caused the others to open their eyes, too. Thom begged them to look away as he pulled them northward along the Mylan Road. Sarra bent over and heaved the remains of breakfast onto the road.
Thom pushed them onward but the women needed little motivation to hasten. As the sun began its descent and the vultures grew in numbers, they saw the dread wolf in every shadow and concealed within every crevice of the cliff walls.
Chapter 14
The sky remained opaque long after they traversed Drake’s Pass. The diffuse circle of light – marking the phantom-like presence of the sun – was one-third of the way to the horizon. Thom knew only a few hours of daylight remained. He led them northward on the east side of the bordering tree line, shielded from the road, sacrificing expedience for the added safety of concealment on the thoroughfare.
Thom recalled children’s stories which taught when one faced down a monster, he was stronger from the experience. But the vacant stares of his wife and daughters reminded him of the look of soldiers who watched their garrison butchered by the enemy. He thought those who told stories around the fire had no idea of the horrors of the real world.
They traveled for the better part of a full night and the following morning. With the pass now hours behind them, Thom scanned the horizon for signs of the village of Arameth. The village sat back from th
e Mylan Road several hundred paces behind a shield of trees. The pines and spruces concealed the village throughout the year but Thom hoped the leafless oaks, maples and ashes would make Arameth easier to spot. Droman Meadows dwarfed the tiny village by comparison.
Moods lightened at the thought of civilization and perhaps a hot meal. But empty pockets and food scarcity had become the norm this spring. Like Droman Meadows, Arameth was too small to justify a garrison of soldiers and Thom knew true aid would not be found until they reached Mylan. And the kingdom was still several days away.
They walked, turning around every so often to scan the receding horizon. The monsters roamed the countryside, pursuing them. And Dain Felcik, whatever role he played in this insanity, rode with the beasts. As the gray doppelgangers of their shadows grew long in the fading, milky light, every distant tree, every shadow and every speck of movement on the horizon became the dread wolves.
Thom pushed them faster toward Arameth hoping they would not burn through their diminishing energy stores. But as the bloody sun descended out of the thick canopy of cloud cover and washed the dead fields in amber, he caught the scent of smoke somewhere to the northeast. He hastened forward, an itch on his back like centipedes crawling across his skin. The scent grew stronger and became unmistakable—smoldering timbers, the same smell riding the wind outside of Droman Meadows.
In his mind, he saw the slain bodies of his friends strewn about the road outside the burning remnants of the Fair Haven Inn. He remembered the coppery smell of blood and the beastly howls hanging over the ravaged village.
“What’s wrong?” Kira asked, a distant look in her eyes.
He ignored her and pressed on, muttering “no” repeatedly like some kind of deranged mantra.
A line of spruce broke to the east and Thom saw a plume of gray smoke hanging over the terrain like an immovable fog bank. Another scent drifted through the burning—the sick, sweet smell of roasting flesh.
He didn’t need to look through the skeletal trees to know what happened to Arameth, but the destruction drew his eyes eastward the way one’s eyes follow a funeral procession. Residual gray plumes billowed off charred buildings and as Thom peered toward the village center, he saw a massive structure collapsed upon itself like a great, slain beast.
