The lands of Nefling had been under stress for quite some time. Growing resentment of the governing body had thrust the nation into several skirmishes; the peasants were beginning to call for a full blown civil war. Secretly, so were the dukes and governors.
The king and his closest advisers believed the whole thing was a wash that would quickly blow over. However, older, more ancient minds believed there was more to the violence than civil war. These ancient ones could see that an old evil was arising into the land; an evil that hadn’t been felt for an eon. The evil was rising again, a shadow was growing, and its limbs were spreading to cover the land that it had once tried to conquer.
The woods creaked and groaned in what seemed to be a mournful tune, wind bending and swaying the notes from the trees. It was the only sound save for the creak of the cart wheels that echoed through the night. The darkness that filled in the empty spaces between the leafy pillars only added to the ambiance. The trodden path that was cut into the earth from long ago was the only security in the dark coverage.
The weary travelers plodded along the shallow ditch, a poor excuse for a road, but a road nonetheless. An exhausted, wiry nag pulled the dilapidated cart that made for their carriage. Six people in total, excluding the driver, sat uncomfortably in the shelf, still littered with hay and stinking of livestock. The cart was not meant to carry travelers, really, but the farmer who owned the cart would make do with it and so could his cargo.
The passengers had paid well for their seats on his vehicle, especially so late in the evening. In all honesty, the farmer would have made the trip regardless. There was no good tavern in Hamlin, where the travelers were coming from, and he desired a night of revelry and debauchery. With the healthy fee that his charges had paid him, he could have generous amounts of both tonight. The tavern in Halstaad, their destination, was very agreeable, complete with stout ale and surly maids to serve it. He could imagine how well they would serve him once they heard the coins jingling and jangling in his pockets.
Looking back at his cargo he could see of the six, four were carrying pistols and muskets, no doubt enlisted men going to fight in the king’s army. The king’s army was said to be marching against the rebels that were stirring up trouble across England. Some believed it was the beginning of a new civil war, the common people tiring of oppression by the hierarchy that governed them and filled with the desire to govern themselves.
Oddly enough, the farmer already felt as though they governed themselves; he had never met the king or even seen him. He was left well enough alone and he figured the majority of people were too. The civil war, as some had branded it, was probably nothing more than a few upstarts with some trying to make it seem a bigger problem than it really was.
Of the other two sitting behind him, one was the new preacher for Halstaad, an elder gentleman with a fair disposition; the driver hadn’t heard him make a single disparaging remark since he had met him. One would assume if he were to break wind the preacher would compliment him on the bouquet. He liked the man but could not figure out how he had lived such a long life without learning to see things as they were instead of some magically tinted glass that showed everything in a finer light.
The last man was also the quietest. He was the same age as the other boys going to enlist but had more the appearance of a woodsman than a warrior. The young man looked as though he had been working since he could walk and had the frame and complexion to show for it. Dark hair wreathed his head, not quite wild but clearly not kept. Like the other younger folk, he carried with him a pistol that looked old and worn, but in place of the musket he carried an axe.
The driver felt this was a smarter choice for the young man. After all, what would a solider do in a time of peace? Better to start life off with a quiet job that would be needed regardless of his enlistment than to have no plans prepared for the future. This young man sat as much to himself as possible in the cart and kept to his own.
The lantern that hung from the front of the tumbrel cut the night, not with the widest beam, but enough to illuminate the darkness that surrounded them. More than once this light played tricks with the farmer. It would cast shadows onto the trees, making it seem as though trolls and giants hid behind them, waiting to pounce and feast on the flesh of all those in the cart. The farmer knew this was ridiculous; it was a child’s dream to believe in faeries and monsters But it occupied his mind nonetheless.
However, trick or no, someone did appear in the road before the wagon—two someones in fact; one young woman bound and shackled to a decrepit old man. The woman, though beautiful, was miserable, and the driver could see why. The old man seemed crazed, twitching and fidgety with his eyes darting from side to side as if he was looking to spot an unseen menace. This was such a strange site to be appearing in the middle of a forest road that it startled the farmer immensely. Had the nag not been quite so old and broken-down, the wagon could have easily been carried off through the forest and into the night. As it was, though, the nag barely changed course to pass by the two travelers before the driver regained his senses and pulled on the reigns.
The others of the traveling party shifted to see what had caused the stop. The driver, still in a form a shock, didn’t really know what to say and hadn’t formulated a response by the time the mare came to a halt. However, the closer they had drawn to the two, the more details could now be seen. The old man, it seemed, had been chained for quite some time. The flesh on his wrists and ankles where he was bound seemed to be bonding to the metal after years of being blistered, torn away, and regrown, as a tree will do over a binding on its trunk. His lips were cracked and spotted with dry blood, giving the impression that he hadn’t drank in a millennia. His eyes were sunken into his head, making him look like a walking corpse with filthy rags covering his shame.
The woman was, in all ways, the complete opposite of the ancient one. Her skin was pale and beautiful even in the lamplight. Not a blemish could be found. She couldn’t have been chained for long; the skin where the manacles touched had been unharmed by the metal’s harshness. She wore a simple gown that flowed and extenuated her loveliness. So simple, yet so breath-taking, the woman wore her jet black hair long and all the way down her back. Her soft green eyes caught the light in a way that made her appear to glow in the night.
The driver had to wonder if they had been hiding or if he had been neglecting his duties because of the way her milk white skin was such a stark contrast to the deepness of the dark. All that came out of the driver’s mouth was a pathetic “Would you two be needing passage along the road?” He couldn’t even believe he had said it. Why had he said it? These two could be anyone; they could be escaped prisoners of the king for what their shackles spoke of them. Despite his feelings of uneasiness, a tiny voice inside the driver said it was an act of kindness for these two, and so, he was settled with it.
The elder tried to speak but all that could be forced through the arid lips was a rasp, almost as if his very soul was ebbing forth from his body the moment his mouth opened. The woman smiled faintly, although it was not a kind smile.
“What my partner means to say is that we would love transport on your fine vessel through these treacherous woods.” Her voice sank into the skin, into every pore, into the muscle and marrow of every passenger. It solidified the driver’s decision with its liquid tenderness filling in the cracks that had been doubt prior to the statement.
The driver jumped forth from his perch to open the back tailpiece in order to let them climb up, offering his hand to assist the lady and pretending that the man was younger than himself and let him make his own way up. As he did so, the passengers squeezed together to make room for the two, some more than happy to have the woman near them, but others appalled to have the retch on their side.
Being closer to the woman, the passengers could now see that her eyes were such an intense shade of green that the smallest glimmer of light made it appear as though she could see into one’s soul. Those eyes were unnerving. They were only part of her that was becoming steadily more unattractive.
At first, the driver did not look back at her. Instead, he musing over the kind words she had offered of his dilapidated cart. He smiled to himself, pleased with his decision to take on the additional passengers, and especially pleased to have such a beautiful woman to admire.
The ancient one peered out at them with sunken, dead eyes, his gaze infiltrating them almost like the woman’s voice. The other commuters made sure not to meet his stare, and if by chance they did, they would instantly find something far more interesting out in the pitch woods to look at. However, most who were not staring at the woman decided that their feet had become the answers to the universe.
The ride, which had already before been silent, was now plagued by an unsettling quiet that was accentuated by the constant rhythmic creak of the wagon wheels, the braying of the mare, and the wind from the trees, as if the forest was trying to make its own eerie song. This went on for some time until someone, out of curiosity, plucked up the courage to break the silence.
“Why are you chained together?” asked the youngest of the enlisted. He wasn’t trying to be impolite; curiosity had simply gotten the better of him. He had mulled the question over since he had first laid eyes on them and, when he could no longer hold them back, the words finally came tumbling out of his mouth. However, none were taken aback by this straightforward inquiry, since this was the same question that had been running through the mind of practically every other member of the traveling party.
This question brought another smirk to the woman’s face. She raked the old man with her glowing green gaze and explained, “We are bound together such as man and wife.”
Her accent was unfamiliar, even to the preacher who had made a pilgrimage to Rome and back.
“So you are married?” ask the young enlisted.
“If that is how you wish to comprehend it,” she said.
Silence befell the group once again as they pondered her words. Once more, all that could be heard were the creaking and cracking of the wheels.
“Tis an odd way to show your love for one another” said one of the other enlisted young men.
“There is no love between us, nor has there ever been since we have been bound together. Only respect.”
All of the woman’s comments were made with the same smile and unperturbed matter-of-fact tone.
“It isn’t right for a woman to talk so openly about her marriage, especially in front of her husband. There is no wonder why he chained you to him. With a woman so disrespectful as yourself, I think I would have to do the same,” the man said with no measure to the bite in his voice.
The woman’s eyes caught full in the lamplight, their pale green turned instantly turning to venom. The beauty left her face, but only for a moment.
“We are bound by his love and you could never live up to half a pence of what he has done. I despise him but I will credit him with his accomplishments. You, a simple boy, who dreams of greatness while he shovels slop and muck out of stables. You would have been wise to stay in those stalls, boy. You are no better than the foulness that you cleaned from there. You dream of being a great warrior, but you will die young and be forgotten; faceless, nameless, another dead toy soldier of the king’s to be broken.”
Her words struck the man like an arrow to a deer, hitting him straight in the chest. The words she spoke were the very ideas that he kept locked deep in the recesses of his mind, far from his heart in case he may lose it and rush back home to his mother and father to be a stable hand forever.
The others could see that her statement had rocked the young man, for he now stared at the floor, his shoulders gently rising and lowering as if he were trying to regain control of his emotions. Luckily, in the dark, the others couldn’t see the few tears that had escaped his eyes.
The primeval creature that sat beside her glared, taking no notice of the compliments she had paid him. The love she described couldn’t be seen and it was hard to believe with the look on his face that there had ever been love in the old man’s soul at all. The pastor sensing the tension in the small area tried to ease it.
“Where were you to wed, if you don’t mind the intrusion?”
The woman looked him full in the face, her expression caught somewhere between amusement and disgust. It was as if she was trying to figure out if the thing in front of her was a wounded baby bird to be taken care of or a serpent which she should crush beneath the wheel.
“I don’t mind at all, pastor, but you may. We were bound under the full moon in front of God in a forest very much like this; ourselves naked before His gaze bound, chained to one another in a glorious ceremony. We are together until death releases us.”
She smiled mockingly at her partner. It was now the pastor’s turn to look in disgust. He stared at both of them, his usual cheerful visage dissolved instantaneously.
“Do you mean to tell me that you were not bound in holy matrimony before a pastor in the house of God but in a foul unclean place such as this? Your marriage is a lie, a sham, an unclean blot before the eyes of the Lord. You are bound like pagans before his holy sight and you will be cast down for it as you live in sin.”
The woman’s eyes flashed poison once more, rage seeming to fill her, but again only for a brief moment. A wolf like smile pulled across her teeth.
“You, a man of the cloth, condemning me. I thought you all were supposed to be filled with mercy, piety, and forgiveness. You dare speak to me about concepts that you could not fathom.”
Her words spewed from her mouth like fire from a smithy’s oven; never did she raise her voice or change her tone. “You, like so many of the others that follow the pious profession, seem to think that you are the road to God. You who think that through you flows the truth and the word. No, you are closer to a mountain in the path to His house.” She smiled her viper like grin, even kindly bowing to the preacher. “You, your grace, are like a ceiling covering rats from the immeasurable sky and trying to explain to them what it looks like even though you are blind. You twist and distort the word of God to fit your own purpose and dare to tell me that I live in sin. You, pastor, are more like me that you would ever care to admit.”
The pastor was enraged; his face changed the color of crock on the fire, seething with fury and ready to boil over. Then, like a kettle releasing steam, he breathed, “Witch, how dare you speak this way to me! You know me not. We are nothing alike, you abhorrent vagrant.”
She smiled, leaned forward, and whispered in the pastor’s ear. His mouth twitched with an intensified wrath. He scanned the cart, and with one final glare at the woman, resigned to look at his feet just as the other had done. She sat back and let loose a triumphant laugh that was not at all pleasant.
At this time, the driver could not understand why he was letting this woman talk to his charges this way. He felt as though he should toss the woman and the elder off of the cart and into the darkness of the night. However, he felt more inclined to believe that all would be fine and it would be best to remain silent for the duration of the ride. The others had a similar thought process. They felt that they should endure this woman’s punishment and mockery, but they could not understand why.
“What did you say to him?” one of the enlisted asked. The pastor looked at the woman with true fear in his eyes, tears brimming.
“Judge not lest ye be judged.”
The pastor’s eyes locked back onto the floor of the cart. As this went on, the driver felt an increasing sense that something was not right. Would these two even be able to pay him? The more rational thoughts that flowed into his head, the less hold of the woman’s spell had on him. He wanted to say something to her, to speak his mind, but he was not a particularly brave man and he didn’t have the courage that the others possessed. He was afraid to be chastised as they had been. What if she really was a witch like the preacher had said? Could she read his mind, and if so, what horrible nightmares could she dredge up from the recesses of his cognizance? Could she reach into his very soul and crush him with what she found there?
He saw that after she had rebuked them, the two men hadn’t raised their heads. He was scared of her. Perhaps they all were. But perhaps they would remain quiet until they reached town and he could go to the tavern and drown this night, never bringing it back to the surface again.
The night was wearing on and seemed as though it would last an eternity. If the farmer could just push through and reach their destination, he truly believed that all would be well. These thoughts of optimism, however, were quickly shattered.
“Driver,” she said and he froze, “this, I’m afraid, will be a night that you will not soon forget.”
A shiver of fear crept down his spine. What she had said to him had been coincidence and nothing more. It was preposterous to think that she could be an actual witch or that she could read his mind, and yet. . .
All of the men in the cart were shaken; all save for the woodsman who had kept to himself the entire time. Even the woman seemed to pay him no mind as he sat, minding his own business. He seemed unperturbed by the events unfolding around him. He had not flinched nor moved a muscle since the woman and the retch had entered the carriage. He had said nothing and done nothing. The farmer envied his calm. The young man was unfazed by all the words she had spoken, none of them striking him as deeply as they were driven into the others.
The woman looked around the wagon studying each man in turn, like a cat may admire fish in a bowl. She smiled wickedly at each one, save for the young woodsman. He finally spoke.
“How anyone could be bound to such a wicked creature? The poor man must live with you day in and out; it’s a wonder he hasn’t done you in yet.”
A laugh so foul broke through her lips, “A truer statement has never been uttered, boy. A creature am I most definitely, and you have no idea how wicked.”
“What are you?” he spat.
The woman laughed again, a sound like wind bursting trees and breaking branches. More shudders ran up and down spines as she did this.
“You,” she said, “as a mere worm, could not comprehend what I am.”
“Speak plainly, witch. Enough games and trickery! What in God’s name are you?” There was barely a hint of fear in his throat.
The ancient one’s eyes flickered around the cart, trying to catch the attention of the others, but it was too late. She enthralled all of them now. They all had their eyes locked on her, even the woodsman.
Her eyes flashed. “Release me from my bonds and find out just what I am and what I am capable of!”
The old man shook and swayed like a sapling in a strong wind but no one paid him any mind.
“You said yourself, how could someone, a man, be bound to such an insolent women like me. Free him then.”
“What are you?” he repeated.
“You will have to set me free to find that out, if you are brave enough. I can only show you what I am.” Looking at the first man she rebuked, “Come, become great, and let your name be remembered.”
As she said this, she spoke with more emotion than they had seen from her all night. It was as though her mask was finally breaking. Her last words seemed to cut the enlisted man deeply, building upon what she had already done to him. Rage could be seen in his eyes; it consumed him.
He raised his pistol and before anyone could say or do anything, he fired. The woman raised the shackles to block. As the shot rang out, they all heard metal on metal—the sound of the shackles breaking. All that could be seen was a blinding flash of white light.
When their heads cleared and they could see again, they found the horse dead, the woman was gone, and the old man lay dying. He motioned the woodsman to his side. The woodsman made his way over and knelt by him.
“What am I to do for you, greybeard?”
“Water,” he croaked.
The young man swiftly looked in the cart and found a water skin and tipped it to the vulnerable one’s lips. He drank deeply as though his stomach was a desert in need of a good wetting. When he was finished, he spoke.
“What has been let loose here is malevolence incarnate, evil itself in humanoid form. She is the embodiment of wickedness. The devil or one of the many fallen. Evil will continue to flow through her like a broken dam. I tell you this because I am not long for this world. I was bound to that demon for three hundred years.” He paused for a moment, letting it sink in that he was finally free from such a wicked creature.
“In my selfishness, I would like to thank those who set me free from my torment, but in my heart, I fear for you all. Now that she is loose, great war will rip this land apart. Evil will flow freely as blood does from a deep wound. Sin will rule this land and in it, death and torment will be more rampant than ever before. Being bound to her, I suffered for all of you. I was tortured and tempted for centuries. Now, she must be caught again before she can defile and poison the earth once more.” He paused again, this time scanning the eyes of those around him.
“I am sorry to say that she must be bound to someone as she was bound to me. No mortal thing can kill her—at least nothing that I know of. Tell me, what is your name?” The old man locked eyes with the woodsman.
“Jacob Asher,” he replied.
“Then I am sorry, Jacob Asher, but I must pass my cross onto you, for the sake of all mankind. This is the path that is planned for you. You, whose heart the seven deadly ones have not yet entered. You are clean of their contagion. That is why she couldn’t harm you as she harmed the others. That is why she has no power over you. Please, before I am taken, promise me that I will rest in peace. And promise that you will take the burden that I carried in life, for I am truly sorry that it must pass to you.”
“I am sorry, for I am no holy man; I have no graces of God. I have sinned against Him. I cannot be the one to bare this weight. There are far better men, holier men, who would be more suited for the burden.”
The old man spoke again. “Humility is one of your greatest qualities, Jacob, along with your weakness. Weakness, you can learn from. Because of your humility, many men have been great beyond measure and never known their own worth. You are one of these men. You will find that you are tempered better than the finest steel and sharper than the keenest blade. This is your destiny whether you believe it, accept it, or deny it. It will find a way to become yours one way or another. Now, boy, please, what will your answer be?”
Jacob nodded, and then bowed his head. The old man placed his hand upon it and said, “Go with God.” A white light shown again, softer and more comforting than that of the shackles being broken, and the old man was gone.
“What did he say?” asked the driver, for the ancient one and Jacob had been speaking in hushed tones.
“We need to get out of the woods,” said Asher. “Gather your belongings and let us be on our way.”
“What did he say to you?” asked the driver again. His mind was racing since the blinding light. Suddenly everything he had thought earlier about monsters and faeries didn’t seem so far-fetched.
“Nothing, just the regrets and triumphs of an old man on his death bed. He wanted someone to know something of him before he died. Now, gather your things. We need to move.”
“What was the white light?” one asked as he gathered his provisions.
“My guess would have to be the flash of the ball striking the manacles. Must have been tough metal to spark as much. The woman must have fled, fearing another shot to follow.”
Jacob gathered his paltry belongings and started toward the driver who had snatched the lantern from the cart and waited on the path for the others to follow. “Quickly, let’s be on our way. There may be wolves out tonight. The moon is full and they may be watching.”
In truth, Asher had no fear of wolves this night; the old man’s words had rung true in his ears. He had felt the power of the woman’s words and had felt the tremors of her malice in the air. No, she was the true predator that he feared in the woods.
One thing Jacob Asher knew for certain was that he would not wait for her to attack him, standing in a befuddled state. If she were to attack him, he would like to meet her on even footing, at least knowing where she was coming from.
His comment about wolves had served its purpose; the enlisted and the preacher shared glances and began to hurry with their packs and supplies. When they had all gathered to move the driver added, “I don’t fancy becoming some wolf’s dinner. Let’s be quick down this path and out of these cursed woods.” He hurried forward casting a glimpse back to his horse, his broken cart, and where the dead man had laid. He realized now that the body was no longer there.
He turned to speak to Asher, but the man seemed deep in contemplation, so the driver decided to stay quiet. No matter what he thought about the missing body, the driver felt responsible for them all, but there was nothing for it now. He would drink this night away, pass out, and forget it all ever happened—that is, until he had to go home to his wife and explain why he was horseless and cartless.
The lantern seemed as their only protection, even though they had muskets and pistols. The light gave them some comfort. Asher did not share this sentiment; to him, the light was a beacon that she could see and stalk at her leisure. But if it kept the others calm, so be it. He did not want them panicking now and running into the woodland, getting lost or perhaps even worse. Jacob wanted to get the rest of the travelers home safe, and if that meant letting the six of them huddle around a lantern with a false sense of security, he would allow it.
He surveyed the perimeter, watching and waiting.
“Don’t worry, boy,” one of the enlisted said. “Wolves won’t attack such a big group, especially with a light.”
Asher grunted a response. He felt too much like a lamb being led to slaughter. He could feel her eyes on him knew that she was out there and wanted them dead. She had most likely waited around to watch the old man die and was now ready to kill the rest of them.
“Can we just break for camp here on the road and continue in the morning?” asked one.
“I think we should continue till we arrive in town,” said Asher.
“The town is a walk that will take all night,” said the driver “but at least we would be on the move and awake if wolves were to attack.”
The man sighed “Fine, but at least allow me go make water.”
“Go, but be quick about it,” responded the driver.
After a few moments of waiting, they called out to the man. But there was no response. Everyone looked amongst themselves, not knowing what to think. They continued to call out to him, but after receiving no response, they began to get worried. They finally decided to look for him.
Asher hoped that the man had just fallen asleep just to spite them all. But when they searched, what they found shocked and horrified them. Blood splattered the ground and matted the leaves of the trees and bushes. Guts were strewn from branches but body and limbs were nowhere to be found.
“They eviscerated him,” said the preacher, on the verge of sickness.
“Wolves didn’t do this. We would have found his corpse with them devouring his guts,” replied another.
It was as Asher had feared. The men began to tremble and babble amongst themselves, talking of monsters and demons. They had a right to be afraid, but they were no use to Asher in frenzy. He needed them as calm as he could get them, thinking rationally and being able to follow orders or fight if necessary.
The picture that was painted in front of them with human organs and blood was clearly confirming what the ancient one had said just before he died. Although Jacob had not needed much convincing on that point, he was now certain of it. If this was just the first act of the demon being released from its bonds, what other untold violence could it unleash? No man or beast could have wrought such destruction with such precision in so short a time and without making a sound.
The victim hadn’t even had time to scream. They had heard nothing, which is what unnerved Jacob the most. How could he hope to fight something that killed so efficiently, so quietly? He had heard stories of great cats that could stalk their prey in the far of jungles of untold lands, but even they did not keep silent before the kill, triumphant of their accomplishment.
“I think it’s time we began to move. Whatever killed him may still be lurking, and I would rather not tangle with it,” said the driver. By now, he was shaking so badly that the light of the lantern was not steady and casted more upsetting shadows, glistening off of organs that had not been noticed in the limbs before. Asher took the lantern from him.
“You are right. I’ll lead. Guide me down the path should I stray too far.”
The driver made sure to hide behind him, staying close enough that his scent filled Asher’s nose. The others followed the light more than they followed Asher, like bugs to a candle. However, as long as they were moving down the trail and were headed to safety, he didn’t care.
Asher carried the lantern only for the others, and that he did begrudgingly. He knew that the demon could easily spot them, plotting and perhaps even setting traps. She was out for blood, that much was plain, but Asher wondered if she would play with her food before devouring it. How many of them could she slay before they made it to town? Jacob didn’t want to think of that nor how he would have to defeat the she-bitch. He just knew that he had to focus on the task at hand.
The woods continued to groan as they passed beneath them; the sounds of the night became more sinister, the winds more fowl, harsher. It seemed that Mother Nature had aligned herself with the evil or, at the very least, was being bent and twisted to the wretched creature’s will, aiding its dark purpose. Every tree became a way to hide the hunter as the prey walked under long branches. The trail started to turn against them; it became rougher as it rose to meet them. Rocks shifted to twist ankles and unseen holes opened to trip them. The trees stooped in low to cut their faces and clothes.
The further they walked, the closer they gravitated towards the light. The trees gradually began to close in, making the path thinner.
“This isn’t right,” remarked the driver. “The path should be wider. Almost two carts should be able to drive down it, and yet now we barely walk two abreast.”
“You did mention that this trail wasn’t frequently traveled,” said Asher, trying to calm him.
“I journeyed this road but a few weeks ago. These trees couldn’t have sprung up and be fully grown in that time!”
Perfect, Asher thought. She’ll close the wood in around us and we will never find our way out.
They trudged on through the night, the forest closing in on the road until they could only travel in a single file line. They were stretched out so far that when Asher looked back he could hardly see the last man in line. They traveled on like this for some time until Asher heard a scream rise up from behind. The man that had been at the rear of the line was gone.
“What happened?” asked Jacob.
“I don’t know, he was here one moment, then the next. . .” the preacher’s voice trailed off, mounting terror on his face could easily seen.
When Asher went to examine the scene, no tracks could be made, whether by the scarcity of light or otherwise. Asher was no great hunter, but he knew enough to get by and what should have been an easy trail to see was marred, as if the man was picked up by a beast that was not wholly solid but not quite air.
Despite this, the path of broken twigs and bent grass was simple enough to follow. At any rate, he could tell everyone something had picked the poor man up and carried him off.
“We need to go look for him” the preacher whispered.
“No, we need to keep moving. Something is out here trying to kill us,” said one of the others.
“For all we know, he could still be alive and there may be a chance in us saving him. The only decent thing to do would be to at least look,” the preacher responded.
“You go off, preacher. We’ll stay on the path while you go play savior. I’m getting to the town before it decides I’m fit for killin’,” the same man said.
“No. Whatever we do, we must do it together. A bigger group is better against wolves. Isn’t it you who said that?” asked Asher.
“We both know that this is no wolf nor is it a pack. I don’t know what it is, but I don’t want to stay here and find out. All I do know is that I want to be out of these cursed woods before it comes back to find us. So, let’s be moving, and quickly!”
“We need to at least look for him. Is that not what you would want if you were in his boots?” Jacob asked.
As the man searched for a response and grasped at none, Jacob grabbed the preachers arm and traced the broken twigs and grasses that made the path and tracks of captor and captive. When the man finally did make a response, it was a sharp intake of breath as he followed along with the rest.
The group was quiet only in the vaguest of senses. Their fear made them clumsy and noisy as they crashed through the brush, bush, and brambles. Finally, they found him, but they were only his remains. His body lay intact, but was posed in such a manner that the creek by which he urinated would flow through the hole that had been carved in his stomach and would then flow through his mouth. He had been made a fountain of hell, continuously spewing bloody water forth from his gullet.
A laugh split the night air like the woodsman’s axe, separating the silence and little security that they had. She was near, or so it seemed. The woods could hide anything. Her voice echoed, reverberating from each tree, only to be absorbed by every man’s body, straight to his very core. It was the same laugh from the cart, but with much more mirth than before, as if she was exhilarated by the blood lust.
“Witch.” The word barely escaped.
“Quiet. We need to keep moving. She’s here!” said Asher.
“Why? She already knows where we are. She will just follow us and slaughter us. She’ll kill us all.” The man’s voice was rising to hysteria. He foamed at the mouth, his eyes widened and rolled like a spooked horse. Jacob punched him, causing him to double over. He made to kick him, but the preacher stopped him before connecting.
“We need to keep moving lads. We are all afraid, I’ll not deny it, but I’ll not lay here and let Satan’s harlot have me. When we make it to Haalstad, we’ll be safe there. When we make it, she’ll dare not enter. There will be too many people. With the numbers and the parish, she will be so overmatched, she would dare not follow.”
Asher took keen interest in the fact that the preacher was careful to say when, not if, they made it to town. But he wasn’t so sure the town would stop the evil. Anything that could bend the forest and nature itself to its will may not be bothered by mere mortals, no matter their number or if they happened to be in a town, or a forest, or a fortress for that matter. If she wanted them dead, they would most likely be hanging like stuck pigs by morning. But there must always be hope. Maybe they would be safe in town; maybe they wouldn’t be gutted and put on display before the night was through. The only thing that was certain in Asher’s mind was they had to move.
He put his hand out to the man to help him up and hauled him to his feet. “Preacher is right. We have to be quick. She already knows we are here, as you pointed out. No need to be quiet. We have to make it to Haalstad and out of these woods.”
They turned to make their way back to the road but with horror found that the path that they had followed was now gone, swallowed by the trees and brush.
“Where’s the trail? it was right here, I know it!” one proclaimed, scanning the ground. His eyes now searched the entire expanse as if waiting for her to burst forth from the trees and cut him down where he stood.
“We’re lost,” rasped the man whom Asher had picked up from the ground. His voice shook, as did his body, but he wasn’t the only one. The mounting fear was palpable, tangible; it was rank in the air, bleeding into their hearts.
“I guess we’ll have to follow the creek. It should lead us somewhat closer to town. We may be able to spot a building or house,” Asher said with clarity.
“Or it could lead us further away, deeper into the forest and straight into her gapping maw.”
“Well, would you rather wait?” asked Asher.
“Who decided that you take the reins here, boy?”
“No one here is taking the reins. We are all trying to work together. If no one has any better ideas, I suggest we follow the creek. It is the best chance we have and arguing that point will get us nowhere.”
“I’m following him.”
They were all startled by the voice, particularly the confidence that surrounded it. The driver had decided to speak up, even startling himself a little. Since the first death, he had been in a haze, never having seen a man die before. He had had to put a horse down himself once, but nothing compared to the violence that he had witness during the man’s death. He had been following Asher the whole time as if it were the right thing to do. Now he was just speaking his mind. With that, he stepped behind Jacob, waiting for him to make the first move.
All followed Jacob, the preacher happily, the others somewhat begrudgingly. The preacher was more than pleased at the words of the driver, seeing also that Jacob should lead them out. “God will guide us through this, gentlemen, just as he guided the Israelites through the desert to the Promised Land. Ye though I walk through the valley of shadow.”
Jacob couldn’t help but think it had taken the Israelites forty years to be abdicated from the desert. They would be lucky to survive the next forty minutes.
“Have faith and God will guide you.”
They started following the creek, staying clear of the higher thicketed grass. They told themselves it was so their boots wouldn’t find any holes to destroy their ankles, but the reality was that something could easily spring from the deep of the undergrowth. In the dark and the grasses they would be lost from the others.
By the lantern’s light they could tell that the creek stayed red for quite some time, until mercifully, the water cleaned itself. The driver, now being of far less use now then even before, moved in the middle of the group, being sure not to fall behind or trudge too quickly. Bunched as they were, no man wanted to walk in the back. They all felt it would be like walking with the reaper.
The lantern flickered now, the oil was running low. “Christ, can anything else go wrong for us?”
“Mind your tongue boy.”
“Easy. All we need to do is make a few torches. Tear your sleeves and we can stuff them with leaves and wet grass to make them burn longer. We’ll find branches and we keep moving. Don’t travel out of eyesight.”
They began wandering, cutting healthy sized branches and making the torches, but when they regrouped, one more of them was missing.
“Oh, God, please, we need to run. Please let us move fast and forget him. He is dead already and we know it. I cannot bear to see anything more.”
“COWARD!” The woods screamed, echoing from every tree.
The man’s eyes went wide. He turned quickly, prepared to run off wildly into the night, but Asher was there again to stop him. “No, stay with us, or you will surely breathe your last.”
The man started breathing heavy sobs, tears rolling down his face as if he were a small child instead of a man who, a few short hours ago, was prepared to go to war.
“We will all breath our last in this cursed forest, mark me Asher, you know it to be true. This witch will feast on our souls.”
“Hold your tongue” said Jacob. “We will make it as long as we are together and move quickly and stay of sound mind.” As he spoke, they saw a light sprout in the distance.
“That’s no candle’s flame,” said the driver.
“She has opened a gate to hell to drag us to her master. She’ll bare us all before Satan’s feet,” said the other.
“Quiet. It could simply be a bonfire for all we know. It could be our escape. We must go see.”
They followed as silently as they could, bearing torches and what was left of their gear. Asher still had his axe and pistol, the other a long knife and a pistol of his own. The preacher was armed with the Holy Scripture, but the driver, it seemed, was left with no weapon against the evil, save the lantern, which he threw his shirt over to block the light.
As they meandered forward, Asher practically dragging the others along behind, they could feel the heat of the hell fire and the smell of charring meat. The blaze burned brilliantly in the night air, carrying the cooking husk into the night.
“Oh my God,” escaped from the preachers lips. “This is not God’s work, not by any thought or deed.”
The light was produced from a tree set ablaze, and from the tree, still writhing in agony but unable to make a sound, was their companion. The witch had indeed made a gateway to a certain hell and in this man’s final moments he experienced more hell then one could imagine while still alive.
The tree itself wrapped around the man, seeming to consume what was left after the blaze had had its fill. It first suspended the man on display, then brought him into its bosom as a friend and consumed him inside the dying trunk. The skin crackled as though the forest was having a feast of pig with a side of roast soul, charring the body to an unrecognizable state.
No mistake could be made among the party, though they wished that it could. This was indeed the man that had traveled with them; this was the man whom Asher said he would protect. Asher knew this as he watched the flames reach higher and higher. This man, he had said, would make it to the town. He began feeling his doubts and his insecurities come to him in full force.
This was not a natural enemy; this was something beyond nature and beyond his mortal reasoning. This hell fiend was something no mortal man should ever have to encounter, and yet here she was killing with reckless abandon, without care or concern. This was something man should never have to see, feel, or smell, and yet it existed before them.
Asher could hear the preacher mumbling his prayer of final rights, but he couldn’t quite understand if it was for the burning man or everyone in procession. The convoy lumbered away from the burning cider, the words of the preacher fading away like the fire’s light.
“You are all going to die here.” This phrase replayed in their mind, reverberating between psyche and madness. Johnson, the last of the travelers besides the driver, the preacher, and Asher, was beyond comprehension. His blubbering and stammering had melted into silent gasps accented by the coldness, growing ever stronger the further they traveled from their fallen companion’s resting place. The others walked in complete silence through the dark night, more like corpses than living humans. Their eyes were not truly seeing, only reliving the after image burned into their retinas from the fire.
Johnson stumbled between the preacher and driver, making it difficult for either man to get his bearings. They held him, practically carrying him, behind Asher.
“Can we not fight such wickedness?” asked the preacher.
“What weapons has God given you that he has not entrusted with us, good vicar? I have but a pistol, good for maybe hunting, but not much else, and an axe good for cutting only bark, not flesh. These were the men planning for war. I was planning for a life of peace and so far have only gotten torture. I must add we have not seen this creature, reverend, since she was in the cart with us. She knows our every move, and yet we know only that she wants to destroy us in the most painful and unimaginable of ways.” After this, he was silent, disgusted by his own words of woe.
They could still smell the charred meat of their compatriot as they spoke, even after they could no longer see the light. The smell followed them, burned into their nostrils, and seemed that it would remain with them as a reminder of what had happened and an indicator of what could possibly follow.
After the pyre, the woods seemed even darker. Though the lantern cast the same amount of light, the darkness’ jagged fingers were long and would not lose their grip. Johnson kept to the middle of the band and would jump at the slightest twig snap. The others were not much better, but they could see his eyes whip wildly in the lantern light.
“When will we be rid of these damned woods?” asked the preacher. Everyone turned to look at him.
“Even walking, we should have been clear of it by now,” replied the driver.
“So, are we going around in circles or. . .?” Johnson’s voice trailed off, leaving the second part of his question to enter the minds of the other travelers. Are we going in circles or is she leading us where she wants us, to hunt and slay us at her leisure?
Johnson began to hyper ventilate, grabbing the others trying, to force them to look into his crazed eyes. “I don’t want to be found by the witch. I don’t want her to kill me, to slaughter me like the others. We need to do something!” his breath shuddered and the words that followed came out as only a whisper. “We can’t continue to walk blindly through these woods and wait to be. . .” he gasped, “taken. We need to do as the preacher said. We have no choice; we have to fight this evil.” He could no longer contain his fear. He wept, the tears appearing eerily green in the light of the lantern.