Winter 12, 502 A.V.
The monster ran. Barefoot, bare bloody feet, pounding in time to his heart. The usually forgiving cold bit at his fingers and his toes. It grew icicles in his belly. Still the monster ran on, treading up swirling powdered snow, sending it into the cold wind that tore at his shirt, his hair, his feet, oh Morwen his feet ached. He was crying, and the wind froze his tears to his face. He heard the howling of dogs catching onto a scent, and ran faster, faster, flying over rocks and fallen branches. There was the brief, euphoric pain of a stubbed toe as he half tripped, half trampled over a rotting tree stump, and still he ran. They will not catch me, they will not, The monster used his brain this time, they would not have it because it was his. The wet crimson sun painted the cold earth in blood as it set, flashing in the monster’s eyes at each exchange of his legs. They were mangled stumps under him. He could not feel his limbs. Still he kicked up snow and the wet leaves underneath, darting back and forth scurrying like a rat between the trees as the murderous sun laughed on.
He would never escape the barking of bloodhounds. He would never escape the man in the doorway. They would cut off his fingers and he would never play again. But he couldn’t give up, he couldn’t, so he ran harder, violent branches tearing holes in his pajamas and the howling of dogs getting further and further away. Monster monster monster, the monster did it, he pushed him, murderer, MURDERER But he wasn’t a monster, he was a boy, just a boy, and he was just a man, a mortal man with godlike power over a boy, and the boy was running, must keep running, they must not catch up to him. If they did then he would die, he would die like the man on the stairwell, the monster on the stairwell, he would die in the cellar. One push, one tumble, one blow to the head, one puddle of blood, one boy, one relieved boy, one free boy, one running boy.
The barking was done, the dogs gone home. It was twilight, but the monster ran. His heart grew teeth and chased him, it snapped at his bare heels, and when his stiff ankles collapsed upon his legs the sky was an inky black, scattered with cold stars. His little head sank into a snowdrift and his body curled in on itself. It was done. No more dogs. No more fear. The night swallowed the monster up. His eyelashes grew crusty with frost. His toes curled and turned blue, his small hands clutched at his shirt, stiff.
He was so tired, and he was numb, and his eyes slowly began to close. Then a wolf howled in the distance. It was a mournful cry, beautiful and jarring all at once. His eyes snapped open, snowflakes crackling off his lashes and tumbling into the cold. It was close, the howling was too close, but he was so tired. He felt nothing. It was nice. Even if they found him now, there was no pain. His skin was ice.
Something huge and dark towered over him, blocking out the moon. Two amber stars twinkled side by side in the blackness. He heard scuffling, footsteps, sniffing, all around him. The black thing moved closer and he felt something soft brush his face. After a moment a warm, heavy weight settled over his legs and another fit snugly at his side and draped over his neck. He had no strength to fight it. He guessed that this was death...
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Something was licking his face. He squeezed his eyes together, turning away from the perpetrator and groaning at the pain in his legs. He had had the strangest dream last night, but he couldn’t remember it. The tongue was insistent and it moved from his cheek to his ear. That got him up.
“Ugh!” he exclaimed, bringing a hand to his now wet ear and sitting up in bed. “Eww, Farsel, what’d you do that for, you silly dog?” When he heard no answering bark, he opened his eyes. He was surrounded by strange animals. Two huge wolves were lying close next to him, a spotted ferret was draped around his neck, a bear cub curled up on his legs, and another bear, the biggest of them all, was sitting there at his feet staring him straight in the face. He yelped in surprise, slid his legs out from under the bear cub, who grumbled in annoyance, and scrambled backwards into the snow.
Everything came rushing back. The night before, the stairs, the fear...then the endless running. Falling in the snow, not getting up, dying...But here he was, surrounded by fierce, wild creatures in the middle of the forest, leagues away from what was once his home, and they weren’t ripping his throat out. This must be some kind of weird dream. His mother had told him stories about the horrifying creatures that dwelled in these woods since he was little. He was 12 now and the stories still stayed with him, but here he was, surrounded by wild animals.
Why had they saved his life? Why hadn’t they just eaten him? Perhaps they were keeping him warm to eat later. He shivered violently, though no longer at the cold, and the bear cub resolutely crawled back onto his legs again with a growl. The adult bear nodded its head and flicked it to the side, almost as if it was directing the other animals. The cub got up with the rest of them and he stood up, barely coming up to the height of the two giant wolves. They growled at him and began to press against him, pushing him in the direction the bear was going. He numbly stumbled along, afraid that if he ran they would pounce and devour him. The ferret sat on his shoulder, a warm weight that was almost comforting in the face of imminent doom.
The odd group trudged through the forest for what seemed like a tense hour to Xander until the bear halted and he walked right into the giant furry beast. The bear growled and as it moved away Xander saw the big, brightly painted mummer’s wagon sitting in a snowy clearing in the forest. The two horses hitched to it were decorated in patchy but colorful fabrics, and as they fidgeted, the tiny bells sewn into their harnesses jingled.
The weird assortment of animals moved away from Xander, and as he started to slowly back away he felt the claws of the ferret dig into his shoulder. He froze, eyes wide, watching the animals disappear behind the wagon. There was a bright flash and a strange crackling sound.
And then the strangest thing happened--there was the sound of voices talking, and the rustle of fabric, and boots being laced up. Then walked out from behind the wagon a ruffled group of humans, a tall, barrel-chested man, a thick, broad-shouldered girl with wild hair, and two red-headed men who looked like they might be twins. All were dressed in simple but comfortable clothes with winter coats and hats.
“What...who...?” He gaped.
“What's the matter with you boy? A'int you ever seen a Kelvic before?” the man growled. When the boy didn't respond, he explained. “Semi-Humans that can take the form of an animal. You're lucky we're more than just animals, Or you'd be chewed up and digested by now.” Xander gulped.
“You can call me Boros,” said the bearlike Kelvic, gesturing to himself, then to the other members of the group. “This here’s Sam and Erik,” The two wolf twins waved. “and Evie.” The wild-haired girl grinned at him.
“That rodent on your shoulder there is Peter.” The ferret jumped off Xander’s shoulder and scurried to the back of the wagon, presumably to change into a human as well.
As the boy turned to look up again at Boros, the man smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He waved a finger at him. “You, Xander, are in a lot of trouble.”
“Where's my father? I want to go home.”
“He's dead, child. Don't ye see? You can never go home, not for a very long time.” The boy’s stomach jumped into his throat and froze there. He felt queasy. Boros continued in a low growl while the others looked on silently. “You did the right thing, lad. He wasn't your father anymore. he would have killed you--”
“It was an accident!” Xander felt the tears build up behind his eyes. He blinked them away angrily. He would not cry. “How do you know about all this anyway? I've never even seen any of you people before!”
“Yes, but we’ve seen you. Ye’ve got quite a gift for theatrics.” Boros turned from Xander to pace in the snow. “We’d been scouting you for a while, while our act was in town, and we need a new member.”
Xander shifted to look questioningly at the rest of the little pack, who had begun to set up a campfire, picking up sticks and twigs with their human hands and dumping them into a sizable pile. Boros gazed at the boy quizzically.
“How old are you, lad?”
“...Twelve, sir.”
“Hm. Yer underage , ye’ve not a miza to your name, and you're running from the only home you've ever known. Without our help, you will die, and we've already risked our pelts to save you, therefore you owe it to us to stay alive, and staying alive means staying together. Yer going to be a part of this family until you come of age. Understood?” Xander jumped. He’d never met someone so fierce, but this man had a twinkle in his eye that somehow set him at ease, like this situation wasn’t life-changing and scary but more of a cosmic joke.
“Yessir,” he nodded.
“Good.” Boros got up and stretched, and as if on cue the other Kelvics began to chatter animatedly amongst themselves as they worked. Boros looked him up and down, addressing the state of his clothes.
“You’ll need something hardier to wear. We’ll be moving quickly from here on out. Ask the twins for some garments and tear the ones you have now into strips. We can use them for bandages.” Boros turned from him for a moment. “EVIE!” he barked, “Stop dawdling and get that fire going!” The girl stuck her tongue out at him, but took out a striking kit and set upon the pile of dry brush with a flint and steel. Steel nodded approvingly and turned back to Xander
“You will also need a name. We can’t have you going around with such an obvious Vani title. They may be looking for you in other cities. Of course, we cannot give you your pack name until you’ve earned it, but you may pick a name of your choice to use for now. You must forget about Xander. I’ll give you a fortnight to think on it. Now, let’s eat!”
Then, all semblance of ferocity was gone as Boros clapped him on the shoulder with a huge paw of a hand and led him to the makeshift fire where his new family gathered against the cold chill of the evening.
Earlier that day Evie had hunted down a substantial jackrabbit, and now they stabbed it through the rump with the cooking spit and showed their new charge how to roast it properly over the fire. A half-hour later they were warm, well-fed and sleepy by the smoldering coals.
Boros explained that the wagon was for traveling and the troupe usually slept outside, so they slept under the stars around the fire, 12-year old No-name settled a few feet away. |
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by Ruzekiel Soren on September 25th, 2012, 3:36 am