WOLVES MIST - Chapter 1
#2 of Wolves Mist
The baying hounds were at his heels, his legs felt like lead, but fear lent him strength, his feet pounded the earth in a staccato rhythm, mud spattering his bare legs and flying like explosive debris in his wake, his breathing was harsh and his throat was on fire, but he couldn't stop, he knew he couldn't stop or they'd have him. It felt like their warm breath was right on his back, he could feel the snapping jaws just behind him wanting to tear his flesh to shreds, he had to run, and he couldn't stop. Ahead in the dim light tree's loomed out of the darkness, their branches reaching toward him like hands of black trying to grip him and keep him back. His foot came down on a root, the shock of the hard wood running up his leg like molten lava, with a cry he stumbled, crashing into the forest floor, salvation he feared would be his doom, he'd hoped to out run the savage dogs and get into a tree in the forest, now that safety had betrayed him, he felt the oncoming slathering fangs of doom.
He bolted upright, fear still stinging through him, his legs were caught in something, he grabbed at it, the familiar feel of wool against his hands sent his mind reeling, cold sweat dripped off face onto his bare chest, his mind finally making sense of his surroundings, home, he was home, there were no baying hounds, no slathering jaws, nothing but his bed, his room. The blankets were crumpled up and twisted around his legs, looking like a monolithic land of mountains in the moonlight. His laboured breathing slowed. As his wits once again gathered, he hard knock on his wagons door bolted fresh fear through him. The knock repeated itself, insistent in its rhythm, reminding him of the sound of his run through his nightmare.
"I'm coming!" He barked at the door, he twisted and raked at the blanket, putting the mountainous world into upheaval, finally freeing himself of its entanglement, he threw himself out of bed, the drops of cold sweat on his body glistening like glass drops in the light, he grabbed his trousers and stumbled into them, leaning against the wall of his wagon, finally tugging them on he made his way to the insistent knocking that had not stopped, "I'm coming!" he grumbled at the door. Ripping it open, he was almost knocked squarely in the chest by a fist expecting the door to still be in its way. A burly man stood outside, his bearded face scowling in at him from outside.
"Chris, they've come!" he said, anxiety painting his face in the moonlight. "Who's come Jack? What are you knocking on my door for at this hour!?" Chris answered in turn.
"No time" Jack answered hastily, "Come!" He commanded, gripping Chris's arm, the blacksmiths big meaty hand easily closing around Chris's arm like a manacle of flesh and pulling him out into the waiting night. Chris new better than to ask questions of the blacksmith more than once, so he stumbled out of his wagon and with little choice followed Jack through the wagons toward a distant fire.
"I'm sorry boy, but the elders chose you, I had no say in it. I tried, believe me I tried" Jack said, Chris could see that his eyes were misty and wet. "Who, what?! Chose me for what?" Chris whispered, fear once again gripping his body, there was no more time for questions though as they walked into the firelight. The elders were all seated around the fire, on the opposite side from them soldiers stood, four of them, the one ahead of the others stood with his hand resting on the sword on his belt, his black cape hanging down his back. His leather armour embossed with gold stitching he watched the blacksmith drag Chris into the circle. He looked away from them, to the Elders, you have a while, then he will make his way to us, he gestured over his shoulder. Without further word he strode away, the other three men turning smartly and following in his wake.
A lone Elder stood, his gray thinning hair standing out in all directions, his robe hanging like a tent of scarlet over his small frame. His piercing blue eyes stared at Chris sadly and he spoke. "We found you along our travels, you were left outside my wagon in a basket crying at the night, you know our stories, you know our lore and you know of our pact" Fear grew swiftly into terror that froze Chris at the Elders words, they'd never hidden from him that he was an orphan, he had been given into the care of Jack as a babe, who's wife had died after childbirth along with her stillborn babe. He'd been brought up as one of them, but had always been an outsider, marked by his brown hair and grey eyes in a pool of blond and blue eyed people, a smudge of dirt on a crystal glass. His mind was numb and he stared dumbly at the circle of Elders around him, he knew them each by name, new their wagons and children and children's children, he knew their stories, their ways, their lives. The Elders blue eyes seemed like ice in the firelight. "You know that they come, we never know when, or how they find us, but they come" the Elders eyes turned sad, the ice melting into a misted pool "We had though ourselves free of the pact now, since for 2 generations no one had come, we thought we had finally lost our curse. Now they have found us again and you know what that means" He did, he knew now why the blacksmith had dragged him from his wagon, why Jack had come to fetch him. He was the sacrifice, he was the one who would be given up, he was the brown smudge that was going to be offered up and leave the crystal glass clear again. He could understand, he was an orphan, even if some had grown to love him, some had never accepted him wholly. "You must go now, they await you, you know what will happen if you do not go, please forgive us, but you must go!" The Elder turned away, tears staining the scarlet robe as they dripped freely from his chin. Chris wanted to yell, he wanted to shout, he wanted to run, but his body was rooted in place, he turned his eyes to Jack and saw the tears streaming from his face, he thought about the stories, about the gruesome times told of when one had refused to go, or when they all had refused to let one go. He saw in his mind's eye Jack and the others, dead and bleeding on the ground. He knew he had no choice. He tried to smile, but couldn't, he wanted to be brave, but the fear gripped him, but not the fear of going. He couldn't let Jack die, couldn't let his father die, he couldn't let the people who had taken him in suffer as the stories had told of old. He gripped Jack in a fierce hug, sobs wracking them both and then finally turned away. He walked out in the direction the soldiers had gone without looking back, without saying a word. He couldn't, his world had ended, his voice wouldn't come even if he would have tried to say something, anything, there was nothing he could think of except what would happen were he not to do this. He heard the sobbing of his father, the crunch of gravel as he knew that Jack had just fallen sobbing to his knees. Slowly he stepped out into the darkness, the light and warmth of the fire, like his life, being left behind. Terror of the unknown gripped him, no one knew what happened to those given up for the safety of the others, and none of them ever came back.
Chris saw the soldiers in front on him, they were sitting astride horses, monsters of flesh in the night. He was glad it was a full moon night, the light more than enough to see by. He didn't think he could have faced doing this in the dark of a new moon. None of the soldiers said anything, the man with the gold burnishing simply waved his hand to the horse held by the reins of another. Chris mounted, feeling as if he was walking into the jaws of the baying dogs that he had only moments ago been running from in his dreams.