Wailing In The Night

Kestrel remembered this scene out of a book he had once read as a young boy--the lone wolf and the lone sheep. The white wooled sheep is lost in the forest, having been separated from his shepherd after a terrifying howl got him to flee far away from his shepherd. In the forest, the sheep cries softly, and the wolf asks the sheep why it fled from his shepherd. But before the sheep even has time to answer, he is snapped up by the wolf and gulped down in one bite. Every fly tangles itself up in the spider's web, and every sheep trips over its legs trying to flee from me, says the wolf. Kestrel always found the sheep foolish. If only he had never left his shepherds side this would never have happened. 

"Kestrel, focus! You've gotta focus, they're coming!" said Eyleen, her voice almost trembling. 

Kestrel realized that he had already left his shepherds side long ago. Maybe the sheep wasn't so foolish after all, or maybe he was more of a fool than he could've ever imagined.

Marquis' shouting finally pulled Kestrel out of his head. "Kestrel, to your left! Look out!"

Kestrel spun around to face a wolf. Or, at least something resembling a wolf. Its body was shorter than that of a regular dog, and its limbs were longer, not to mention the size of its paws. Its ugly mug snarled at him, wolf-lips peeling up to reveal sharp teeth and rotten gums. It paced slowly towards him, and Kestrel stepped backward instinctually. The wolf-thing saw its chance, and engaged, its form red like anger in the flickering light of the campfire. Kestrel managed to pull forth his dagger just as the creature lurched at him, yet its movements were awkward and unnatural. Kestrel held his dagger in both hands. The wolf snapped at his ankles, forcing him to scurry back. There was no opening. Out of the corner of his vision, Eyleen was flinging knives into the black of the forest, and Marquis was trying to crawl closer to the fire.

"One hand, Kestrel! Hold it in one hand!" cried Marquis from across the flame.

Kestrel got confused for a moment, and let go with his right hand, keeping the dagger in the left, even though he was right handed. He quickly switched hands but his ankle got caught on something sturdy and he tripped and fell hard on his back, air forcing itself out his lungs, at which point his vision blackened. He gasped, and suddenly a heavy weight pressed down on his rib cage, snarling. Kestrel waved his knife out in front of him, slicing at something. A warm sticky substance clung to his fingers. His breath frantic, his throat dry like sand. His vision cleared and before him the grey, matted, ugly head of the wolf-creature drooled curtains out of its gaping jaw before descending on him. Kestrel flung his left arm towards its neck, barring its teeth of entry, but its rotted, disgusting breath made its way past his guard and tingled in his nose which made him feel sick. He struggled to keep its powerful body away, feeling its claws pinching his chest and stomach, but suddenly all of its pushing force turned soft and the creature went limp, slouching over to his left. A long sleek knife was lodged deep in its skull. Kestrel braced and pushed against the creature as hard as he could, shoving it to his side. It rolled over and he managed to scramble to his feet, accidentally stomping on the campfire. The moment his foot felt hot he pulled his leg back, dragging charcoal with it, ash pluming in the air. The light dimmed halfway, and the dancing shadows grew blacker. 

Another wolf suddenly shot out of the darkness, its frantic paws drumming the earth as it charged. Eyleen reached into the depths of her cloak and in the same breath threw not one but two flickering knives at the creature; one piercing its shoulder and the other burying itself in its forehead. The beast crashed face first into the dirt, deceased.

"There's more," said Eyleen, scanning the treeline. "Three, no, four of them, I think..."

They looked around cautiously, circling the campfire and turning their heads in every direction, eyes wide open. The snarling grew louder. Three of those things walked confidently into view, circling the party before they charged at the same time in a coordinated effort. Eyleen drew another knife out of her cloak and spun it into a backwards grip. She took three swift steps, outflanking one of the creatures and stabbing it cleanly in the neck twice in succession. Another one lunged at her, but she effortlessly rolled over the corpse of the one she just felled, turning around as she stood back up in a wide stance, whipping her knife at the beast, catching it in its forelimb. 

Marquis' scream diverted Kestrel's attention. "Get off of me, by the light, get off of me!" 

The third wolf-thing had gone for their cripple, who was helpless against its attack. It had bit down on Marquis' forearm, its frenzied head jerking violently. Kestrel gripped his dagger firmly with one hand and ran at the evil beast, blade-first. He put his whole body weight into the very tip of his dagger as he slammed into it, tumbling over and with it. He felt himself on top of the creature, then the creature weighed down on him, before they finished rolling an arm-length apart on the forest floor beneath. Kestrel hastily locked his eyes onto his enemy--his knife had gotten stuck in its side. To Kestrel's surprise, it stood up, not one its four limbs, but on its two hind legs, arms stretched out. It let out a guttural cry, not at all like that of a canine, and the air trembled. It was in anguish. A swift swoop whizzed by, a sleek knife, hitting the accursed creature in between its sunken eyes. It dropped to the floor like a crumbling tower, body snapping as it collapsed.

"My last knife," said Eyleen, panting.

"Wasn't there one more?" asked Kestrel, darting his head around, looking for danger.

"Shh, quiet," said Eyleen, putting her finger to her mouth.

The forest seemed to exhale. The leaves rustled. Then, there was silence, except for the crackling of fire wood and Marquis' labored breathing.

"It ran off," said Eyleen.

"The fucker bit me, I should never have come the fucking light-forsaken Swarth," cried Marquis. "I mean, what was I expecting, seriously? Fuck me."

"Calm down, we will get through this," said Eyleen, yanking one of her knives out of one of the carcasses.

"No, no, fuck you," cried Marquis. "Don't you give me hope. I'm dead already. Look at my foot. I mean, look at it. That's not human. That's fucking disgusting. I can't even feel it anymore."

"They might have a cure for this in Hedgelen. Something like a local remedy," said Kestrel.

Marquis scoffed. "Oh, surely, a cure. A local remedy. By the light, if there was a cure then these cursed fucking bastards wouldn't have been here, now would they?"

"We don't know that. We don't know anything," said Kestrel, his voice growing softer.

"Aye. Exactly. We don't know fuck-all. That's why I'm as good as dead," said Marquis, spitting blood. "You know what, just put one of those daggers in my head for me, would you love?

"Shut it, idiot," said Eyleen, yanking out another knife from another carcass. 

The fire grew small, and the light grew dimmer and redder.

"Let's get out of here now. The fire only attracted those things," said Kestrel, wiping his hands off on his button-up.

"I can't walk," squawked Marquis.

"We'll help you," said Eyleen, putting Marquis' arm over her shoulders. Kestrel mirrored her on the other side. 

"If we're going through the woods we'll need some form of light source," said Kestrel.

"We won't go through the woods. We'll go back to the road," said Eyleen.

"But, that'd leave us in the open. What if that monster comes and attacks us?" said Kestrel in a loud whisper.

"So you'd rather stay in the woods, tripping over roots and getting attacked by werewolves? We'd never make progress," said Eyleen. "We need to make it to Hedgelen as soon as possible. We're taking the road."

Kestrel absorbed the information and sighed. "We've got terrible luck." He looked at Eyleen's face, but they'd gotten too far away from the campfire at this point, making it too dark to discern her facial expression. 

After a short while, they'd made it back on the road. They hadn't been as deep in the woods as he'd thought. He looked back towards the treeline before looking towards each way of the road. The moon wasn't out, yet the forest was noticeably blacker than the road was. 

"Which way was it again?", he asked.

"Right, go right," said Marquis, his words seeping out of his clenched jaw.

Eyleen poised herself under Marquis heavy arms. "Let's hurry." 

It wasn't so bad at first, carrying Marquis. He wasn't limp by any means, and walked, or rather hopped along with the help of their support. But his foot, it was getting worse by the minute. Kestrel couldn't tell from just looking, but he assumed that the infection, or whatever cursed affliction it was, had already spread all the way up to his leg. He considered if they should cut it off using Marquis' sword, but he'd surely die from the blood loss considering Kestrel didn't carry a tourniquet, or even any antiseptic for that matter. However, any ideas of trying to save Marquis from the infection slowly died as time passed. They'd only been walking for what seemed like mere moments before Marquis started sobbing. Marquis' arm felt as if it was pulling Kestrel down, his legs like an anchor as it dragged behind them. Then he started crying.

"Oh, come on, man up. We've not got that far now," said Eyleen, worry tinging her words.

Marquis cried out. "Put me down, it hurts! I can't stand it, cut them off! Cut off my legs!"

Eyleen and Kestrel gently put down Marquis on the ground who squirmed to be let loose. He collapsed on the ground.

"Don't you have any more of that, what was it, lucratarium?" asked Eyleen.

"Lactucarium. And I only had enough for one dose," said Kestrel, his gaze locked solemnly on the graveled path below.

Marquis cries turned into laughter, before turning into cries again. "So much for the wraithe slayer, the 'hero Marquis'."

Eyleen and Kestrel didn't say a word.

"Oh, come on, just cut my legs off, use my sword," said Marquis, trying to draw his gold-tinted sword, but his arms were clumsy and he couldn't seem to get a firm grip on the handle.

"You'll die," said Kestrel, his breath bated.

Marquis groaned. "What if I want to die, huh? You ever thought about that, silvershone?"

"Quiet down, we're not alone out here," hissed Eyleen.

Marquis laughed maniacally and screamed out into the night.

"Make him go quiet or I will," said Eyleen staring daggers into Kestrels eyes.

"The forsaken crawl out of their graves. They scrape at my skin, they want out, out, out..." gurgled Marquis.

"What was that?" asked Kestrel in a calm, reassuring tone as he knelt down closer to Marquis.

"Hey, get away from him," said Eyleen, raising her voice.

Marquis was mumbling unintelligibly at this point."Ah, Maria, don't go. Don't leave me alone. It's so dark in here." 

"Who's Maria?" asked Kestrel, trying to get Marquis to come back to reality for a moment. Such deep-set infections would cause ones body to overheat, potentially leading to hallucinations. It was not unprecedented.

Marquis screamed out again, his desperate voice scraping his vocal cords. "I didn't intend to kill him! I didn't intend to kill him!"

Marquis curled back like a dying spider, his limbs crackling and snapping.

"Get away from him, now," commanded Eyleen, pulling on Kestrels shoulder.

Marquis twisted and his limbs contorted violently right in front of their eyes. He rolled over and faced away from them, hands on the ground and facing the gravel, as if he was looking into a mirror on the ground. It was quiet for a moment, before Marquis spoke.

"I'm parched, so parched. I just need a drink of water. Hey, Kestrel, you do have water, don't you?"

Kestrel opened his sack to grab his waterskin, but when he looked back up, he saw Marquis' slightly elongated neck twisting back to look at him. Marquis' eyes seemed larger, and the shadow of his face had warped itself to resemble that of a mongrel.

"Water, water..." growled Marquis as he crawled towards Kestrel.

A great thunder erupted by Kestrel side as reality seemed to shatter. He flinched as if seeking for cover. His ears rang and the scent of smoke wafted in the air. The boom carried itself on the treetops, and the treetops answered with a thousand echoes. Before him, Marquis laid limp on the ground, head cocked back. Kestrel threw his gaze towards Eyleen, who postured stoically, a bandage-wrapped flintlock gripped tightly in her right hand.

"I, you," muttered Kestrel. He looked back at Marquis unmoving, cursed body. What a horrible way to die.

"Don't think about it, let's just go," said Eyleen, pulling on Kestrels arm, hurriedly marching past Marquis' corpse.

They were able to march about five paces before the echoes of the gunshot finally settled to silence. And from that silence came another sound. Deep from the heart of the forest, a guttural, evil shriek answered their call. It tore through the woods in long almost pulsating waves of sound, and the very road they trod seemed to shake and grow hazy. A heavy pit formed in Kestrel stomach. They were stranded on this desolate road. Eyleen turned her wide open eyes toward Kestrel. "Run."

Eyleen took the lead, and Kestrel followed suit. He worked his legs and pumped his arms, but the graceful Eyleen still managed to outrun him. But he didn't have the time to think or even worry, so he just focused on running. But his stamina would fail him. When his legs started feeling heavy and his lungs started to burn, he turned back to look at the ever dark forest behind them. Perhaps that creature hadn't trailed them and wasn't actually after them at all. His hopes would burn to cinders when he could barely make out the black silhouette of distant treetops thrashing, marking the path of something large making its way towards them. He looked back and saw that Eyleen was a good distance away from him. He began running again, but his legs were too heavy now to generate any meaningful pace. 

"Run faster, come on!" cried Eyleen from across the road. 

Kestrel channeled the very fire of his soul into his legs. He ran. For a moment. But his tired legs tangled as they fought for space. He tried to find his footing but he had been running too fast and his legs couldn't compensate. Kestrel threw his arms out in front of him as he crashed into the ground, rolling over twice before scrambling to get back up on his feet in a panic. Eyleen stood still in the distance, observing him failing at something so basic as running. If he hadn't been stricken with fear he would surely have been stricken with embarrassment. He staggered back to a jog, but he came to a halt--he froze. Loud creaking of wood echoed from behind him. He slowly turned to look back and saw nothing. He saw nothing but there was something coming closer and closer--it was in fact already too close. He was never going to make it. Eyleen was still standing off in the distance. She too seemed frozen.

"Help," said Kestrel.

Out of the treeline crawled an abomination of a creature easily the size of the stage coach they had ridden hours earlier--a monster in every sense of the word. It was difficult to discern details in the dark, but its limbs were unnaturally contorted and bulky with muscle, covered with matted fur. It was bloated in the front and skinny in the back, and it dragged itself forward using its large clawed finger-like paws like nothing out of this world. A clicking noise and a growling gurgle escaped its canine mug. It was the cause of the curse, but unlike its victims, it resembled more so a dog than a wolf, having a wider snout and a flatter face.

Kestrel fell back, his weary legs giving out under the weight of his frail body. He was an extinguished candle. The monster drew closer, sniffing in the air. Each sniff sounded like the sawing of a tree log. As if the sacred light itself had given him a moment of clarity, Kestrels heartbeat steadied. 'I'm going to die here. I'm going to die here if I don't act,' he thought. He dug out a clear marble out of his bag--a woestone. He held it raised up in front of him, and chanted, "livus, skjyda, shala, skjolda, venta", and the woestone grasped in his hand illuminated in enchanting white light, like the shimmering refraction of glass. He clasped his hands, the light still seeping out of the cracks of his fingers. He looked up and kept his gaze steady on the monster, who clawed itself forward, its heavy body dragging along as it grew steadily closer. Once it had reach within three arm lengths of Kestrel, it stopped. It sniffed--a horrible scraping noise. It huffed and sat down in front of him. Kestrel kept his light soaked hands clasped. He couldn't breathe. He wouldn't breathe.

The boom of a gunshot shattered the stillness as something whistled past him. The abomination reeled, standing back up on its absurd legs, and it let out a yowl, stinging in the ears of Kestrel who cried out in pain. The creature then lurched at him, maw wide open. Kestrel let go of his clasped palms, and the shining woestone shattered into a bright field of light surrounding him. The maw of the monster pierced half-way through the barrier of light, enough where you could see its sharp yellow-stained teeth, before it was rejected by the arcane, driven away as it cranked back, crying out horribly from deep within its core. The monster, illuminated half way by the magical light, gazed down at Kestrel, and for a moment, their eyes met. It's black eyes were not cursed like the rest of it. In fact, they were very deer-like, almost innocent. The filament was covered in moisture which shone wetly in the light. Then, its eyes wandered up, and it looked behind him towards the source of the booming. It poised, then charged right into Kestrels shield. Kestrel braced for impact, but his shield of light buckled and cracked. The monster broke through it like a dog running through a field of weeds. It surged right over Kestrel, its dark form absorbing all the light that had just protected him. A heavy force weighed down on his chest, and then his shoulder. And then, all went black.