Chapter 8: Into the Dark Woods: Part Two
On landing the first thing that I noticed was how quiet the forest was. No woodland is ever silent, there are always bird calls, creatures moving through the brush, and insects chirping or buzzing around. I could hear those sounds, but they were from far away, only just in range of my bettered hearing, but where I stood, the quiet was eerie.
Taking a deep breath, I tried to tamp down on the chill that was making its way up and down my spine and instead focus on the matter at hand. The artefact that Hadriel had given me was kind of like a compass, pointing towards the area holding the energies it had been attuned to. Now that I had arrived it was as if that compass was being used inside a room with magnetic walls. It was just trying to point in every direction at once. So, it went back into my pocket, and I tried to think of what else I could do.
Well, basic though it might be I supposed the first thing I’d need to do was to see what I could find with my eyeballs. The area I’d come down in was a small clearing amongst the trees, the sort of place that a family might come to for a nice picnic. Turning around to get my bearings I stepped into the forest, aiming for the centre of the affected area.
Almost right away I realized I was going to have some trouble. Namely my wings. Fully extended they just took up too much room, I might as well have been trying to walk into the woods with a couple of surfboards strapped to my back
Folding my wings wasn’t a problem but keeping them folded was. They tended to open up every time I was faced with anything that drew even a moderate reaction from me. If I was startled, they’d snap open. If I was suddenly faced with a bright light then one would come around to shield my face. If I was getting ready to fight they’d half unfold and arch up behind me.
Going into the forest was going to be problematic if they kept acting up in there, especially if I had to move quickly for any reason. Both they and I seemed to be tough enough that I didn’t have to worry about getting injured, but I wouldn’t be able to make good time or maintain any sort of stealth.
That thought brought me up short. Stealth, really? Was that even an option for me? I supposed that if I flew up above the treetops then I couldn’t be seen or heard so easily, but the flipside to that was that I’d only be able to get brief glimpses through the canopy of leaves. Given that it was the middle of summer virtually all the trees had bows bursting with a healthy covering that would block almost all attempts to see through them. On the other hand, even if I folded my wings in and kept them closed I could see that just walking between the trees wasn’t going to be as easy as I first thought. Sure, I could go in for a bit, but once I got in deeper I’d have to deal with the undergrowth that had sprung up under the foliage. And, again, summer had made sure there was plenty to deal with.
If I had to then I could force my way through, but I’d still probably end up expending more effort than it was worth. I supposed that I could try to split the difference and go the middle route, namely levitating until I could pass over the underbrush, but remain beneath the canopy. Given that the main trees seemed to have kept smaller trees from growing between them that might be the best way to go. The only problems would be having to manoeuvre around the various lower-hanging branches.
As I looked at what I had to deal with, woods and jungles from adventure films sprang to mind. Indiana Jones never had to worry about waist-high bushes of brambles to deal with, especially not ones with extra vicious-looking thorns on them.
This was reality though, and the simple fact was that yes, the middle path was probably the best route. In terms of speed, I would be largely unimpeded, and at least I wouldn’t be making enough noise to alert anyone with working ears that I was coming. As to the things in my way . . . well, a machete worked for the adventurer archaeologist, I was pretty sure that I could make do with some carefully applied telekinesis. My wings might still be an annoyance if I didn’t keep them under control, but I’d just have to make do.
Oh well, best get to it.
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Slowly the forest began to come alive.
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The creatures, the ones that had been twisted by the flesh of the warped one, began to emerge from the slumber they had fallen into. There were not many of them, at least, not as many as there had been, but that was hardly a surprise.
After they had been twisted by the flesh, hunger had overwhelmed them, and they had sought to satiate it. For those of them that did not normally consume meat in their diet of plants and nuts had proven insufficient. The twisting, the change they had undergone, had left them with a new appetite, one for flesh and blood. For those who had already been eaters of meat the change only served to sharpen their hunger, to make it a ravenous void that always demanded more.
Those twisted had fallen upon the unchanged inhabitants of the woods with a level of ferocity that had never been seen before, and a feeding frenzy had ensued. Birds, beasts, and even the very insects in the grass had been devoured in short order, and the hunger of the changed had been satiated, for a time.
When the hunger returned the twisted found that there was no longer any plentiful prey to be found. Those who had not been consumed by the first wave of altered creatures had fled rather than risk being a future meal. Few new animals had entered the area that had been abandoned. Some of the twisted, the largest and strongest, left the woods, seeking new prey, but they soon returned, some unnamed instinct driving them back to their ‘homeland’ even as their hunger continued to gnaw at them.
In the end, it was hardly a surprise that they turned upon each other in their desperation. After all, the change had left them larger and stronger than before, so each of them was a feast on legs for their fellow twisted. Of course, none of them were easy meat, the twisting having transformed even such harmless creatures as rabbits into aberrant killers. Many had died, even as they tried to slay others for food, and in turn their corpses had served to feed those that were strong enough to survive.
As it turned out, devouring others who had been changed by the cast-off flesh of the warped one was in many ways the best thing for the twisted. Their flesh fuelled further transformations, making those that ate them even stronger, which in turn made them better able to kill and feed upon more victims. It was a chain reaction that inevitably led to a second feeding frenzy.
Though brief, only lasting a few days, the effects were devastating to the population of the twisted. They had been pared down to barely a twentieth of what they had once been. Of the survivors, two types had soon emerged.
There were the scavengers, generally smaller twisted that had been able to survive due to natural quickness and smaller appetites. They were able to survive by eating the scraps left behind, by stealing chunks of kills while the victor was engaged in eating, by being able to flee into the sky or the trees where the larger twisted could not follow. They were the likes of the birds, the rats, the squirrels, and even some of the insects that had been twisted. They were opportunists, and their weapons were speed and surprise.
Then there were the alphas, far more fearsome, far more dangerous. They were the ones who had faced their prey directly. They had grown into terrifying, huge beasts that would not have been out of place as the foes of heroes in ancient legends.
There had been more of them to start with, but several of them had been devoured by the warped one that was the source of the flesh that had twisted them. It was an irony, one that was lost on the aberrant animals.
In the end, there had been no more food to be had, but the survivors had consumed enough to sate their hunger, for a time. Rather than engage in more dangerous competition with the alphas that remained, or try to catch the quick scavengers, and most likely use up more energy than eating them would provide, the twisted had instead fallen into a state of hibernation. It was a mindless, dreamless slumber, but one that ended when they sensed the approach of something that tickled their senses.
Power, magic, vitality, it didn’t matter what it was called, they craved it! The magic in the flesh they had first consumed had triggered their own transformation, consuming the flesh of others so afflicted had fuelled it. But that was a pale thing compared to what they could sense coming. The lifeforce of their fellow twisted was refined and strengthened, but this . . .
Beasts that had hidden themselves beneath the earth, or inside hollowed tree trunks, or in small caves they had found, all began to stir. What they felt approaching . . . it was beyond anything they had tasted before. What they had gained from feeding upon their fellow twisted was nothing by comparison. It was as though before they had feasted only upon scraps, droplets of juice squeezed from unripe berries. What was coming now was more akin to the finest honey to be found in the finest beehive. The richness, the sweetness, the volume, all of it was so much greater.
They stirred, but few of them moved. They still felt the torpor of their long sleep and also knew not to take any actions that might alert this new prey. As things stood it had only just entered the hunting grounds of the twisted, and it would not do for them to drive it off by attacking too soon. All the twisted had no thoughts that could be put into words, since they were all still just animals, no matter how much they had changed or grown. Still, their instincts were strong, and they did not wish to lose their chance at this prey.
Some, the smaller scavengers, were awake and moving, their smaller size allowing them to recover faster, but they were doing so slowly and carefully. Stealth was their advantage, and they had not survived this long by surrendering it carelessly.
The forest slowly came alive, and it was hungry.