III
----------------------------------------
Section three.
His strides careful, the boy walked forward slowly. Checking his bag, he felt relieved. Everything was where it was supposed to be. With every step, the nerves he’d worked to keep untouched began to vibrate with every beat of his heart. He was making his way over to the tree, not for safety; he wanted to follow a trail.
Halting before the tree, he began shivering at a crossroads. There were two paths of footprints before him. One leading toward his destroyed home, and the other toward the unknown. He knew going back to the ruins wouldn’t do much to help his situation. Staring at the firm and stable prints leading forward, his shivering lessened slightly. He felt a sense of anticipation. He wanted to try something.
He began walking alongside the prints, a few strides away as a safety precaution. The path was unnaturally straight. He wondered how someone could find their way in this forest so easily. Especially in the dark. The prints continued for a long time, the snow falling into a blanket that covered the soil below. A sound caught his attention, distracting him from swatting the snow from his shoulders.
A rhythmic beating echoed from the distance. He crouched immediately and moved from one tree to another until an open area presented itself. Wooden huts surrounded a tent located in the center, covered in dried animal skin and fur. He focused his attention to the area where the sound came from. It was dark inside of that center tent; the fur decorating the opened entrance like the maw of a wolf. He couldn’t see anything inside despite his best efforts, but the sound persisted.
His eyes glimmered as they alternated from the wood of the tent and the fur that bordered its design, gripping onto his bag slightly tighter. For now, he needed to hide. He knew where their camp was now. He couldn’t see any inhabitants, but he was sure someone was in that tent.
Soon, he found a wide enough tree and began to climb. It had many leaves that would be able to shield him from view. The temperature had dropped since morning and he figured he’d need to execute his plan quickly before the snow worsened. He hated the cold.
Resting in a position that enclosed him with leaves, his legs were bundled underneath him. If they hang down, he may alert someone. He couldn’t help but worry, when would the rest be here? With those weapons, if they caught him, he wouldn’t be able to escape. His teeth clattered in the cold. He was only a boy of a few years, he wasn’t comfortable with such pressure. His nerves got the better of him as he lifted his hand to feel the scar on his neck. This could be his only chance.
After a while, he could no longer feel his own heartbeat and his eyes stilled. All that remained was his shivering, though it was only due to the cold. Letting out a long but quiet breath, he opened his bag. Inside were his tools. Carefully picking two items up after shaking the water free of his hands, he arranged them in the same manner he had when he practiced. They’d been kept sufficiently dry by his bag.
The banging noise hadn’t stopped yet, and he didn’t know when it would. He had to move quickly. He found that he didn’t have anything to burn, so he took some dry tree bark from behind him and set some into his lap.
Holding there a bundle of tree bark, he slowed and took in the rhythm of the sounds in the background. Heartbeat quickening, he took his two stones and hit the rocks together in time with the sounds coming from the tent. They were much louder, and he was betting on that person not hearing it.
The sound continued, lending a relieved sigh to escape the boy’s lips. They hadn’t heard. Now, he just had to make it work. Wiping the sweat from his forehead, he stabilized his trembling hands and continued. The sight of sparks jumping off of the rocks managed to calm him as he grew accustomed to the rhythm. It reminded him of home.
He realized that he was dozing off and was holding the rocks too far away from the wood. Only a few moments after fixing his positioning, a small flame appeared on the bark in his lap, slowly burning away. He wasn’t sure what he should do now.
Panicked, he fumbled around for something to light before the fire burned through his clothing. He felt an urge to snap his knife apart, but he decided to light the handle on fire instead, holding it upside down. After a while, another fire was slowly growing on it, unable to spread through the damp midsection of the wood. He tried to carefully remove the bark from his lap, but his legs were growing increasingly hot as his reflexes kicked in, causing him to swat it away.
His eyes were wide with fear. He felt a wave of heat radiating from his chest as he looked down. He’d just dropped a flaming piece of wood into a forest. He was even sure that grass and dirt could burn.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
The man in the tent’s movements stopped abruptly, and his head jerked up as he tried to focus his eyes. He thought he’d seen something. Something bright. But when he looked up, there was nothing. It wasn’t storming, just snowing. There was no thunder, either. After a while, he put his head down and returned to his work.
The boy looked at the ground but couldn’t see a thing. He was sure he would see a sea of flame by now, but there was only white. He began to realize something. Wasn’t snow a form of water, too? When it melted, it would turn into water. Hadn’t he just dropped the bark into a sea of water, then?
His eyes closed as he laid back, swallowing a mouthful of anxiety. His grip tightened on his torch. He’d worked hard to obtain this. Now that he was done, he gathered the remaining rocks into his pouch and climbed down, making sure to stay opposite of the camp. Though he ruffled a few leaves, the sounds weren’t evident.
Finally down from the tree, he crouched and listened to the sounds coming from the tent. He would have to be quiet, aligning his steps once again with the rhythm of those sounds. As he held his torch low, he began rushing between the trees, circling around the area. Once he was sure that he was out of their line of sight, he entered.
He slowly approached the tent. By now, he was only a few yards away as the bashing sound continued, growing more piercing. The huts surrounding seemed a bit too damp for his idea to work. As he closed in, he noticed that the hide was strangely dry, along with the wood underneath. The hide completely shielded the wood, which was perfect for him.
He was mere feet away now. Bending down, he held the torch tightly against a wood support of the tent. Soon, a small orange flower blossomed in a small area. The boy didn’t bother to observe, he was too frightened. He was too close. He gulped and held the torch there for a few more seconds as he contemplated his escape plan. Immediately, he began moving backwards, placing his gaze onto the forest boundary ahead. Quickly, he placed the handle of the torch into the snow, putting it out.
Once he made it to the forest, he climbed a tree again, quickly this time. Making an opening in the tree leaves, he watched carefully. The orange glow had grown, frolicking along the animal hide and the wood beneath. As it grew, the sound emanating from the inside never ceased. Watching, the boy murmured with an awkward smile, “They grow up so fast.” It seemed like the fire he’d babied was very hungry today. As he admired the scene, he grew slightly worried.
“It should be getting warm in there,” he muttered. “They should be coming out now.” He wanted to run them away, to scare them away from his home.
The sound remained constant. He could hear the wood creaking, the crackling structure gradually deforming. The fire had already grown to half the size of the tent. Showcasing its might, it devoured the wood and fur slowly. The boy’s eyes squinted as the clanking sound persisted.
The tent collapsed. A surge of nervous heat radiated from the boy’s core as his eyes went wide.
Clack! An ear-piercingly sharp noise, similar to the originals, escaped from the burning remains of the tent. The boy’s head began to ache and his ears rang, the sound forcing him to close his eyes as a groan escaped his lips. He tightened his grasp on his knife, sweat dripping down from his hair. The sound was growing louder with each bang. Its might began to surround the camp, zoning in on the boy’s ears.
He could no longer hear the individual strikes; they all began to meld together. As they blended together, his pain began to intensify. Into a hot feeling.
He was hot—burning. He couldn’t understand what was happening, so he attempted to open his eyes. A familiar world has already enveloped him.
The sound was still constant, but farther away. Desolate. A world of heat surrounded him once more. He knew he hadn’t fallen asleep. This didn’t make sense. His grip was firmly tightened, but not on his knife. As he kneeled, his hand began to burn. Inside was another rock, glowing with a blazing heat along with the rest. Quickly letting go, he tried to stand but could not.
That figure had remained, sitting and continuing with that irritating noise. Though the boy’s head no longer ached, his ears rang.
The sun above burned closely, tendrils of flame surfing along its surface. Its light reflected off of the figure’s hair; weaving through their black strands in an infernal crown.
The boy couldn’t move, addressing the man with an anger that he wasn’t accustomed to.
“What did you do!?” he shouted, unsure if they could hear him.
The figure didn’t respond, or even stop their movements. The harsh clanking interrupted the boy’s speech and angered him further. As he felt his skin sizzle, he addressed him once more.
“Answer me!”
Momentarily, the figure slowly stopped their actions, their expression still clouded.
“You dare accuse me, boy?” they said, their voice calm. As they spoke, the flames surrounding seemed to calm, the sun lending the air a warm note.
The boy’s anger quickly dissipated; he didn’t know what to say. Why was he angry at this person? Before he could speak, they continued again, their tone stern.
“This was your doing.” As the sentence entered the boy’s ears, the flames surrounding grew more intense. Not with heat, but with a repelling force. They wanted him to leave. As they brightened, the figure’s eyes looked over for the first time.
In them, the boy saw something familiar.
The boy opened his eyes, welcomed by a world of chill. He had returned. He couldn’t help but be confused. His vision blurred and he took a while to get his bearings. He remembered. He was supposed to be killing someone—no, scaring someone. Scaring someone off.
As he focused his vision forward, he saw a collapsed tent. Only charred wood and specks of singed fur remained; the fire had burned out, leaving silence. His plan worked. It’d worked too well. As he looked up at the smoke floating into the clouds, his eyes widened. He yearned to join it in its flight—he no longer wished to be here.
Breaking free of his reverie, he became afraid. People would certainly see such a tall stream of smoke should they be near. He would be in trouble. He’d done something terrible, but he couldn’t move for a while. He felt ill. He could only slowly climb down the tree, nearly slipping off.