Rane knelt in his room, focused deeply on his task.
In one hand, he held a straw doll that wielded a slender twig that served as its sword. It was tied to the doll with fraying twine.
In his other hand was a larger doll fashioned after some four legged creature; it was too crude for any further judgment to be made as to what it represented, but at that moment, to Rane, it was a large fenull. He had overheard his dad talking about them in a grave tone. Surely, if they worried his dad, they must be quite formidable.
Rane bobbed the sword-wielding doll up and down as he mimicked the heroic doll sneaking up on the foul creature.
He made a sudden whooshing noise with his mouth, and tossed the four legged doll away, as if it were thrown by some great power.
Then, a savory aroma filled Rane’s room, breaking his intense conversation.
His dad would be coming home, and he was hungry. He quickly got up, his soldier doll still in his right hand, and ran to the kitchen.
He made just as his father was walking through the door
His dad was tall, and had to duck a little to get through the door frame.
Or, thought Rane, maybe their house was just too small. He hadn’t considered this before, and the possibility stumped him. How did people decide how big to build things?
As Rane pondered the nature of their architecture, his Dad walked past to greet his mother.
He gave her a kiss and asked what was for dinner, despite it being prepared right in front of him.
“Same as usual, Winz, now go set the table,” his mother said with a smile.
“Ah, what cruel slavery I must endure in my home,” Winz responded before snapping to Rane. “Come here, you–”
He dashed forward and picked him up, swinging him a full turn before proclaiming, “wow, I think you’ve gotten too big! I think I may drop you.”
Rane squirmed wildly, and his father set him down gently, even as his swinging legs kicked up a bit of dust and straw from the floor.
“Rane, go set the table.”
As Rane grabbed the three pairs of wooden silverware and plates from a cabinet, he noticed his was still carrying the doll. His previous thoughts of the structure of their home quickly vanished, and a new one popped into his head. It was a question for which his dad certainly would hold an answer.
“What makes a monster a monster?” Rane curiously inquired.
“Hmm. Basically, they’re animals. They eat, sleep, have offspring, get old, and eventually die. What makes a monster, though, comes down to two things: how easily it can kill you, and how hard it is for an average person to kill it. A Classient can usually bring one down with a bit of support, but the bottom line is this: swords don’t kill monsters.”
His father’s reply was serious. As a guardsman for a frontier town, he had little room to joke about the realities that they all faced. His child could be killed by a mountain cat, or a wild boar. He himself, with only a meager grasp on controlling ambient energy, could only face a monster with a squad of seven, and he’d have to be prepared for casualties.
It is for this reason that the term “monster” exists. It does not denote species; it denotes power. If a creature is sufficiently powerful enough to kill you, and holds the intent to do so, while your arrows scrape harmlessly off its scales, and your sword refuses to pierce its skin, that thing cannot be referred to with the same term as a rabbit or a sparrow, or even bear; it is something on a different level, something much more dangerous, a monster.
Later, when Rane had finished eating, he was in his room, thinking seriously about this newfound knowledge. He tried to imagine what such creatures would look like. Apparently, fenulls weren’t really even considered monsters. His father had explained in greater detail what they looked like, and they seemed plenty monstrous.
Looking down at his doll, he took the small twig and removed it from the doll.
This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
*****
Breakfast was interrupted by a voice that pierced the tranquil air, “Winz, we gotta go. We’re pushing the front today.”
Pushing the front. Winz put on a smile for Rane. The day had finally come. Every three weeks, one squad would be selected to push the front. This squad would journey ahead of the road pushing west and scout the land ahead for the most optimal path. The terrain wasn’t an issue. The forest was not an issue. The issue was that the further you get away from a settlement, the more likely you are to encounter monsters. The road had already been pushed nearly 50 miles into the forest of Kelston. The last two squads both encountered monsters.
“Tell mama to keep the stove warm for me when I get back,” said Winz.
Rane quickly embraced Winz, then ran off to play.
“Let’s get moving,” said June, the squad leader.
With that, the group quickly made their exit from town. The journey to the front would take two days, but they would slow down greatly after reaching the front, and spend 7 days pushing ahead as pathfinders.
**********
The way had not been easy this time. The forest had not been kind. Ferulls, a small demi-human species, stole most of their supplies. June had broken an arm in an accident. The expedition would have to be called early.
The pace back eastward was slow. Painfully slow. The forest canopy made even the brightest days nearly the same as dusk. The cries of birds and beasts, the creaking of branches, and the whistling of wind all seemed to be threatening the haggard group.
The stalemate was broken as June cried out. His horse had fallen, its leg caught in the endless root floor of the forest. The caught leg was bent at an odd angle, clear even as the beast flailed. June made a motion with his good hand, and a root broke off, stabbing the throat of the horse, marking an end to the moment of chaos. The unsettling whispers of the woods slowly returned.
“Do you think anything heard that,” asked Neist?
“Yes,” responded June, “but we can handle a beast monster or two, even in these conditions. We’ll be back to the road in less than a day.”
June was confident. Especially in contrast to the other men in the squad, he was a powerful ambient user at brazient rank. Rumor had it that he was the 5th son of a capital noble trying to garner attention in the capital through his achievements in the field.
As the group pulled together to move again, the sound of galloping could be heard echoing lightly through the trees. As the sound moved closer, the dull whispers of the forest grew more and more silent, as if the forest itself were retracting in on itself. The space they were in seemed to grow wider and more exposed. Winz could feel the change in the flow of ambient as the creature grew nearer.
“Formation!” ordered June. The group arranged quickly despite their injuries and fatigue. The two tanks stepped forward, forming a combined ambient barriers that would cover a roughly 220 degree field. The three spearmen took positions on the middle and side of the tanks. June stood tall in the middle of the formation. Winz, a swordsman, guarded the rear. Dust and leaves flew about from the frenzied movement of ambient created by the group of desperate men. Then, like a crescendo, it showed itself through the foliage ahead.
They had been expecting a fenull, at worst maybe a pair of caanuls. What they were faced with was nothing like those things. A four legged beast resembling a horse faced them. It had no fur, appearing to be made of a dark black sinew, reminiscent of a deer that had been flayed and set to cure. It towered over the men, and attached to its back was a vaguely humanoid shape. At a glance, one could mistake it for a rider, but from this distance, it could easily be seen that there existed no separation between man and beast.
The shape raised its arm. The ambient in the area seemed to freeze. The arm waved forward. A crushing force threw the two tankers off their feet as the spearbearers were skewered by their own weapons. June frantically waved his hands, trying to move ambient for a counter. He was interrupted by a wave of ambient that left him bisected at an odd angle.
Winz watched with hollow eyes as the scene grew quiet. He raised his blade, willing it to be reinforced, and prepared for a strike. The weapon seemed too heavy, and there was an uncomfortable squelching sensation in his right boot. Winz fell forward with his weapon brandished high above his head, all life gone from his eyes.
**********
Without seeing a body, it’s difficult to find closure. When attending a funeral, one forms a final memory of the deceased. Without a body, the last thing one remembers is their loved one as they were in life.
Nyalla stood, unmoving, at the table, teardrops forming under her amber eyes as she stared at the table set for three. She couldn’t clearly recall if she had set out the bowls, or if she had asked Rane to set them. Either way, three seemed the right amount. Three bowls on the table. Three pheasants in the soup. Three wooden spoons. Three people. Three days since the funeral. Or was it only two?
Rane and Nyalla sat at the table without looking at each other. They ate in silence. Rane’s bowl had more meat in it than normal.
“We’re moving to Auryck,” announced Nyalla.
Rane responded with a small, ‘mmhm’. He was eight years old – too young to understand the crippling weight of losing the man of the house – old enough to feel the crushing weight of losing a father. Nyalla felt both.
She worked as a seamstress in the small fortress town of Kelston. There wasn’t much industry there. The town existed primarily to support the needs of the garrison living there. With only a few members of the nobility, and no noble families, the garrison was purely a military foothold meant to push the Ambian Empire further East, through the forest of Kelston. In Auryck, she could find work far more easily. The journey from Kelston to Auryck was long, but she could afford it if she caught a ride with one of the garrison resupplies.