The night terrors faded away with the first blinding light of dawn. John’s headache as he tried to sit up, the hunger from yesterday was replaced by a deep-seated nausea that only intensified as he tried to shake himself from the fog. Maybe the faithful were right, this forest really was haunted by evil spirits. He heard the voice of his father scoff at the idea and quickly came back to his usual self. The only thing this forest was haunted by was his own lucid imagination. He picked himself off the ground, the quick motion sent him into a dizzying fall as he tripped and fell against a tree. The black remains of a small fire laid cold a few feet away. His mind raced at the dream, the small fragments were confusing, more so than the questions of his sanity which he was certain he was slowly losing. John pulled himself from the tree and walked away from the site, as much to keep moving forward as it was to leave the thoughts behind him.
He set off toward the creek he spotted form the ridge, which proved a more difficult task than previously suspected. The slope which appeared to be his easiest path down into the valley was loose with small pebbles and silt. It was a wonder the boulders had stayed perched upon the hill for as long as they had. John’s footing slipped as he slid a few feet down and stopped himself on one of those monolithic rocks. His weight gently nudged the rock which then proceeded to slide, glide, and finally tumble down the hill with great force, almost bouncing as it went. John felt it was best not to wonder any further unless he wanted his body to bounce like that as well.
The sun was almost at its peak when John finally reached the stream, minor scrapes, and blistered feet aside, he made it unharmed. The nausea he had felt that morning was back, more intense than before and a dryness scratched his throat. His lips were starting to crack and despite the general damp of the forest felt like his skin was crackling. A dilapidated green signpost stated the “Slaght Creek Observation Tower” was three miles east. A peeling red and black silhouette of a cat’s head had been painted on the corner of the sign with the words “CJHS Cougar Country” in a dull dry yellow underneath. John took note of the direction to the tower, with any luck it still had a roof and maybe a salvage piece or two. With all the traveling he had done in the past few days and the poor quality of sleep, tinkering with a machine would bring a refreshing change of pace. But that would need to wait till he quenched his thirst.
A small dirt path wound down the gentle embankment to the edge of the river, John’s breathing quickened at the thought of fresh water until he was at a full sprint down the trail. He collapsed to his knees with a melodic splash and his loud gulping could have easily been heard from every corner of the forest. John paid no mind as the water filled his starving belly, the haunting spirits and demons of the deep forest would simply have to wait until he was finished. And so, the shadows listened and watched, waiting for nature’s tithe.
John suddenly became aware of a bright flash over the river. It was incredibly fast, giving John no time to identify what it was or even where it went. Then a green spot crossed his vision, gone in the blink of an eye. He stayed completely still; his eyes scanned over the calm water. Another flash of green and then a ripple on the water an arm’s length away from him. A moment passes, two spots then another ripple. A gentle breeze was blowing across the river, cool but stiff. A dizzying speckle of green lights gently floated on the wind towards him, he felt no pain from them, like a spiritual firefly welcoming him to the lush valley. Flowers blossomed in multitudes of brilliant colors, never daring to outshine the splendor of the fireflies. The stories from the drifter about the will O’ wisps crept into his mind. Of course, they had come here to guide him, if anyone was a weary traveler it was him at this moment.
The ripples danced on the water again now making shapes and pictures as John laughed like he was a child, his father hadn’t left, and his mother was still alive. his mother’s eyes twinkled the green of the wisps while his father was an echo in the ripples. Then his father left on a scavenging trip, his mother’s face became hard and serious as she warned John of the danger his father had put him in. The harshness of the green intensified as she spoke venom towards the man who taught him of the corrupted past. She turned her back towards him as a blizzard of wisp engulfed her. The drifter, John recalled, had told the stories as a warning, to fear the will O’ wisps. For the wisps only guided the travelers to their doom, into the hands of the waiting Pooka. A bird landed on a sharp rock off the shore, its large eyes shone a menacing blue, charred broken wings jutted from its side. It cooed, cocked its head towards him and grinned a large toothy smile. His mother pointed behind him before disappearing into the wall of wisps as the deep growl punished John for his forgetfulness.
The shadow watched as the Tusket stalked the unfortunate faithful. This one must be around a ton and had the longest tusks she had ever seen. Granjun’s priest had tasked her with hunting down the “demon” in exchange for being considered a member of the community, which was not something the young huntress felt too keen on being known for. However, she knew that having this town of faithful’s trust would bring in some new supplies and tips on new hunting grounds. Saving one of their “pilgrims” would go a long way to help build that trust. The pilgrim was a scrawny boy, no older than herself, but seemed to have a better head on his shoulder than most others she had seen with the way he moved down the ridge. That impression quickly turned to disappointment when he drank deeply from the heavily radiated river. Maybe it was better to have the tusket put the ignorant youth out of his misery, especially if his stupidity could get her killed.
She watched as the oblivious boy continued to drink deep, stopped suddenly, and tensed just as the Tusket was about to pounce. The boy rolled to the side ungracefully as the cat landed on the dusty shore with a cloud of brown and a snarl. The huntress was almost impressed but knew with the amount of water he drank it was going to be over soon enough. She shifted her weight as she took hold of her bow, a combination of flexible wood and metal reinforcements, and turned to wait the event out. She heard the whispered memory of her uncle’s sharp voice reprimanding her for forgetting the oath she swore to him, the weight of the vial around her neck heavy with guilt and disappointment. She swore under her breath and moved out of the brush notching an arrow in her bow.
His mother's warning had been just enough to dive out of the way, the demon snarled, its gore covered fangs protruding from its angular face. Black eyes peered into John’s soul as the demon turned its gaze with a tilt of its head. He peddled backwards as the demon slowly padded towards him, the stunning light of the flowers now turning to blood and briar beneath his hands. He pulled out the knife and grasped it in two hands like a spear, the tip aimed right at where he assumed a demon’s heart would be, if they in fact had a heart. The demon laughed and with one swipe from the dark furred claws sent the weapon flying from John’s hands. He felt the fear disappear within him and looked into the eyes of his fate. The demon’s claw lifted high and swept down to deliver John to the grave. The claw ripped in front of him as it reared back with a roar, the shadowed razors tearing through his clothes. The creature thrashed wildly in a cloud of smoke before collapsing in the dirt. The flowers grew brighter as they fed on the tainted blood, the petals flowed with crimson and black. John had no time for celebration or to give thanks for anything, as a new figure emerged from the demonic forest.
If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.
The many-faced creature stood before him, four red eyes stared down at him with harsh judgement and feral hunger. The last head looked down in disgust at John, its wisp green eyes shone bright like his mother’s. John had found himself face to face with a Pooka. Fear gripped at his heart as he fled from this powerful entity, stumbling over every root and briar patch as he ran. The dark creature wailed and chased after him in blurred sprints as John weaved and tripped between the thick twisted forest. The wailing stopped and John collapsed to the ground unable to keep his bleeding legs beneath him. He had left the wisps, flowers, and demons behind him. His vision blurred and his mind raced, he would have to apologize to preacher when he returned home, which now seemed an amazing prospect in John’s head. He had seen enough in this forest to know that preacher and the other faithful were right about these woods. He let out a sigh and leaned his head against the rough bark of a tree. Maybe his father was wrong about technology, about everything. Maybe it wasn’t their fault, and maybe the faithful would take him in. He had to admit that it would feel wonderful to have a family again. His heart swelled with warmth, his eyes grew heavy, and he could feel the smile on his face. It would all be over after his nap. As he drifted to sleep, the last thing he saw was the six eyes of the Pooka staring down at him and felt the sting of his fate.
She had to hand it to the boy, he was much faster than she thought he would be and despite the intense poisoning he had, managed to keep himself together fairly well. The irony of the radiation that kept him from running, which in turn saved his life was not lost on her. Though the now empty syringe vial reminded her of the consequence of being what her uncle would call “a decent person”. A sentiment that the huntress would often argue the necessity of. If no one else followed the rules of decency then it only put those who did at risk of a shallower grave, or as she had seen before, no grave at all. Self-imposed rules only led to an unfair fight. At which her uncle would always ask when the last time she fought in a fair fight. Even now she didn’t have an answer, just a low seated dismissal of reality. At the moment however, she had other things to worry about, like the scrawny boy who lay at her feet, passed out but seemingly breathing. His tattered coat was soaked at the edges with blood, the Tusket missed a killing blow, but the wounds were still deep enough to become problematic. She pulled out her salves bag with a sigh, she would put this on the Preacher's list of debts as well.
She had managed to dress and close the wounds as best as possible with the supplies she had on hand. Had she known that she was going to be saving people today, she would have taken more from the drifter camp she had found. That camp was a day’s travel back towards Granjun and would probably be crawling with tribals by now. Her attire and reputation with a few of the major tribes would normally be enough to ward off any potential issues. However, she was currently in River Maw territory. The pack fang elders had warned the tribeless girl that River Maws were corrupted by the demons of the forest. She figured this meant that they were more feral than any tribal had a right to be, her guess was the radiation drove them insane. That also implied the other tribes were any less insane, a stance she would need to reconsider on the way home. Her only remaining option was to deal with the current issue that lay asleep, or maybe dead, at her feet. She had to admit, even for a scrawny thing… She slapped her face abruptly, pulling herself from the insane train of thought.
“I hate this forest.” Was all the shadow whispered before melding into the dark woods.
They had gone much further than she had realized when making her way back to the tusket carcass. She was amazed at the sheer force of will it took to run as fast as he did for as long as he did, not even considering the severe radiation poisoning he had suffered. He could even be compared to a few tribals she knew from the pack fang, who had been hunting since they were very young. She wondered if he was one of the faithful’s paladins, though she hadn’t heard of a squad this far from the gates of Eden. She also doubted the paladin would send a squire by himself, let alone unarmed, into a corrupted forest. Unless they in fact had wanted him dead. The huntress would need to figure out the kid’s history before she could plan any moves or turn in her bounty.
She stopped on her heels hard, taking in her surroundings. She could have sworn this was the riverbank she shot the tusket at, but the almost one-ton carcass was nowhere to be seen. Maybe the forest had finally gotten to her, and she just got turned around. She sighed and kicked the dirt. A metallic ding rang out as her metal covered toe hit the sharp edge of a blade. She picked up the worn dagger, the handle was made of some kind of bone, but from what kind of animal she couldn’t tell. The bone was worn white with small holds notched into it and it was balanced enough to be thrown. She liked the craftsmanship and recalled the boy had pulled something from under his jacket before the tusket attacked. She assumed this must have been his, maybe unarmed wasn’t accurate. She considered pocketing the knife as payment for her help.
“We are not thieves; we are not drifters or tribals. We live by the laws of our heart. If you can’t live by your own laws, then you are no better than them.” Her uncle had told her after she “acquired” some salvage off an armless drifter. In her defense, she couldn’t see the man using it himself and the fact of it being a glove made it even more reasonable. She figured he was right, and karma got her in the end when the glove ended up breaking someone’s wrist during a test. She was blamed for the malfunction and had her reward refunded. She put the knife in an empty sheath.
So how did it go missing? What could possibly have moved it? She couldn’t see any other track besides her own and the kid’s. Tribals weren’t that sneaky, not even the river maw. The riverbank was too far away for glasscats to get it, besides they preferred to ambush their prey. That left only one possibility, which sent a violent wave of guilt through her chest. The serum didn’t work. She turned on her heel and sprinted back towards the defenseless prey of the tusket.