Al smelled like damp earth when he arrived at the second to last snare. The sun shone brightly through the thin canopy of the forest onto the fresh carcass of a blue jay. Bright feathers blending into the dark blacks and greys. This time the trap worked how it was supposed to work. A clean kill.
A smile of relief and excitement danced across Al’s face as he removed the bird and dismantled the cord. He had something to show for today, which was better than most.
Maybe today won’t be completely terrible.
The bird was small, but the feathers could be sold to a boyer and the meat either eaten or sold. A three lantern sell in all.
The day was still long from over, so Al quickly tied the cord—and bird within—to the outside of the pack. Al wanted to be on the road by midday. He had little time if he wanted to make it through the gates before they closed for the night. The last snare was, of course, the farthest into the woods. He remembered the placement, and he regretted setting it in such a place. The cord was cord, he wanted it, even if it hadn’t caught anything.
The closer he ran into the center of the forest, the more gnarled and packed together the trees became. The tree’s branches began interlocking making the animal trail he was following darker and harder to see. Branches with bulbous round cancerous things grew from the oldest of trees, almost blocking the path in places. Worst of all, the branches and shoots seemed to move without the wind. The ground no longer was covered in the shrubbery, only damp earth and leaves. He did not touch the trunks or even the smallest of branches, in fear that they wouldn’t take a liking towards his actions.
The effects of Soma overconsumption were clear, as he made his way toward the last snare.
Something feels different today. The trees moved and are, overall, more active today. The birds weren’t singing. The last time he was here. They did. He made headway though the shadowy trail and he walked into a familiar clearing.
The snare had something in it, to Al’s dismay. A pretty red fox, Even from the distance away-- and in the dark-- the fur glistened. This was a catch that was truly rare, foxes are usually too cunning to be tricked by a low-grade snare. The thought of how many crowns the fur alone must cost made him lick his lips. There was a problem though--
Had I placed it that close to the tree?
The greed was instantly replaced with the want to flee. His eyes were full of terror as he looked upon the carcass and the cord. A faint trail led away from the roots of the tree to where the snare had originally been placed. The question was: what had moved it?
The answer was obvious and horrifying. Which caused Alvin to suddenly want to piss his pants and high-tail it out of the forest. The tree was not the answer, but what had occupied the tree. Trees that are slowly transformed by Soma did not become intelligent. Yes, they could move and react to stimuli that were not intelligent. What had happened was a Lair was born.
The monster that controlled the tree was not the only one. Al sweated, the thin aroma of lavender no longer hung around him. There were now hundreds of parasites and herd monsters inside the Lair trying to gain a permanent source of energy. He was now in the middle of it to his extreme discomfort.
Though every sense, instinct, and bladder are yelling to sprint in the opposite direction. Al needed the fox’s pelt. His legs were paralyzed, refusing to go anywhere near the tree. He did not follow the wisdom of his body parts. He instead took out all the cords he collected and began tying them end to end. The rope he held, still wasn’t long enough at fifteen feet.
The fool then crouched and crawled his way closer to the hollow tree. He, crawl by crawl, passed the thirty-foot mark in his mind. A bird caught his eye, it landed in the branches of the tree. Al looked down so as not to place his hand on a stray stick. Then it was gone. The bird had vanished. Only a small patch of red. Now that he looked, there were many such patches of crimson.
Al gulped, for it was the only thing he could do, he finally made it to the fifteen-foot mark when the tree started to move.
The branches closed making almost a protective cage around the trunk. The branches moved like a blind man looking for his pipe. Al didn’t like the idea that he was the pipe at this moment.
He moved the rope with a loop, frantically tied, in front of him and crouched.
Some of the branches swerved and swayed in front of his query. Waiting for the foolish boy to make his way in to be quickly devoured. In the silence of the forest, a Plopping sound echoed with the crushing of leaves to accompany the strange noise.
His first toss was a miss, he reeled in the rope before it touched any of the branches.
He aimed the second throw better, it sailed through the carnivorous branches and landed over the fox. He tugged the rope. With great disappointment to the boy, the rope went over the query.
His thoughts were a cacophony of screams and begging. His bladder seemed to shrink ever so slightly after the second throw.
Hand over hand he regrouped the rope.
One last try.
The fool threw the rope.
——
An old man walked down the road to Fenrir. He wore the coat of arms that marked him a mercenary in the Serfdoms. Those he passed looked at him in contempt, and he passed many on his way back to the City of Wolves. The outer villages here are nasty pieces of work. The man had his own experiences with them, to the point he is not willing to take a step in one ever again.
The muddy road went through the border of the desert nation of Tekan to the Kingdom of Thaurtac. Not an impressive place to be, full of forests and grasslands, a perfect place for a mercenary to retire. Oh, and he tried to retire here when he had hit fifty years of age. Adronth forgive him, he couldn’t get used to the peace of the place. Each day without waking up in the dirt was more uncomfortable than the last. The bed he bought was unnatural to him because of his thirty years as a captain in Mardons Fifth. Nothing felt real when he was in that village which he left after a particular scuffle with the villagers. The mercenary went back to his company in the northern Serfdoms.
That was five years ago. Now he’s back, with one fewer a hand. He still had his fortune, he had his peace with the situation and hated that he was forced to come back. This was the only nearby nation in which he could live in peace, but the quiet is always uncomfortable when you’re used to the noise.
He trudged along the wet road as it curved around a large forest. And caught sight of a young man sprinting out of the tree line in full panic.
——
His last throw was the worst one out of the three, it hit a branch of the mimic. Which subsequently made the false tree very, very mad. It twisted and shook, the branches seemed to grow towards the boy. He dodged the branches as they came. With the tree’s full attention on the spot, he used to be. He ran full tilt to the fox.
He then tripped over one of the roots.
He face-planted into the massive trunk of the tree. As his nose smashed into the bark, he thought that his death was going to be of him dying in such a stupid way. The last time he’d be an idiot. The end never came. In the second that followed, Al was confused, but his instincts kicked in before the trees.
He leapt back with the little strength he could muster. The tree seemed to be enraged. Where he impacted, suddenly morphed in a knife-toothed mouth. The branches became fleshy pustules and the bark that was left fell away to show an ivory cage. Interlocking and separating in an unnatural display of gratuity. The being was transforming into a more disgusting shape, a more humanoid shape. Skulls dropped away from its form, bird, wolf, dog, human, useless mass fell away. Leaving a massive chitin monstrosity surrounded by the remains of its prey.
Al viewed the true body of the abomination for only a second as it weaved the gratuitous body. A pale thing with a perforated head, the skin was milky white, which contrasted with the dark brown of its new body. The legs were a miss-match of insect legs and body parts of other species. It then looked at Al and let out a horrible screech.
He did the only rational option that came to mind at the moment.
Al grabbed the fox and ran.
——
Al was not in the best state of mind when he ran out of the woods. The panicked sprint left him with many cuts all along his face and hands. He didn’t look to see if it was following even after he was outside of the Soma saturated zone. He surprised himself when he saw the main road to the city.
He finally looked where he came. Nothing was there except for trees and shrubs. His pounding heart started to slow when his muscles relaxed. He collapsed in relief. The fox was still in his clenched fist. The delicate far unmarred by the dead sprint out of the woods. A long break ensued as he sat against a small tree.
He won, but at what cost. He lost all the cords he’d been using for years. The fox would barely cover the expense to buy a new high-quality rope. He would not be on his father’s rented land, so trapping on anyone else’s land would lead to a fine or something worse if he hunted on a noble’s land. The idea to keep hunting on his family’s land did come to mind, but it was short-lived. The walk was at least sixty miles, and that was going through the heart of the Bowood Forrest. Which was unlikely to be happening anytime soon.
He sat there for a good hour not wanting to move. Each leg twitch caused him to flinch in pain. If he was where he thought he was, then he needed a rest. Taking deep breaths, his breathing became less labored.
After a little over an hour, he stood shakily and began the long walk to the distant walls.
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
——
It was dark when he arrived at the gate. After sunset, frequent bandit attacks have caused the city to adopt an iron-hard rule of keeping the gates closed during the night. No one was allowed in at this time.
The gatekeeper stationed tonight was the worst of the lot, Hector. He took bribes liberally, even in broad daylight, usually by raising the entry tax. He was standing behind the auxiliary door, his beady eyes glaring at the shadow walking towards the gate.
“Stop right there, Who are you and what is your business,” Hector yelled at Al. Who were a good fifty feet away, just close enough to the gate to be in the light of the Soma lights.
With a small sigh Al yelled back, “It’s Alvin, can you open the gates for me—Hector.”
“Even if I knew who you are” he did, “the service door has rusty hinges, you see, and the oil isn’t fr—”
“How many lanterns do you want, Hector.”
An obviously fake expression of surprise crossed his face as he replied.
“What! All I’m saying is that...” he looked around quickly, “two crowns, Grasseater.” He said in a harsh whisper.
Like a switch, he stopped acting, knowing that it wasn’t going anywhere.
Al was appalled, “that’s extortion.”
“Ha! Of course it is, I lost a bet because of you and I’m ge’in my money back. You cou’d refuse, but we both know you won’t.”
He was correct in his assumption—no one camped next to a city—it was a death sentence.
Al reached into his coin pouch and fished out to crowns. He began coming toward the gate.
“No, three crowns know, I was be’in generous earlier,” Hector spoke waving his hand through the large peephole.
Grinding his teeth harder than before, Al tugged the drawstring shut and handed the gateman three crowns.
“Thank you for your donation to the gatemen oil reserve.” He spoke while opening the auxiliary door, sliding as if it had never known the touch of rust.
Al ignored Hector and was able to relax, finally. The night had just begun because someone moved behind him and then—
he was tackled.
——
“Al! For Laverus’s sake, I thought you were dead. Didn’t you say ‘I’ll be here before nightfall’ or something like that?” Fraenen spoke gregariously inside the tavern.
Al flustered, “It’s not my fault! I was picking up my snares, then a tree decided that it wanted Al meat for lunch.”
Fraenen looked at Al with bewilderment, then burst in a fit of laughter.
“A tree! What? You're so low on the food chain that a tree can almost kill you!”
They sat in the bar of The Ailing Wench, their usual dive in the poorer parts of the city. It was dirty and always had the shadiest of folk, but the drinks were cheap and flowed all night long. The clientele never fought, because nobody knew who would stab the other when they weren’t looking. Mrs. Clarval, the tavern owner, was the nicest woman Al had ever met. Heavyset with a mane of dark blond hair, she wasn’t the prettiest, but she always had a smile on her face.
“Well, it looks like the heart of the Bowood Forest has become a lair,” Al spoke knowingly.
Fraenen’s face fell a little, “Horse dung! That’s-that’s the third one this year. That’s a bit weird if you ask me. I mean, isn’t it a half a decade thing?”
Al sighed, “yeah it is supposed to be a rare occasion, but this winter was especially tough. So the gathering of Soma would be pronounced.”
A barmaid came with brimming mugs of drinks. Ale, beer, mead, high-proof liquor, anything worth drinking was being drunk. When she got to our table, she set down a large horn of mead for Al and a mug of ale for Fraenen. The night between two friends began.
——
Al was on his fourth horn and having a good time when a group of armored individuals walked in. On their back and in their sheaths were swords and bows. One had a staff.
Self-proclaimed Adventurers.
One look could tell Al what was about to happen, and Fraenen saw them also, though he looked at them in admiration rather than disgust. The Adventurers had a similar welcome that Al gave them. Glares were coming from all the patrons. Fraenen was really the only exception.
Alvin decided that if there was going to be a murder, he’d rather not be a part of it. He grabbed his friend’s arm practically dragging him out of the tavern. The two young men were a little tipsy. Fraenen was struggling a little.
“But I want to talk to them,” Fraenen whined on their way to the more well-off parts of town.
“Yeah, I don’t want to tell your parents that you died because you just wanted to talk to them,” Al replied with a yawn.
Fraenen looked at him in surprise, “what? why do you think that?”
Al looked at Fraenen as if he was an innocent puppy lost in the woods.“they had their weapons. Fraenen, I know you don’t leave the city much. But that still doesn’t excuse that you don’t know common knowledge. They should have left their weapons where they are staying. Not lugging them around town like they own the place.”
Fraenen flustered as they walked to the next tavern.
“Still that doesn’t mea—”
That was when the guardsmen began running toward where they came. Yelling was also coming from that direction.
Fraenen spoke to the running guardsman, “hey, Davy what’s going on.”
Davy turned towards Fraenen and almost tripped. Davy was wearing a gambeson jacket that covered most of his body, with an iron helm. Spear in hand he stopped with heavy breathing.
“A brawl was reported, a tavern in the Dregs.” He groaned as he tried to breathe. The guard seemed to have been sprinting the whole way from the barracks.
“Which tavern,” Al spoke out.
Davy hadn’t noticed Al, so when he spoke it spooked the man.
“Umm, The Ailing Wench, I believe it was called, sorry, but I have to go.” Davy then started down the road once again, wheezing at every step.
Alvin and Fraenen stared at each other, then both had the same idea. In the next tavern, they were definitely buying some of the strong stuff.
——
The night was loud with singing and merriment.
The Prancer was packed with people. Most were human, but a few Fraxi speckled the crowd with their metallic hair. From the sickly sweet smell in the air, a Fungoid had come to have a good time also.
Fraenen was pulled away by a group of girls the instant he walked through the door. He knew them by the looks of things, but the problem was that Al was alone. A circle started to form around him as he walked through the crowd. A guy moved into the perimeter, and he stumbled in confusion. The room was brimming with life, Soma, but the area around Alvin was empty of it. Almost as if life itself was rejecting his existence. The guy backed away and disappeared into the crowd. The partying people subconsciously stayed away from Al.
He began to search for an empty chair, yet he couldn’t find one. Groaning, he instead went to find his friend. Be it, if it was possible to find anyone in the crowd.
As he made his way through the crowd a Fraxian man walked into Al. The earthen man tried to talk to Al, but it was too loud in the tavern for normal conversation. So Al kept moving, hoping his friend wasn’t having the time of his life, while Al was suffering through the stares and surprise as suddenly people were disconnected from atmospheric Soma.
After an hour of searching, Al hadn't found Fraenen. Having just been ditched by his best friend, Al decided to go to the barkeep. He bought a shot of the strongest liquor he could afford. The first shoot went down smoothly. The second had scorched his throat. The third Al didn’t remember how it tasted, because he had already blacked out.
——
Three hours they hassled him. Three hours… to say that Fraenen was livid was not even close to how mad he truly was. This was going to be a night to focus on friendship and to support his friend who, only this morning, lost his only home. But this group he talked to only once before, dragged him away.
Fraenen had been taken to another tavern, the girls tried all the tricks, feminine wiles, and all that.
Fraenen sighed in frustration, “sorry, but I left a friend at the last place and I can’t leave him in the cold. So I'll be leaving.”
Suddenly, someone grabbed his arm. One of the prettier ones with blond hair and a smile that would tempt lesser men.
“Oh, come on let us have a good time, we have a room and everything, Frae-Frae.” she fluttered her eyelashes.
As if that was going to work.
Fraenen huffed, that was the final straw and in a loud voice, “I’m much-obliged ladies, but when I get back to my friend…” Fraenen then shook the girl off his arm, “I don’t want to smell like a gaggle of common whores.”
With that insult, silence fell over the tavern. Fraenen turned around and slowly walked out the door.
It was a cold night, a night that was uncharacteristic of early spring. The pink moon dazzled in the sky. The stars were out in full force. But he didn’t have the time. It’d been longer than he wanted to leave Alvin alone. Even though it was a beautiful night, His friend--always hiding his grief--wouldn’t see it like that.
Fraenen ran to The Prancer. His breath glowed in the lights of this terrible night.
----
The Prancer was empty when Fraenen arrived. The jovial evening had ended. Only drunkards were still inside. His friend was one of them.
In the corner of the room, he was asleep. When Fraenen walked near his friend, his very soul felt like it was being ripped apart. He was used to the feeling, the pain went away in a few seconds. He sat by Al. The boy was two years younger than him, but sometimes Fraenen thought he was the younger one. His friend was thin, horribly so. Fraenen has attempted to buy him better food. Al declined his offers, instead, he subsisted on hardtack. The stuff was like eating rocks with half the taste. He’d been eating this stuff for years, barely eating meat or vegetables. The only time Fraenen succeeded was on his friend's birthday or on tavern runs.
The first thing to know about Fraenen is that he’s a merchant’s son. A wealthy merchant. Many people wanted to trap him in their clutches, by dept or other mistakes. Tonight was one of those attempts. He wasn’t happy with this life, he never struggled through his early years. Given the best clothes, the education most would hope for, and the never-ending line of friends. Except, his friends were all sycophants, the things he learned never interested him, and the clothes he wore were not the clothes he wanted nor needed. The clothes are always flashy and decorated, expensive. He never wanted such luxury. So he sold his clothes, buying slightly shabby and worn clothes instead. Fraenen was much happier that way. The other two were replaced when he met Al.
He looked at his friend that was in a drunken sleep. The Bartender was cleaning when he saw Fraenen. He came over and sat across from him.
“So you know this guy?”
Fraenen looked at the gruff man. “Yes, he is my friend, why do you ask?” he didn’t know why this man was asking him such an obvious question.
The bartender’s dark eyes flickered from Fraenen to Al and back to Fraenen “Well your friend was in bad shape when I noticed he drank too much. He was cry’in about being left behind or sumthin in that regard. I took him here so that he could sleep the drink off.” Answering in more of an obligatory cadence rather than a friendly one.
Fraenen glanced at his friend’s sleeping form, feeling a sprite of guilt welling up. “Thank you for that, he has had a terrible day, and me leaving him did not help with that.”
“I’ve been wondering, when I picked him up I felt this jolt of pain. It was like my insides were being cut up. Is this kid a Forsaken?” There wasn’t any malice in his voice, so Fraenen replied.
“Heh, yeah. Yes, he is… it does not cause you any real harm.” He felt that the obvious question needed clarification.
“I realize that, Mr. Daraling.”
“I haven’t told you my name.” Fraenen reacts by slowly standing up and reaching for his belt knife.
“Settle down kid, I know your father. He sold me some foreign liquor a month back. Good man. Couldn’t shut it about you though.” the bartender smiled at the paranoid Fraenen
“If so, could you send a message to the estate. I need a bed to be ready for my friend. And I forgot to tell the maids to do so.” Fraenen said still on guard.
“Huh, sure, but it will cost ya.” The bartender lifted his hand, waiting. Fraenen dropped half a crown in the man’s hand. After pocketing his payment the bartender smiled and went into the back of the tavern
Alone, Fraenen ran his hands through his dark blond mane, “‘Friend’ of father’s, by androthi’s horns!” The constant spying from his father annoyed the merchant’s son. Bartenders, shopkeepers, even close friends, have a leyline directly to the wealthiest person in Fenrir, selling information on his son’s daily routines, reactions, and retinue. Nothing avoids Fraenen’s father, details, details, and more details, he was an observant man.
The bartender came back out with a washcloth and broom. He nodded to Fraenen. Fraenen pushed his chair back and studied his friend’s limp body thinking—Here comes the hard part.