The stranger stood in their door-frame, embracing the chill of the post-autumn breeze. They had cleared their mind, having removed the woman’s visage from their memory. However unknowing they were of their visitor, the stranger still knew of the duty they now held. They turned and moved to behold the form of the seemingly lifeless child atop their pillow, wrapped in a thick woolen bundle. They rested their finger near the child’s open palm, but it did not move to grasp it. A great sense of loss drew over the stranger, their remorse for the child being an unfound feeling for quite some time. Although the feeling threatened to flood over, the stranger held steadfast, bound by their new duty to the child and the estranged visitor.
They waited, contemplative over the child’s rest for many minutes. They paced throughout the room, back and between the open door-frame through which the chilling breeze crept in. The outside was witness to a strange occurrence as a crystalline haze befell the open basin, entirely shrouding view further past the edge of the glassy lake. It was mysterious in its essence, chasing to envelop everything within its smoky surface, although it looked to stray from the touch of any mortal. The air curiously crept toward the abode of the stranger, perhaps wonderful of their process. Within the cabin at which the mist prodded, the stranger rummaged through the grand sack of animal parts that still laid on the wooden floorboards.
They fished out the beast’s skull—still discolored by the presence of gore, its stench rotten by the same substance. They brought the mass outside into the haze, sure to carry it by the protruding horns from its top. The stranger found a small basin beside the logged wall, the water just a few days closer to freezing. They also sought a brush staked through with tiny metal hooks that sat on the basin’s edge. Its design was reminiscent of a terrible weapon, something that could shred the skin with a forceful pull. However, the stranger used the brush methodically along the bony surface of the skull—embedding the hooks into the missed remains of flesh that could not be removed by the long blade of a knife. They continued slowly and carefully, hopeful to not needlessly damage its surface. Soon, the water became muddled by blood and stray floating parts, but the stranger continued—their bare hands becoming numb in the nipping water of the basin.
After they had finished, the stranger brought the skull up to their face and looked through the sockets where the beast saw. They turned it in their hands over and over again, insistent to find any remaining residue or unholy traces. Content with their results, the stranger searched through their dulling garden for a few choice herbs. They had not an idea of what they wished to create, but they found a large assortment of cooling green plants nonetheless and ground them up with a quite shabby mortar and pestle. The stranger then brought the amalgam up in their hands and smothered the snowy surface of the skull, coating it with a more pleasant stench and dying it with more earthy tones.
The stranger moved about hurriedly into their cabin, resting the newly polished adornment atop the wooden table where the silver-eyed cat laid. They shuffled about, pulling assortments of plants from their twisted coils throughout the rafters and laying them ornately along the floor. The stranger sat down within the ring of plants, legs curled and back hunched over, viewing a strange book—its cover thick and leathery and warped, similar to the stranger’s gloves. They peered over the book’s contents, their eyes flicking across the flimsy, rigid pages—the words washing over the forefront of the stranger’s memory. They began making with movements that a person would not normally inhibit. It was as if the stranger’s muscles pulled about their limbs with an otherworldly force. The stranger’s eyes did not peer away from the pages as their arms twisted about behind them, searching for a bristled plant. The work was delivered with utmost speed and precision—an ungodly order and process came to create something that could nearly be considered lifelike. The plants’ tendrils pulled and hated each other. It was as if every one was trying to pry itself free of its new body. However, when the stranger then took the mass to a plunge in a large bowl, the greeneries settled and relaxed.
The stranger continued to rush about, walking in and between the door-frame countless times. Once, they went in with nothing, then returned revealing a small knife with a short blade. They came into the woods and searched for something proficient of their vision, then returned to their solitude once more. Again, they emerged to bathe something within the blood-washed basin, then again returned. As the time passed, the brilliant gray-glistening moon grew into the night sky, its council of stars staring down at the world below them, illuminating it with their dark light. The moon could be described as concurrent with a coin—silvered in appearance and round on all edges—as also said with the silvered eyes of the cat. This silver-eyed cat was no longer within the stranger’s cottage, as it had emerged long ago and was now prowling in the night.
As the moon fell over its crest, the stranger emerged from their cabin a final time, adorned in the skull they had prepared, holding a woolen bundle in one arm and a large bowl in the next. With their step, they parted the curious specters that swarmed them in the night—the ghastly white visage parting for none but themselves. They walked towards the edge of the glassy lake, even more carefully and cautiously as they had ever done before. At their arrival, they viewed their reflection within its surface. Their image showed of them and the child—unbroken upon the still surface of the water. The stranger was mesmerized for a moment, completely taken in by the spectacle of the body; of the ever-shifting surface created by the swaying specters that flanked their every side.
Coming to, the stranger kneeled upon the wet ground and laid both their prizes before them. The earth gave to their weight—the grass parting for their presence, and the mud sinking to comfort them; however, the lake remained still and simply peered at the stranger. The stranger, who then unwrapped the child from its woolen bundle, revealing its truest form to the night air and the specters, drank from the bowl where the beating vines slept. Their presence was disturbed, and they started violently twisting once more, again trying to pry themselves free of one another. One by one, the vines snapped and lashed at the edges of the large bowl, gripping its rim, hoping to pry themselves free from each other’s torturous touch. As the plants broke away, they began to shrivel. Death claimed every last one of them for their insolence and their fear. The entire time, the stranger watched. Waiting. Hopeful of their demise.
As the final tendrils spent, the stranger pulled them from the bowl, their bloodied forms hanging limply in the stranger’s hands. The stranger moved to hover the bodies over the surface of the pure, glassy lake—then dropped them in. The tendrils fell and lashed away at the perfect reflection of the stranger. The water refused their embrace and spittled as they made contact with its skin. Its body shuddered and rippled, fearful of the tendrils’ touch. Then, the stranger brought the large bowl over the shrieking surface of the lake and gouged a wound into its skin. They brought the bowl above their head and bathed themselves in its stolen blood.
The water was a strangling cold. Its feeling clung to every part of the stranger and its body weighed down on them. Their breathing deepened and became ragged and their whole body became still. The specters in the night delighted at the stranger’s taste and hugged them even closer. The stranger drowned in the cold and in the mist, breathing even more slowly and heavily—until they breathed no more. But the stranger did not slump over like the dead. They merely closed their eyes and fled the grasp of their body. The weight of the water was now weightless. The choking of the specters was now a light embrace. And the chill of the post-autumn breeze was now an insurmountable warmth. The stranger could see everything around them. They could hear every bristle of grass as it swayed in the wind, and they could hear the very crystallization of the beginning drizzle as it turned into fractals of snowflakes.
On the distance of the lake were now dozens of bright, ghastly green lights—each swaying differently within the mists. The stranger sat for a moment and embraced everything that was new. After a while, the stranger spoke. They addressed the very air before them and called out, “I beseech the humble spirits and selfishly ask of a favor. I call the one whose mantle I wear upon my crown and offer my soul so that we may speak.”
Silence permeated the stranger’s benign surroundings, bringing with it potential chaos that could shake their very mind. With this feeling, the stranger did not relent and began to speak again. They asked, “Is thou malignant toward my being? Toward my needless action and my beating of thy life?”
No.
“Then does thou view myself as abhorrent? As a creature pungent of desire and ill-found justice?”
No.
“Then does thou project upon me pity? As a worthless prior who cannot escape detention?”
No.
“Then allow myself to view thy visage. Thy truest form which I cannot inhibit. I offer up to thou my soul, o’ unadulterated spirit; the most antithetical of my being. And I express my utmost gratitude; and absorb thy every unrequited thought as toll for expressing my boundless greed, lust, and pride upon thou.”
After the stranger finished speaking, they beheld the mist as it began to swirl around them. The specters spun themselves into thick white fibers and made the form of a glorious white stag. Its form was much larger than it had been in life, its body still towering over the stranger, but it looked down at a height nigh impossible if it were to be alive. Not only its legs, but its horns grew to be much longer than the ones the stranger wore atop their head—branching even further and twisting in many more ways. The stag’s eyes glowed a ghastly green—the same as the lights cascading the horizon of the lake—and they beheld the stranger the same way the stranger beheld them.
After the apparition had formed, the stranger spoke once again. They were not in awe, nor were they surprised at its beauty, but they bowed deeply when asking of it. They said, “I seek guidance to Nemiza’s spindle. I beseech thee humble spirit, and ask thou to be my guide.”
The stag looked at the stranger for another fleeting moment, seemingly considering the stranger’s request. It looked down upon their kneeling, bowing state and thought them worthy to travel beside it. The stag bowed its head in return to the stranger’s request, and as it looked back up, the stranger addressed the stag again. They said, “I wish to bring this babe—however, it cannot speak the rights. I beseech thee humble spirit once more, may thou allow this lost soul to speak them in its place?”
The stag bowed its head once more, this time with no hesitation or further thought. The stranger nodded in thanks before picking the bare child up in their hands and again addressing the very air before them.
“I beseech the humble spirits and selfishly ask of a favor,” the stranger said. “In my hands, I hold a babe who shall invade your sacred resting places. It may be impudent of me to speak the rites in its place, but I call to any who hold the utmost kindness in their soul and who shall allow themselves to become this babe’s guardian. Any who shall selflessly give themselves—who have already been torn from the soles of life—to stake their very essence into the protection of this babe.”
Minutes passed to no avail, yet the stranger waited. They did not raise their head for any passing second as they allowed their request to flow through the wisps of the specters that surrounded them. Eventually, there was movement. Again the specters spun themselves into the white silk that began another figure. This time, however, instead of the glorious form of a winter stag, a hulking figure began to pierce the veil that enclosed the stranger. First spun its massive tread; long, powerful claws protruded from their stumps and planted themselves firmly on the ground, dragging behind its form as it lumbered forward. After, weaved the massive form of its body. The strings cut at still, sharp edges to express the thickness and ruggedness of the creature’s hide. Then came its face—its muscular neck which bound it together was wider than a large tree trunk, and the head which it held was of a much similar comparison. Reaching out as if to swallow the stranger, the specters bound themselves together into the very features that defined a gladiator. A long blemish ran up from its lip to the base of its snout, and the monster’s teeth could be seen through the gaps—each could be mistaken for the pointed edge of a dagger. And in its true form, the monster was menacing. Standing not as tall as the winter stag, yet protruding a menace that could hold no match.
The stranger beheld the monster much longer than they had the stag. They had not been expecting a visitor of this grandeur, especially one of unprovoked initiative. The massive monster continued to limber forward toward the stranger before stopping a hands length away from the child’s resting face. Its nose twitched and lips stretched out, presenting its impressive maw. Unsatisfied, it then looked toward the stranger, somewhat expectant of them. For a moment, the stranger had naught an idea of what the monster implied; but in a lapse of realization, they revealed a rather crude wooden mask they had been keeping inside their clothing. They had carved it just earlier out of stray wooden debris found in the forest. They had worked hastily and the final result was nothing of what they had wished to achieve. While the edges were soft, the surface was still very rugged and crude. The only thing that could separate it from a rounded plank would be the slight embellishes where the eyes would peer from.
The stranger rested the mask over the child’s eyes, protecting it from the intrusion of the outside specters. The monster examined the child once more, and contempt with their actions, turned its back toward the stranger. The stranger bowed their head again in thanks before speaking—seemingly addressing the air before them rather than the monster. They said, “Then, as by the rites of bondage, thou, o’ unadulterated spirit, shall receive my soul on behalf of this babe to protect its very essence—until we shall part and thy duties be complete.” With this final incantation, the winter stag turned its ghastly green eyes away from the stranger and sought off toward their destination.
The stag walked forward with an expressed pride and grace over the surface of the now still glassy lake. The monster followed behind its footsteps, its lumbering stride not causing any such disturbance across the water. Behind the monster came the stranger. They stepped across the liquid as if it were the earth. However, unlike the stride of the spirits, the touch of the stranger’s soles caused an unpleasant uproar across the lake’s surface. With every step, the water rippled; and as each ripple ended the body splintered and hardened. The lake rejected the stranger’s arrogance upon its skin, and now before each step could brave its touch, the water formed a sheet of ice for the stranger to walk upon. The grandiose forms of the stag and the monster led the way, gliding peacefully across the lake while the stranger followed in their wake, splintering and killing the water with every forward motion.
Although they were together, the spirits didn’t seem to converse. It was not as if they disliked each other, or if they were even capable of communication, but they looked to stay at a stretch. They would not regularly trounce together, but as an oddity, their duty bound them to each other’s presence. Similarly, as the group neared the end of the lake, the ghastly green wisps that were on the horizon had now fled to the opposite. They all stayed far away from each other—as if each one shared its own magnetic force.
The stranger saw the looming trees beyond the edge of the bloody lake, their height imposing their disposition as an obstacle. Civilization had not clawed its way any further than the lake’s edge, and the trees stood watching as sentinels protecting their back from the prying eyes of mortals. And as their duty called, when the great winter stag approached, the trees slinked away from its path, their tendrils prying at the very ground around them to vacate themselves from the guide’s mission. As they passed through the doors held open by the guardians and into the halls of their home, the stranger did not dare to pry their eyes away from the horizon in front of them, yet they could still feel the burning gazes from above. The pressure was similar to the weight of the cold they had felt before, and if they dared to look toward it, they knew they would succumb.
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
No matter how far they looked ahead, the stranger could not see a valid destination, and they dared not look behind to witness how far they had traveled. They knew that as the forest opened before them, it also folded to close behind them and that the stalking specters flanked their back, waiting with wet tongues for the stranger’s eyes to meet theirs. The stranger continued walking behind the stag and the monster for what may have seemed days, yet the silver platter had never passed a single pair of hands at the council’s feast. They did not recall an image before them, yet suddenly, they had arrived. The forest opened to a great basin—near identical to where the glassy lake mourned, yet the land was different. The horizon curved downward on each side, looking to round off just before the treeline. And at the center of the basin protruded a massive, peculiar tower. Its every edge was inconceivable and invalid. Its very shape was something of the imagination that could not exist in the mortal world. And at its top conjoined hundreds of thousands of ghastly green threads that fractured the sky and concealed the moon and the stars, leaving only their light to illuminate the odd terrain.
The stag continued its stride—not down the slope of the basin, but forward—as the edges curved up to meet its tread. As they had been, the monster and the stranger followed all the way to the base of the tower. Up close, the structure looked to be a massive obelisk—covered in many different, indescribable letters and symbols; words and phrases that made up thoughts of hundreds. The obelisk was an entirely different sight up close than it was from a distance, as it swallowed up every vision and every light that befell it. As they came even closer to its entrance, the group became flanked on every side by strange dog-like creatures. They were well over the stranger’s height as they stood bipedal on their canine legs. Their faces were neither of a canine nor a human, but somehow also resembled both. Their hands were human-like in shape, however dog-like in appearance, and also bird-like in structure. The creatures held nothing in these hands and wore nothing on their bodies. They were all identical, only with some minuscule blemishes—as if they were all cut from the same cloth. They did not appear aggressive, yet as the group continued closer, their multitude continued to increase—all until the stranger’s footstep befell the precipice.
At that moment, everything that was strange vanished. The creatures, the spirits—the guide and the guardian, the tower—everything. The stranger now stood not in an open basin, but a bowl. Its edges crawled up on all sides, and in its opening to the stars the stranger could see the magnificent convergence of the threads they beheld earlier. These threads all spun to a single point which stood at the center of the bowl, masked in a mortal’s visage. The thing that stood before them was now the only thing that became strange. It was the only thing that was incomprehensible to the stranger. It stood looking like themselves, but they could feel its presence all around them.
The stranger knelt on the floor that they felt was wet. That gave to their weight and gripped onto their form. The stranger closed their eyes and quickly opened them to behold the scene of the glassy lake before them. They felt the sensations of the cold and of the mist as they had before. But unlike the beginning, a figure stood before them. It watched the stranger with their eyes, and the stranger saw themselves watching. It smiled slyly at the stranger with their mouth, and the stranger felt themselves smiling. It spoke to the stranger with their voice, and the stranger heard themselves speaking. It said, “Hello.” And the stranger said, “Hello.”
“It is a rarity that someone visits me by their lonesome. I’ve come to think my company is afeared. But if so, then why does a mortal like you seek my company. I am not your master. Then why have you come? To me of all the ones you could ask of.”
The stranger looked down into their hands and saw the form of the seemingly lifeless child covered in a woolen bundle and sheltered by a crude wooden mask. They saw the child and they thought. They escaped the torture the being was trying to force them into, and they looked up to reveal its true form. Through the cracks of its mold they saw its true flesh—the infinite bundles of thread that converged themselves to the being. They saw its true eyes from where it looked and they saw its true mouth from where it smiled and spoke.
“You are brave,” Nemiza said. “To have the resolve to look past yourself. You are truly an enigma.”
It vanished from the stranger’s vision as the scenery began to change once more. With a sudden feeling of breathlessness, the stranger had returned to the bowl atop the obelisk. Nemiza stood before them, now looking upon them with its true eyes, hiding nothing of itself from the stranger.
“Everyone has a reason for action. To come here,” Nemiza said, “requires enough patience to trump reason. So I ask again mortal. Why come to my dominion? What action do you seek of me?”
The stranger was still. For a moment they could not express anything into words; they could barely even think. But soon, their desire overcame their fear and shock, and the stranger spoke. They bowed their head and closed their eyes when asking of the deity, and they said with hesitation, “I have traveled to your dominion to ask of a selfish request.”
The stranger stopped, waiting for a response from the entity before them. Any word of acceptance or rejection before they continued their plea. Nemiza whispered a soft chuckle. He came toward the stranger until they were close enough to touch. He said, “You are brave. To escape your fear. I will listen to your selfish request—but don’t expect of me more than an answer. Because I may have you expelled if the words that parse your lips don’t please me.”
The stranger nodded and continued on, conscious of every word they spoke before the deity. They said, “This babe has passed. I know not however long ago, but I do feel the weight of its soul residing in this vessel. It does not breathe, yet it does not pale in color and I have felt the rhythm of its beating heart. I know of its affliction, yet I have already failed to save it once. So I ask of you, Great God of Life—to parse this babe’s soul from its form and let it dream happily without the confines of this curse. Please, before it may never dream again.”
Nemiza looked down upon the stranger’s groveling form disappointedly. He said nothing in response, yet the stranger stood steadfast at the heel of the deity, refusing to collapse to his pressure. Nemiza looked up toward the web-like twines flittering and coiling about in the sky, observing each individual in tandem, taking in every minuscule moment of their dance. He softly sighed, looking down upon the stranger once more. And this time, he spoke.
“Not entirely unexpected of a visitor to ask something so foolish of me.” The stranger did not move, did not blink, and did not breathe in response to Nemiza’s words. They remained still on the hard, benign ground of the plateau, insisting that the deity had more to say. Nemiza continued, “The spools of life aren’t entirely to my whim to manipulate. They are as free so much as you are not. I cannot decide when the twine may spin itself; however, I can observe its dance, then decide when it is no longer beautiful and cut it. I can take the stray strand and sew it to the beginning of another, or I can let it fly freely—never to be observed by me again. Stop pleading. You have already wasted your time coming here. But I shall delight you in your downfall—only if you reveal to me the just form you arrived in.”
The stranger slowly raised their head and stood before the grotesque form of the deity. Nemiza’s eyes brightened and his smile irked an even greater sly twist.
“The ignorant man may mistake foolishness for bravery; but what I see in you is truly a virtue.” Nemiza moved ever closer to the stranger, putting his face a mere breath’s away from the skull adorned atop the stranger’s head. He looked for the stranger’s eyes which were shrouded by the shadows of his mask—but the stranger did not flee to match his glare. Nemiza chuckled once again at the stranger’s new poise and rewarded them with a speech.
“When a twine is formed—at the moment life is breathed into a vessel—it is created in its entirety. It will flow til’ the end of time less I snip it. And through the course of one’s life, their twine will entangle itself with those of others; the ones most important holding on much more dearly than the ones of passerby. This too is decided as the string unravels itself. Some individuals are so prosperous indeed, that their string will snap from the sheer force of their future. Those who’s don’t tend to become the heroes and kings of legend: Alexander, Augustus, Titus, Solomon, Alaric, and even the newly bred Malcolm—son of Kenneth. But among the weak, are the exceptionally rare. The Evergreens who don’t abide by their future, and by miraculous willpower of the soul, manage to re-spin their thread, even if only by one strand. Thus, a babe who has already passed,” Nemiza said as he gestured a hand toward the woolen bundle, “can be reborn by order of the soul.”
“If it is simply the soul re-spinning the thread,” the stranger asked, “then couldn’t you still snip it? To allow the soul eventual passage to its final resting place? After what you described as the beautiful dance has passed, you don’t have that power over Evergreens?”
“You mock me, mortal. I’m not one of the virtuous seers that can take kindly to slander. However, I cannot do anything. It is like you described,” Nemiza said, spreading his massive arms away from his contorted chest. The stranger could see the skin that looked somewhat like stitching. Somewhat like the deity had robbed the flesh of mortals to conceal whatever wrapped itself within. “I cannot bring myself to snip the twine of an Evergreen. They stay forever beautiful. They remain perfect regardless of time’s flow. Their potential is endless—and that is what a god finds truly beautiful in a mortal.”
“So you say not that you cannot, but that you will not? You’d go to shackle the soul and the mind to endless torment among the living. In a vessel that has already died, but can walk and speak through some evil power? Don’t you reign over life so you can deliver its victims to death?”
Nemiza smiled, bearing bestial fangs through his thin, contorted lips. He looked upon the stranger in anger and astonishment. He stooped down to level once again with the stranger’s height, and with a waft of putrid air from his horrible maw, his words screamed their way out in a tight whisper. He said, “You mortals, to us, are akin to mutts—or horses. As you would see value in a great hound that could hunt or a massive steed that could run til’ the day’s end, we can see your use to us. And that is all you ever are and ever have been. We do not praise you of our own kindness, without our own worry. We are cautious—my kin. And so too is your master. If he were to hear of this child’s potential, and know I were the one who snuffed it—then there would be discourse. And what I would least want is discourse with your master.”
The stranger stared the god in its bulbous black eyes, unwavering from his presence. By the comparison he’d just offered, the stranger realized that the one called Nemiza was not so tormenting as the one who’d allowed them to call ‘Master’. The stranger became curious at the deity’s banter—it was something that those bound to life could not venture to catch drifts of. The stranger became arrogant and believed they could manipulate this profound Nemiza. So they asked, “What is such potential that you can see in this babe? What godly lens do you inhibit that allows you to determine its fate and its loyalty to you?”
Nemiza calmed. His expression changed from one of barbaric fury to one of bubbling hatred. He began to express his annoyance toward the stranger’s persistence. Nevertheless, he responded to the stranger’s intrigue. “I can see everything. Every misdeed and every triumph. Every recess and every upcoming. Every collapse and every rejuvenation. But more simply, I can see the connections. The twines that decide to entangle themselves with the child’s. Some are similar to yours, but I will say, they are much more countless. Perhaps, it may even have more potential than you. Truly, I believe it does. And your master would not want to pass on something so entertaining and powerful as a man with a greater future than yourself. I would even venture to say that you may no longer be needed, Briar.
Underneath their mask, realization inlaid itself upon the stranger’s face. The overwhelming horror and fear that they had not felt in centuries. They looked down at the unmoving bundle in disgust and silent rage, for it was a demon planted in their arms by cruel fate itself. And as he watched the downfall of the stranger, Nemiza laughed. Not a chuckle or a whisper, but maniacal laughter. It sounded like the chirping of a rabid dog, and the stranger now clearly saw the being standing before him. It was like the Drekavac wandering lost before the tower and he was their king. The stranger saw the fiendish face that was not representative of life, but of death. The cruel devil which stood before him, jaw unhinged and drooling, spitting curses from its foul bellows. The stranger quaked and their heart skipped. They sweat the cold heat of the outside and their breathing slowed. Their vision blackened on its edges, and through the dysphoria, they could hear the twisted shrieks come to words.
Nemiza bellowed, “Your punishment, as requested by your master to enact upon you if you are ever to be dissuaded from your purpose while beneath a god’s presence! An order enacted upon us all to deliver swift justice upon your soul and upon your character! A cause to be defined by the judge of whom the servant disrespected and to whom they will now humbly repent!”
The stranger’s vision faded to black. They could feel nothing but cold. They were floating down an endless river, tied to the current like a crook to a rope. And as their mind flowed back to the anchor sat beside the glassy lake, they heard Nemiza’s verdict. Through a soft drumming that resounded within their skull, Nemiza whispered, “You are to raise the child in the visage of your master. You are to abide by his law and no other. And when it comes of age, you are to present the child before him—let the master decide the fate of the lowly servant. Your waltz is becoming clumsy, Evergreen.”
The stranger drifted for eternity, feeling nothing but endless sorrow in their solitude. It was as if they were carried by that river along the entire coast of their life. Then they awoke. The glassy lake laid out in front of them, the large bowl remained tightly gripped in their hands held above their head—the same as the very instant they were enveloped in the cold blood. The woolen bundle rested at their knees in the wet earth, and behind it, standing on the surface of the lake’s edge, was the monster. The mighty bear which had appeared before them and taken upon itself the child’s protection. It stood, watching as the stranger began moving once again, placing the bowl on the ground beside them. It watched with its stern, hardened expression—gleaming at the depths of the stranger’s thoughts and emotion.
“You’ve stayed,” the stranger said to the monster. They raised their head and met its curious gaze. “Why?” they asked.
All was silent as the trio sat under the judgment of the stars. The stranger waited from some sort of response from the monster, but to no avail. Moments passed, before finally, the stranger spoke again. “What is your name?” the stranger asked.
The monster was quiet. It made not a sound, but simply broke its gaze to watch the helpless form of the child. It motioned its massive head toward the child’s form, then looked back toward the stranger.
“Ugo,” the stranger said. “You are kin.”
The monster nodded softly once more, awaiting the stranger’s response.
“I presume you mean of your stay to become this child’s guardian?”
Again, the monster nodded. The stranger looked down, contemplative toward the woolen bundle. They gasped a sorrowful sigh and raised the bundle in their arms. They examined the crude wooden mask they had adorned the child with, regretful of their actions. Without looking away from the form of the child, the stranger addressed the monster and said, “It seems our cursed souls have been bound on the precipice of fate.”
The stranger looked up toward the monster, and it stared back, contempt. “Then by my power, o’ unadulterated spirit, may thou take residence within this child’s soul in exchange for thy divine protection. Forevermore, until the inevitable passing of this child will thou be bound in servitude to its will, thou only purpose to service its life in place of the one thou dearly lost. And so I ask of thou, humble spirit, if thou truly wish to accept this burden, then thou may guide thyself toward its vessel, and may thou find hallow space within its heart.”
At the final word of the stranger, the bear called Ugo drifted its way across the surface of the glassy lake and dispersed into the air, the reminisces of the spirit flowing freely around the form of the child. Eventually, all settled, and mysteriously the mask atop the child’s face began to melt and distort. The eyes hollowed out and the wood folded to match the very contours of the child’s sleeping face. When it stopped, it came to fully resemble the child’s image. And from under its second face, the first of what the stranger heard was the sorrowful sobbing of the cursed child.
***
On the dawn of the next day, the stranger awoke to the silent, yet squirming child. The wooden mask remained plastered to its hidden face, for if the stranger removed it, the child would start horridly shrieking. They moved about their cabin, finding a small pouch of stray silver coins atop their table where the oil lamp still burned through the light of the morning sun. They collected many books and papers, few hidden treasures dispersed throughout the home, and even fewer of the many skulls that lined its walls. They also took some hides and cured meats, rare, irreplaceable herbs and plants, and their three ornately cut knives and placed everything inside the sack earlier filled with the remains of the beast. These remains now rested buried in the forest along the lake’s edge—at least of what the stranger had not kept. After just an hour of toil, the stranger heaved the sack onto their shoulders, and in one hand the woolen bundle, the other grasping a long walking staff, the stranger left. Before their departure, they had placed the oil lamp on the wooden floorboards decorated with the leftover worthless plants. At their back, the cabin slowly lit ablaze, and any trace of the stranger’s existence vanished with them and the child on that morning.