The Black Road, Eganene

The second day was worse than the first. Boredom ate at him, as much as hunger. It was hard to stare at the same empty piece of road hour after hour. His mind looped and whirled, thinking thoughts over and over again until he was desperate for relief. On the other hand, the forest did not take long to accept him as part of its landscape.

He supposed it wasn’t surprising since he could move nothing but his eyes. Soon small animals began to approach him, chipmunks and squirrels scurrying up the tree beside his face, paying him no mind. A doe took a short nap not ten feet from where he sat. A few larger turkeys bothered her rest and she left.

Insects discovered him as well.

He had fallen asleep in the sunshine, exhausted from his long vigil the night before. In his dreams, he was young again, a child in his mother’s arms, her fingers stroking his hair, caressing his forehead, his eyebrows and cheeks. So real was the sensation that when he woke, his hands flew to his face, except that they didn’t. They remained in his lap, frozen fast and unable to help him.

Confused, he checked the Black road, but both directions lay empty. And then he looked at his legs. Spiders, the size of a baby’s hand, traversed his knee as though he were a log in the forest. Had they been on his face just moments before? Within himself, he shuddered. The insects felt nothing and soon disappeared.

He thanked the gods that there were not more of them. The weather was too cold for most insects. He thought of sitting paralyzed as hundreds of thousands of mosquitoes descended upon him and shuddered again.

It was cold. The leaves and sticks around him were covered in thick frost. Clumps of snow were piled beside him. Although he himself, was not uncomfortable. He figured that it was the sorceress’s spell that kept him this way. Hours later he was even thankful for it.

He watched it happen. He had nothing else to do. The bluish sky fled from thick, white clouds and sweeping winds. Small animals skittered into hiding as pine needles and dirty snow blew across the wide black road.

It was the helstorm.

They would arrived at the end of the season, lasting for days and sowing destruction. He had seen the helhstorm’s power first hand. Homes crushed under feet of snow, sleeping families smothered, fathers unable to dig out their windows or doors. It was a good year when Faenella managed the season without a death.

If he were caught without shelter, there would be no way to survive. Would Agatha’s majic hold up to such a thing? Panicking, he tried again to break free from his bonds. He fared no better this time.

It started slowly, the lazy swirl of a few flakes dancing along the frigid breeze. Within hours, the branches above his head were frosted, like a thoughtless god had spilled sugar across the forest floor. The wind picked-up, keening, leading waves of snow that drifted and slid across the Black road to pile against trees and rocks. Young saplings broke, their roots torn from the ground.

By nightfall, Ian was gone.

Had someone been crazy enough to travel the Black road tonight, they would never have seen him. Somehow, after all the stress of the last few days, Ian found it peaceful. Beneath his blanket snow, in the darkness, there was nothing to see. He was one with the forest, part of it now. There was simplicity in the time. There was nothing to do, no expectation of a savior.

At one point, he thought he heard singing, as though several people had joined in song. The wind screamed so loudly that the voices were all but lost and the moment passed quickly, leaving him alone. He was no colder than he’d been before, Agatha’s spell leaving him the same.

When it was light out, he could see a dark grey color. The layers of snow must be packed one on top of the other so that he was trapped feet below the surface. At least once a day it became too much for him, and he shut his eyes, panicking as he tried to claw his way out.

His hands remained motionless, useless.

He slept, woke and slept again.

When consciousness returned, something soft and warm had burrowed against his lap. He wished he could see what kind of animal it was. His eyelashes fought against the snowflakes, but there was only white.

Several times the animal left and returned. Ian guessed it to be two or three pounds in weight. Its sharp claws pricked him as it moved, but never hard enough to draw blood.

How many days it had been, he couldn’t discern, but one day the animal didn’t return. Ian felt the loss. The creature had been his only company, and while neither of them could speak, he had spent his time telling it about Jamie and the witch, about his brother, mother and father. Not out loud, of course, his mouth was as frozen as the rest of his body, but with his thoughts.

Its warmth had been his only kindness. The witch’s spell had a protection from cold, but it did let in the heat from the animal. Ian tried to pretend it was his neighbor’s dog, but the idea failed. The animal was only a few pounds, more like the size of a rabbit. He promised himself he would never eat another one.

More time passed. He was alone in his prison now, unable to move or see. He could hear movement outside the white walls, hear the snapping of twigs and a crow’s call, but there was nothing else. It was a good sign that the wind had died down a bit.

He dreamt of his brother, trapped inside their forge. He shied away from the thought, but there was nowhere to go, nowhere to run or to hide, no place for his mind to take sanctuary. There were no sounds and no sights. He was trapped with his thoughts, the same way his brother had been trapped by fire.

They burned.

Ian yelled, his voice soundless in his frosty nest.

He couldn’t escape from the truth, not down here, in his white prison. The silence screamed at him, his ears ringing with the truth. It was a slow torture. Around and around his thoughts spiraled, drawing Ian deeper and deeper, until finally, he could see it. The truth-- an ugly wall of flame.

Jamie had been right. It was his fault. His brother was dead, burned away to nothing. He was responsible.

He should have saved him. All the possibilities paraded through his mind, their footfalls cracking the brittle glass of his sanity.

Sobbing, he longed to cover his face with his hands. Instead, he cried into the snow and wished to feel its coldness. The animal returned that night. It had been many days. He felt its small claws press into his skin.

Its coat was silky against his hand. He longed to brush it gently, to feel the warmth beneath his fingertips, to feel its small rabbit feet beneath his palm. He told it what he did, told it what had become of his brother. It didn’t leave him.

He was so glad to have company that he stayed up the entire night telling the creature stories of Simon. He spoke of Faenella and his father and mother, of their home and the life he’d once had. Ian knew the animal couldn’t hear him. If he had actually spoken to it, he would have frightened it away. But it was nice to pretend, to imagine that he wasn’t alone.

By his estimation, the snow melted from his face three days later and he got his first look at spring. The world was a dissolving puddle. Snow fell in heavy clumps from the trees, the sound startling him every time plopped to the ground. Rivulets of water cascaded down his face from the snow on his head and worked their way to a new, small stream that ran beside the Black road.

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He knew it was useless, but he tried to open his mouth, to feel that cool water pool in his throat. His lips remained stubbornly sealed. Agatha’s spell. He had no idea how long he had been out here. He should have been dead of cold, thirst or hunger by now.

Staring at his hands, he was unnerved to find them thinner, the skin sagging where it had once had the firmness of youth. The small bones of his hands were prominent against his flesh. And then he understood. She had healed him and spelled him, but not saved him. His body was eating itself to stay alive.

Hate flared anew. She had left him by the road, not to be found, but as a warning to others, his corpse a message to her enemies.

He didn’t remember the next few days. They cascaded by like so much water through his fingertips. Anger, hate, regret and guilt, the emotions flowed over and through him, erasing conscious thought. Mercifully, he also slept.

It was a roar that jolted him awake.

A small brown rabbit was frozen in place beside him. Ian was surprised to notice that the snow around him had almost disappeared as he dreamed. Tender green shoots had sprung from the ground. The rabbit had been nibbling at those closest to him.

Quickly, he glanced about looking for the threat. The Black road was empty in either direction. Even the streams of water were gone. It was dusk, and shadows played with his vision, turning each gust of spring wind into a nightmare.

The rabbit had not moved. It was as frozen as he was.

Suddenly, the tree behind him shook, raining twigs and broken sticks down on his head. He would have covered himself if he could have moved. A larger branch nicked him above the eye. Still, the rabbit did not move.

Ian did his best to check behind him, but all he could see was bark. The forest was silent. Only now did he realize how noisy it had become while he dreamed. He wished he could touch the rabbit and hold it. Whatever it was frightened of might be afraid of a human. It was the least he could do to repay the creature for giving him so much comfort beneath the snow.

Night descended as they waited, the sky’s rust color giving way to black, the full moon too bright in its colorless sea. Not a star was visible. It must be Langst Nacht. Tomorrow would be the first day of spring.

Suddenly, the tree he rested on swayed. Ian watched as a large animal gracefully pounded to the ground beside him, crushing the rabbit in its paw. Its fur was black, the inky color of the starless sky and its coat shimmered in the light of the moon. Ian couldn’t believe his eyes. This was easily the largest creature he had ever seen, several hundred pounds of muscle and a long, agile tail.

Gently, it lifted its paw to reveal its prize. Ian’s hand was inches from its whiskers. He wanted to turn away. His only friend, his only source of comfort, was dead. The cat licked its paw, and Ian’s stomach churned.

It glanced at him abruptly, the hair on its back standing at attention. Ian realized that it hadn’t known he was there. It sniffed at the air, the wet, black skin of its nose shimmering. In this light, even its eyes were black. He knew they would be golden in the daylight, but now they were as black as its fur, with rings of white that bordered their depths.

The creature had to be able to hear his heart thundering in his chest. It flicked out its tongue, testing the air and then growled low in its throat. The sound was like the thundering of a horse carriage on cobblestone. Ian could feel the reverberation in his chest.

He braced himself, desperate to throw his arms out to block the strike. He did not move.

The enormous cat grasped the dead rabbit in its teeth and flopped on its side, its considerable head landing on his lap. The weight of it was heavy, like a full sack of grain at harvest time. Ian didn’t dare to breathe and thanked his ancestors that he couldn’t flinch.

He watched the grandpanther tear the head from the rabbit, toss it in the air with its teeth, catch it and toss it again. It was like a barn cat with a mouse. With growing horror, Ian realized that its canines were the size of his hand. The panther tossed the rabbit once more and then caught it with a crunch.

It chewed quickly and stretched its hind legs. Long claws scratched deep furrows into the ground. Inches long and deadly sharp, the grandpanther retracted them as finished its stretch. It was no wonder these creatures were the subject of legend and myth. If it hadn’t been beside him, he would never have believed it himself.

The animal growled again, raising its head and staring into the woods. Everything was silent. The night had stopped breathing. There were no birds, no squirrels or mice. Not even insects move at this moment.

Ian took a measured inhale, afraid his chest would rise too high and touch the creature’s whiskers.

Low and deep the animal rumbled, and Ian peered into the dark brush across the road. What would a giant cat be afraid of? His grandmother had told him stories when he was young, stories of these giant cats and Creeling. No one he knew had ever seen one.

No one in his village had ever seen a grandpanther, either, he thought.

Without warning, the cat leapt back into the tree and made its way south. Ian tried to follow its progress, but it was soon invisible, its dark fur melting into the night. It had left him a present though. The rabbit corpse lay beside him, the blood pooling against his pants.

Now what was he supposed to do? The cat had left him alone with bait.

Ian racked his brain for information about Creeling, but was unable to come up with much. He knew they were afraid of fire and resembled nothing as much as large hairless canines with wings. Stories described them as being larger than grandpanthers, which didn’t help since the grandpanthers was the largest animal he had ever seen.

He wished he could have fled with the panther, taken to the trees, leaping thirty feet from branch to branch to fade into blackness. There was nothing he could do. Trapped against the tree, unable to even raise his arms to ward off blows, he waited.

Ian breathed deeply, trying to calm himself. Each breath felt good, the cold air rushing down his throat almost tasted like water. He didn’t want to look at the Black road or the brush; he didn’t want to see the creature. Instead he looked at the moon, her beautiful white face in open splendor, heralding the new year.

Wul, he prayed.

Wul, thy face is beautiful this night.

Hear your child, Wul. Turn your gaze to me.

I know I am unworthy.

He was close to death, he knew that. Either starvation would claim him or the predator that stalked the night. Ian wished he could die without his guilt.

It is my fault my family is dead. I know that now. It was I who led my brother from our home to hide in the forge, just as it was I who must have spoken of the wrong thing and brought the Family down upon us.

Forgive me Wul, he cried silently.

Forgive me and guide me.

Please Wul!

Forgive me and spare your son.

Pain flared in his leg as claws ripped down his side. Ian silently screamed into the air, his eyes bulging. On and on, he howled silently, terrified of pain would come next. He yelled until he had no more breath to yell, and then he inhaled deeply, opening his eyes. He tore them from the face of the moon and willed himself to look on the eyes of his attacker and meet his fate.

The animal was small, only a foot in length. Its liquid gold eyes looked at him quizzically, its head cocked as if unsure of what it had heard. When Ian did not move, it settled beside him, its black fur as dark as its mother’s. Its tail swished happily. Mother panther must have smelled her cub on him and left him a meal. It didn’t explain why she had taken off in such a hurry, but he was relieved nonetheless.

It is the size of a house cat!

The animal lifted its chin up to look at him, almost as if it wished to be scratched beneath the chin. Ian knew better. The cat’s eyes narrowed and its tail went still. When he didn’t move, it returned to its feast, pulling the meat from the corpse with small, sharp teeth.

Ian checked his leg and was surprised to see no wound. His pants were torn where the cat’s nails had scraped him, but other than that he was fine. No blood, no wound.

It must be Agatha’s majic, he thought.

Again, the animal looked at him, a string of red flesh, hanging from one tooth. Inside his silent cage, Ian laughed. He had no idea how something so small and adorable could grow to become the terrifying grandpanther that its mother was.

His mirth was short lived. The cub clawed at his leg and his laugher died in his throat. The small claws ripped long furrows into his skin, the cloth of his pants torn away to reveal gashes that quickly filled with blood.

Before he had a chance to scream, the blood disappeared back into his leg. The wound closed, leaving his worn pants with a couple of new holes. He shuddered at the display of majic. Of course, he was grateful for it in this moment, but he didn’t like it. Unnatural witchcraft.

Ian glared at the animal, wishing he could smack it for giving him a scare.

It met his eyes and hissed at him.

It was almost as if the thing could read this mind.

Having finished its meal, the cub climbed into his lap settled into position, curling around and around until it was just right. The placement was familiar. It was just where the rabbit had been settling.

Ian grunted internally, realizing his mistake. It hadn’t been the rabbit that had been keeping him company beneath the snow, at all. It had been this creature! All those nights and all those days, he had shared the cat’s warmth, believing it to be a rabbit. Instead, it was this predator, an animal destined to become one of the most feared creatures in Eganene.

Nice kitty, kitty, he thought.

The cat rubbed its face against his leg and closed its eyes. Ian tried to imagine it the size of its mother and could not. He realized that if the cat was a male, it would be even bigger. Possibly the size of horse.

It was nice to have company again, whatever the sort. Ian watched the cub’s black fur shimmering like the night and sent another prayer to Wul. She must have intervened on his behalf, giving him the gift of company when he was alone. It would have been nicer to be free.

The cub chose that moment to stretch it legs, its long hind legs scraping against the inside of Ian’s thigh.

Gods, but you’ve got sharp claws, he thought, choking back his scream. Again, the wound close almost instantly, Ian’s blood disappearing back into his body.

The animal curled back into a small ball, its sharp teeth hidden beneath a thin, black smile.