The Woods Boy

The Woods Boy - Part 4

The sun had risen to its highest point when the three figures came into view, approaching from the south along the beach that led to Asprey's home. It was as the innkeep had said. Two armed men, dressed in the gear of mercenaries, and flanking a third figure, a tall, thin man dressed in dark robes that flapped like ravens' wings in the lakeside wind.

I waited in my place, crouched behind a boulder outside the small cliffside house, Bess beside me, both intent on the nearing figures, tense and poised. I gripped my dagger in my fist and felt the sweat from my palm forming against the leather of the handle. When we had arrived that dawn it had been my instinct to continue north with haste, to put as much distance as we could between us and the threat that would follow, but Asprey had suggested another course.

"If these men intend to pursue us, and if an encounter is inevitable, then might it not be wiser to meet the threat on our terms, rather than those of our pursuers?" He had said, once I explained to him the situation. I saw the sense in it. As a hunter I knew the peril to prey in running itself to exhaustion rather than turning to fight. So, we had made a plan. An ambush.

"I am not without means to defend myself." The hermit had said, carefully retrieving a small wooden box from beneath a desk in his workshop. Opening it he revealed a trio of simple clay containers, circular in shape, each with a short wick of string fitted into the small hole at the top. "My own design, though based on descriptions I had read on some scrolls from out the east."

He explained their function. "They contain an oil which, when ignited, creates a hot burning flame that clings to whatever it touches." He then produced a sturdy looking slingshot. "Combined with this they make an effective weapon." His eyes glinted then with a sadistic glee I had not seen in him before, and it heartened me.

The figures came closer into view and I could see the tall priest more clearly. He was not the man from Brook's vision. That man had been younger and better built, but they shared the same look of confidence. I felt, too, the same aura of threat that I had felt in the vision. The same determination. Bess let out a low growl.

Asprey was stationed on an outcrop a little further along the beach, overlooking the approach, ready to begin the first part of our plan. Brook was inside the house. He had wanted to be at my side on the beach, to face what was coming for him, but I had insisted he remain out of sight.

"But it's me they want. I don't want to hide like a child while you fight for me." He had gestured to the dagger that hung at his belt. "I want to fight. I can..."

I had taken his hand and held it firmly, letting him feel my strength while trying to shield him from the doubt in my heart. "You might need to yet." I looked into his eyes, dark pools that were indigo in the morning light. "But do this, for me." He had held my gaze a moment longer before the pride melted and he nodded.

"I will, Jack. For you."

The figures had reached the place beneath the outcrop, and in earnest our plan was set in motion. Soundlessly the first of the clay jars was launched towards the group, its lit wick dancing as it fell. It struck the nearest of the mercenaries on the shoulder and a gout of flame erupted across the man's leather tunic, spreading to cover much of his torso. He let out a cry and his comrade leapt away in dismay as the burning man patted at the flame in panic. This only served to spread the flames further, so that the man ran panicked and screaming to the lakeside, leaping into the water. The second mercenary had by now drawn his sword but had barely a moment to act before a second jar was flung. This one was less successful, striking the ground at the man's feet, dismaying him but not harming him. The priest, however, seemed unbothered, even amused, as if this was some party trick he was observing. I found out why when the third jar was launched at him. As it fell towards him he made an odd gesture with his hand and, as if a sudden gust of wind had taken it, the jar swerved to land harmlessly on the beach further on. I had never seen anything like it and my unease grew.

With Asprey's surprise over it was now my turn. I took advantage of the distraction to attack. The second mercenary, escaping the flames, was by then only ten feet away from me. I climbed up onto the boulder before leaping towards him, my blade bright in the noon sun. With a roar I rushed at the man. Bess had followed me, teeth near as bright as my knife. This sudden assault took the man by surprise and he had too little time to prepare his stance, my shoulder making contact with his chest, knocking the wind from him. He span, his sword useless at such close quarters as I gripped him with one arm and brought my blade up with the other, finding his neck. He went down as easy as any deer I'd stalked, blood guttering from the crescent I'd made in him. The priest had turned at my attack. As I dropped the mercenary I turned to face him. That look of amusement was still on his face as I braced myself to leap again. That's when the pain came.

The priests dark eyes seemed to flash and a searing agony erupted in my mind, spreading quickly until it seemed my whole body burned as the mercenary had, though there were no flames. I collapsed under it, falling to my knees on the stoney beach as the priest looked down at me. I heard him speak though his mouth did not move.

"You dare stand before me, vermin?" I could feel the mocking in his words as another wave of pain and fear lashed me. I convulsed and my hands hit the ground. If I cried out my ears were deaf to it, so great was the pain. It was like the intrusion I had felt under the gaze of the dark beast, but here it was filled with cruelty and contempt. "So, this is the protector the old fool found?" Yet another inrush of pain wracked me and I fell prone. "He must have been desperate indeed."

Those moments stretched to an eternity of torment as every fibre of my being, body and mind, seemed to burn. My eyes had closed yet my vision was filled with lightening flashes as the pain pounded at me and I felt death so close I could touch it. I could feel my mind thinning as if crushed under a tremendous weight. Then I heard another voice.

It began quietly, barely there at all. A soft, distant "No." But it grew, like a pounding drum nearing, or a heart restirring. "No." It said, louder each time. "No." It began to fill my ears, matching then drowning out the pain. "No." By then I knew it to be Brook's voice, though it sounded different in a way I could not describe. 'No.' The word matched the beating of my heart, rising to thunder. "No." It went on, and I felt fear rise, not from myself but from the priest that stood before me. "No. No. No. Mine!" And the word was like a sudden and tremendous torrent, driving the pain and the priest from my mind. My vision cleared.

I saw then that the priest had fallen to his knees. I saw too that Brook was now stood behind me, his eyes fixed on the kneeling figure. The priest's face was frozen in a rictus of fear and pain and I saw that blood was pooling in his eyes and beginning to make red rivulets across his cheeks. The voice pounded on, wordless now, pure feeling, and more powerful for it until with one last, tremendous shout I heard a great snap like a tree splitting under a lightening strike and the priest collapsed sideways onto the beach, his neck broken, the life gone from his blood soaked eyes.

A moment later Brook, too, collapsed, falling forward so that he landed on me. He was shaking and sobs were beginning to hiccup from him. With the little strength I had I pulled him closer to me and I could feel his heart beating, fast as a frightened rabbit, fast as mine was. We lay there on the stones until we could speak again.

I turned Brook's face to mine. "What....what happened?" His brow creased.

"I....I don't know." He said through the sobs. "I felt your pain. I felt what was happening to you and something just.....came out of me." I could feel his fear, not only from the threat we had faced, but at how he had responded to it. I'm ashamed to admit it but in that moment it had frightened me too. I heard footsteps and saw Asprey approach, his eyes wide at the scene before him. I could see in his eyes the same question I had asked, but I gave him a look that said "Not now."

Slowly and not easily Brook and I stood. I looked about me. The bodies of the priest and one of the mercenaries lay on the beach before me, and a quick scan found no sign of the poor fellow that had been burnt, and I allowed some relief to ease into my tense and aching muscles. Brook was in my arms again, still trembling a little but no longer sobbing, and I could feel his strength returning to him. He looked up at me with a half smile.

"At least we won." He gave a small laugh, and I could not help but return it.

*****

We had dragged the body of the mercenary into the lake, but Asprey had insisted on bringing the body of the priest inside so that he could inspect it. It lay on the large table in the middle of his workshop as we set about recovering from the battle and planning our next move.

"It seems to me we must go north." He said as he set about disrobing the corpse. We could see now that it was covered with the same ribbons of ink that made up Brook's tattoo, and that I had seen on the man in his vision.

"I agree." I told him. "We surely can't stay here." If someone was determined to find Brook then they will be back sooner or later, and better prepared. Our victory on the beach had bought us some time, but I hoped to be away within a few days at most. Still, the prospect of a journey north as winter bit was not one I relished. I turned to Brook, who was stirring a kettle of leftover stew above the brazier. He considered the question for a moment in the way he always did.

"Yes." He said. "I think...it feels like the right thing to do. It feels like I need to go there." I sensed from him what he meant but could not quite describe. There was a pull on him, something calling him there, a faint voice on an icy northern wind.

I had pulled a few maps from Asprey's collection and sat poring over them. There were no easy roads north, and the least difficult might be the most watched. I began plotting out a route.

"We should first make for the village of Isok, where the mountain river meets the north side of the lake." We had supplies enough to reach there, but not much further, and we would need warmer gear for the journey on from there. I did not want to go back to the lakeside village to the south, not if unfriendly eyes were about. "Then we can follow the river to the foot of the mountains." Asprey hummed agreement as he began making sketches of the designs on the priests body. It was only then that I thought to ask him how his work had gone deciphering them.

"I have discerned a little." He said, bringing out his drawing of Brook's tattoo. "The lettering is similar to that used by some of the more northerly tribes, though more archaic." He traced his finger along the lines on the parchment. "They seem to tell a kind of cyclical story. Northern tales are often like that, where the ending becomes a beginning and the story is told again. This pattern here," He pointed to a twist of lines in the design, "Means, I believe, both death and birth. And this," He pointed to another, "is very similar to a rune the northern tribes use to describe the cycle of the seasons." He paused. "The rest is, so far, beyond me, but perhaps our dead friend here can help me with that." He placed the paper down and went back to the corpse, continuing his sketching. By then the smell of hot stew had filled the room and by stomach grumbled. I stood and joined Brook by the fire, taking a seat next to him on the bench, as grateful to feel his warmth as that of the fire. He had been even more quiet than usual since our encounter on the beach. I put my arm around him.

"How are you feeling?" I didn't need to ask, but habit had made the words. I could feel the concern in him, the confusion and fear at what had happened, at what he had done to the priest on the beach. He smiled at my touch and nuzzled at me, breathing me in, and I felt him ease.

"I'm good. You're here, that's all I need." After a kiss to my chest he returned his attention to the stew. "Hungry?"

I grinned. "When am I not?" He smiled back, and I was glad to see it. "I'll get some bowls."

He served the stew and we ate it with some bread by the hearth, even Asprey was persuaded from his work to sit with us. We discussed the details of our plan and agreed to set out at dawn two nights from then. That would give us time enough to rest and prepare. After eating I sat back with the maps, and Brook joined me, asking me what I knew of our road ahead.

"The road to Isok should be easy enough if our fortune holds and the snows haven't reached it yet." He followed my finger as I traced it around the lake. "The village itself is little more than few dozen buildings, but we should be able to get supplies and furs from there." I had visited Isok a handful of times, passing through. Its people were mostly descended from the folk of the north, though with some influence from the Kings lands people. I smiled inside at the memory of a night I had shared there with a local guardsman and, sensing it, Brook gave me a sly look. I cleared my throat and continued.

"After that the road will be harder. Its little travelled and can be bitter cold, especially in the season we will be walking through." I had only travelled it once in winter, and still shivered at the memory of those nights spent cocooned in furs, huddled with my fellows until the snows near covered us. A small part of me, though, glowed at the thought of huddling like that with Brook, and by instinct I pulled him to me. He shared my thought and I felt him wriggle puppy like against me.

The afternoon became evening which became night. After finishing the last of the stew we prepared for bed. Asprey went to his small room and Brook and I set up a bed for ourselves in front of the brazier. We lay under blankets together in the dull, orange light, Brook with his head in its now customary place on my chest as if listening at my heart. My hand played in his dark hair. The fear he had felt had been eased, and his contentment in that moment was like a warm bath around me. I kissed his crown.

"I love you." The words came without thought, or maybe the thought came without words. I felt both surprised that I had said it and surprised that I hadn't said it before. Brook looked up. He didn't have to say it, but he did.

"I love you too." His rabbit heart came back, but it leapt and played this time as we fell into a kiss. In all my years, I had never tasted anything sweeter than his lips were in that moment. It was chill spring water to a man near death from thirst, and I drank and drank, feeling myself fill with it, with an ecstasy more profound than any I'd felt. I knew he felt it too, and our limbs entwined, and our closeness consumed us. He was me and I was him. I lost track of hands and lips and fingers, of feelings and thoughts as they danced together, feeling every touch twice. The world beyond melted away, any danger melted away as we shared that bliss.

Brook gasped as I entered him and our connection became complete. This is how it should be, we thought. This is how it should always be. Shared body, shared breath, shared soul. I strove further in, devouring him as he devoured me, round and round as the pleasure intensified. It was dizzying. Faster we span, each hard push I made sending us further skyward, falcons spiraling in warm air, reaching the apex and hanging there. The moment stretched until it broke and I plunged deep and down, Brook fast behind me and whooping together we rode the wind.

"I want this every day." He said between kisses. "When you aren't there I feel empty." The words and the feeling attached drove me still further. I could feel his want as he felt mine. I had never known how empty I had been until I had found Brook, nor he him. We had been two halves separate all our lives before that, each calling for the other though we did not understand it. Now we did, and I knew as, with a cry I emptied myself into him, we could never be parted and survive.

Then, spent, the day's exhaustion took us at last into sleep, still wrapped in each other.

In my dreams I was a boy again, at that so familiar hearth where Pa and I shared so many nights together, with me sat on the stool and him in his chair, whittling at the figurines Ma had so loved, and telling me of his own life, or telling me the stories his own Pa had told him.

"Then the Dreamer King took the voice from the bird, and the arms from the bear. He took the legs from the deer and the ears from the hare. He took the courage from the badger and the fear from the mare, and from these things he made mountain's heir." It was an old song, and Pa's deep voice and the light from the fire made it feel older still. It was one he often sang, and always it put a drowse of dreaminess on me.

"What is the mountain's heir?" I had asked more than once, and had always received the same answer.

"How should I know? Its just an old rhyme."

I drifted though other dreams that night. Those were lost when I awoke, but the rhyme stayed in my mind as I felt Brook stirring. Later, as Brook went about preparing a breakfast for us, I was surprised to hear him humming its tune.

"Where did you hear that?" I asked him, and he looked at me puzzled for a moment.

"I heard it last night, don't you remember? Your Pa was singing it." Of course, I thought. If I was sharing Brook's dreams then it made sense that he would share mine. "What was he like, your Pa?"

This time it was me that paused before answering. My Pa had been a good man, but after Ma went something had died in him too. His life had become one of necessity with no joy as a reward. At the time I hadn't fully understood what he was going through. Now, though, after finding Brook, I knew what it costs a soul to lose part of itself. I pulled Brook from his cooking and held him.

"He was kind, and hardworking. I never wanted for food or work. But, like me I guess, he was not one for company, and gave his thoughts sparingly and with care." I sensed that Brook understood more than my words said. "He passed 15 winters ago." Brook sent comfort to me as the memory raised its toll of grief.

"I wish I could have met him." We held each other a moment more before Brook returned to bacon sizzling in its skillet.

After breakfast we set about our preparations. I unpacked and checked the gear and supplies we had, replenishing what I could from the store Asprey had put away. The hermit had finished his drawings of the priest's markings and we had happily thrown him into the lake to join the mercenary. He then set about gathering together those papers he wished to bring on the journey, plainly agonising over the process. He had Brook assist him in this, delighted and how keenly Brook attended every word.

The work took most of the day light and we spent that evening gorging on the last of the food that we could not carry, along with a few bottles of sweet pear cider Asprey had rediscovered during our preparations. So it was that our sleep came early and easy, and if we dreamt neither of us recalled them.

The light was purple grey as we departed at dawn, our ragged group of four stepping north and into winter. Our spirits were high, though, and our legs rested and determined. The morning opened into a blue flower fringed with white, the sky clear but for a few streaks of cloud. As we walked we talked, with Asprey doing most of the talking, of the various tales and songs he had heard from the north. A chance mention brought back to my mind the rhyme my Pa had sung at the hearth, and so I asked him if he knew anything about it.