Tier & Grauel by Videl Sky Fantasy Writing Contest contest entry |
A woman slowly walked to the tree line and, after some hesitation, stepped into the forest filled with towering spruce trees. Treading deeper and deeper in, she walked until her feet were bloody and her body ached from the strain. The shadows from the trees pointed eastward before she stumbled to a halt. A faint cry sounded out at the harsh jostle. "Hush now," she whispered to the sleepy child slung on her back. "Settle back to sleep." She slowly unclasped the sling and lowered it to the ground, leaving a single leather waterskin by its side before hurrying back in the direction she had come from. One day prior, the small village met to discuss a yearlong point of dispute – a white ghost that had been born in their town. The boy was claimed to be cursed, and after the recent famine, disquiet started to spread. "That devil needs to die," a village elder spat out, "it has been a stain on our village for too long, and the past four years since its birth have been filled with nothing but calamity." Sounds of agreement echoed through the hall. "Thirteen of my cattle have dropped dead just this week!" "My aunt got the dancing plague last month!" "I heard a bat cry outside my window last night!" The villagers continued to cry out their misfortunes, all of which pointed to signs of despair and a great coming of death in their culture, and the elders ruled that the child must die at its parent's hands before the evil grew worse. Their laws decreed that because they brought the child into this world, they must be the ones to send it back out. They shot looks to a tall and sturdy man who stood at the back of the room with his arms crossed. His jaw was covered in stubble and clenched. No one in the room could see the exact expression on his face the moment he nodded and agreed to complete the task, as shadows veiled the top portion of his face. Though she wasn't allowed inside – women were considered too weak of spirit to handle the unpleasant meetings – the boy's mother knew her son would be a topic of discussion today. After hearing the elder's verdict, she covered her mouth – smothering a cry. The meeting was ending, and she knew that if they caught her now, her child would be killed by her husband, and she'd likely be put on trial for her disobedience. She rushed back to their small cottage, ripping her little boy out of the bed. She dressed him and grabbed his hand, hurrying out of the door with a sling and a scarce amount of water. With not a word of explanation, they walked into the forest together – though she carried him often throughout the trek. "This is better; at least he has a chance now," she whispered to the heavens as she steeled her heart and left him lying on that cool ground. A heavy weight settled on her heart as she retraced her steps through the forest. The village would believe the child was dead, that their supposed curse was lifted, but her decision weighed on her thick as the dense fog that hung in the trees. The child, who had never been given a proper name, wasn't aware of his mother's turmoil. He awoke alone in a dark forest, hungry and terrified. "Mama, Papa, where are you" he wailed. "I'm scared; come back!" His cries were only answered by the far-off howls of wolves.
The child grew older, finding wild berries to eat and small streams to drink out of. This wasn't always a smooth process, as some were not edible and incapacitated him for days, leaving him curled up on the grass – burning with fever. The boy noted when this happened and started avoiding those that caused pain, most frequently eating wild strawberries, gooseberries, and the occasional bitter lingonberry when nothing else was available. He never succumbed to illness or infection, though, seeming to recover rapidly when injured – an ability that grew as he did. Though he couldn't recall much of his life before the forest, he remembered a kind hand – and a feeling of betrayal. He once wandered near a collection of structures, tall things both made of the spruce trees around him and a red-tinted grey stone. Outside many of them, he saw figures that stood on two feet like him. Another child noticed him, though, and screamed – many words, but some stood out. "Abomination, atrocity, a horror!" And so, from there forth, the boy was known as Gräuel.
One day, Gräuel was flitting through the trees, running with no destination in mind. He often did this – sometimes to scout for food and water, and other times just to have fun. Approaching a small clearing, he waded through the tall grass before freezing. He tilted his head slightly and crouched lower to the ground. There, again. Faint whimpering sounds could be heard on his right, so he carefully stepped closer and parted the grass. A small, fluffy animal with inky black fur was huddled there, an arrow struck through its leg. The boy thought it looked like the companions he sometimes saw the villages hunt with, a 'dog,' wasn't it? Gräuel briefly thought of finishing the job and eating it, but when the creature saw him, it whimpered again and looked up at him with shining yellow eyes, its ears drooped down. Then it turned away - seemingly accepting of its fate. "You're all alone too?" he whispered aloud. With those words, he cemented his decision and placed his hands on the arrow. The animal didn't struggle when he ripped it out, perhaps too weary. Patching up his new friend turned into a daunting task – because of his fast healing, he never learned how to patch up major wounds. After doing his best, he carried the small thing back to his cave, hoping it lived through the night. Drifting off to sleep, he sent up a small prayer to whoever would listen, begging them to keep it alive. When he woke the next day, he grinned and felt a wash of a previously foreign emotion - affection. Cuddled close to him, still alive, was the animal.
"Tiér, slow down!" Gräuel yelled, sprinting through the forest. He was chasing a large wolf with golden eyes and sleek black fur, which slowed before it turned and looked at him, its tongue lolling out. It barked at him, hopping around before taking off again once Gräuel got closer. They ran in this fashion till they reached a small creek. Gräuel was hunched over, panting. His white hair was matted with mud and sticks – red eyes peeking out from behind that chaos. The pair often came here to bathe, taking pleasure in washing themselves while playing in the clear water. As the seasons passed, Tiér had grown rapidly, reaching up to Gräuels shoulders and weighing almost double that of the now twelve-year-old boy. As he had grown, it became clear that Tiér was not a common dog like Gräuel had originally thought, but something more primal. They'd been spotted by villagers before, ones who had gone hunting and barely caught a glimpse of a large wolf carrying a small boy. Stories spread about them through the empire in short time – though many believed them to be folklore. In time, the warped tales that spoke of a rabid wolf and his cursed master spread to the very village from which Gräuel came. A heavy hand smacked down on a wooden table, "Something needs to be done! These foul beasts have taken the life of our heir!" "Hündin, we've no proof of your words! We don't even know if those stories have merit!" an elder scoffed. Though the villagers had no solid evidence, when rumors first spread about the white ghost still drawing breath, they had the creatures' parents hung for their disobedience. It wouldn't do to bring more misfortune down on their village. "That thing must have sent its beast down in retaliation! I urge you to explain to me how it was a coincidence he was killed so soon after the hangings? And in the fashion we found him?" The meeting attendees shuddered, remembering the sight of the mauled village heir they found at the edge of the Black Forest. The chief stood, erupting in the now silent room, "I've heard enough! I don't care how you do it – whomever brings that beast's head back here will lead the tribe when I'm gone!" Hündin nodded solemnly, but as he turned to walk away, a smirk could be seen playing on his lips.
Gräuel and Tiér noticed this shift, fending off huntsmen often – a single, cruel man frequently spearheading the attacks. However, they had grown up in the forest and knew paths to take, grottos to hide in - how to disappear without a trace. One day in particular, Gräuel was ranting to Tiér. "Why can't they shove off? Not like we did anything to them!" Tier gave a snort of approval, looking as disgruntled as a wolf his size could – with his eyes narrowed and his head slightly cocked, a loud grumbling heard coming from deep in his chest. “I know!" Gräuel jumped up, and his eyes sparkled. "We should have another contest! First one to the creek wins, yeah?" Though it was pouring out, it wasn't uncommon for the pair to roughhouse in these conditions. Gräuels' resistance to injury allowed him to disregard the possible dangers to himself more easily, though he was always wary of Tiér being hurt. Before Tiér could get up, he took off running, needing a head start if he had any hope to win. Though this was a well-traveled route for them, there was something off today. Maybe it was Gräuels leftover annoyance or the tension in the cool air, as if the forest itself was troubled. Whatever the case, when the ground fell out from under Gräuel, he thought, 'I hope Tiér doesn't join me.' He awoke to a faint moisture sprinkling across his face. Tiér stood near him, pacing around his previously prone body. When he groaned and sat up, Tiér wagged his tail while trying to push him upright. Struggling to stand, Gräuel's legs buckled under him as he put pressure on his left foot. He hadn't fallen far, just into a small pit, but in combination with the slick mud and the speed at which he fell, his ankle was shattered. Though a substantial injury to anyone else, he knew it would take at most three days to heal. After Tiér, acting as a crutch, helped him to the cave, Gräuel got comfortable on the ground and got ready to spend the next three days in boredom. As the light dimmed further, the wind picked up, and the whistling of trees created an eerie melody that rose the hairs on the back of Gräuels' neck. He had always been acutely attuned to the forest, not just to the trees, but to the tiny creatures that rustled in the undergrowth and the ever-present hum of airborne insects – but tonight, he just chalked it up to his ankle being injured. At that same moment, Tiér's head suddenly shot up, his ears pricking and turning to the mouth of the cave. Seconds later, Gräuel heard it too – footsteps, many footsteps. "Are you sure this is the right one, Hündin?" a loud voice asked. "Of course I'm sure, I've been observing the direction they disappear in, and this is the only suitable cave in the area. They're probably holed up in there due to the rain – they can't run now." Gräuel tried to stand but was reminded of his injury, and, for the first time since he met Tiér, he felt terror. He pushed at Tiér, silently begging him to run and escape – for he knew they stood no chance in their current situation. Instead of running, the wolf nudged him towards a hole in the cave. The entrance was about arm's length in width and only a bit bigger in height, one he could just barely squeeze into before it opened into a larger area he could sit up in. As luck would have it, it remained out of sight of the cave's entrance, and because it sat low to the ground, it would be hard to notice unless you knew to look. Once Gräuel was safe, Tiér gave him a few licks to his face, effectively wiping away his tears. The wolf, with one last glance backward, growled and ran toward the invading villagers. Startled, a few screams were heard before a loud cry echoed through the chamber. "Kill that beast!" Yelps and howls of pain caused Gräuel to clasp his hands over his ears, rocking himself as tears streamed down his face. He wanted to run out, to do anything to save Tiér, and if there were only a couple of invaders, he would have. But there was a crowd of people armed with weapons, and he could hardly walk. If they found out he was here – he would be killed as well. He prayed to the heavens once more, begging for his only friend to be spared. When no answer came, when he heard the chopping, when he heard their laughter – his heart blackened, and the light in his eyes died. He sat there for hours, he didn't want Tiér's sacrifice to be in vain, before he inched out of the hole. He scrambled around, blindly feeling along the ground before his hands touched wet fur. Rage exploded through his body, and he felt a rush of energy. The breeze carried a question to him, 'Do you want revenge? I can give it to you - for a price.' He closed his eyes and, when he opened them, they shone a bright crimson. The winds howled as his aches disappeared. Snapping his fingers, he appeared at the edge of the forest outside the village. Leaves fell from the trees and seemed to guide a path to a single hut, one filled with light. The air crackled with malevolent energy as Gräuel approached this hut where laughter and music emanated. These joyful sounds seemed grotesque, a mockery of his pain. Gräuel lifted his arms with a furious snarl, covering himself in a swirling cloak of shadows. "Go," he spat, and tendrils made of hazy smoke invaded the space – the sounds of cheery conversation replaced with gut-wrenching screams. Through the chaos, Gräuels eyes latched onto one thing. In the center of the room, thrown haphazardly onto a center table, was Tiér's head. Any humanity left in him fled at the sight. Gräuel spoke above their wails, devoid of emotion, "May the forest reclaim what was taken - may your screams echo in these shadows for eternity." The tendrils then wrapped around the crying villagers. He clenched a fist, crushing the life out of each of them – one by one, leaving Hündin for last, gleefully seeing the horror on his face before finally putting him down like the animal he was. Though covered in blood and half-crazed, Gräuel gently picked up Tiér's head, walking back to the forest's edge before flashing into their cave. Then, with the very string he used to patch up his clothes, he reattached Tiér's head and stitched it closed. He cradled the body of the last thing he held dear and finally broke, tears running down his face. Of yet another precious family he was robbed.
With this new power and loss came a gnawing madness that grew like vines in his mind, closing off all rational thought. In the first months after, he self-destructed – tearing out his hair wildly, sometimes even stabbing his own eyes. Trying to get rid of the two cursed features that caused him to be abandoned. It was because of them that everyone he held dear was now dead. He laughed hysterically as they grew back almost instantly, leaving him to stare at his distorted image in the water. Tears spilled freely as he raked his fingernails down his face. "You truly are a monster, aren't you" he howled at his reflection, "you can't even do this world a favor by ridding yourself of it!" He looked more inhuman every day, a husk of the boy he used to be, with the life gone from his eyes and an unrelenting cold look on his face. All that remained was a phantom who killed anyone who dared to enter the forest. Even soldiers sent by Emperor Fredrick II of the Holy Roman Empire were lost – never to be seen again. As years passed, though not less violent, he grew tired. He was lonely - he hadn't spoken aloud since that day so long ago. The forest urged him to continue his duty, to protect it and the creatures within. Though he despised the 'gift' it had given him – he had agreed to the accursed deal to get revenge on Tiér's killers. And so, he continued on.
Gräuel swiveled his head towards the east, feeling a human presence appear in the forest. He was slightly surprised, as by now, most knew that to enter meant death. He steeled himself before shifting to that location on the edge of the trees, looking around confused as he saw no person there. He closed his eyes and listened, hearing small whimpering sounds coming from a thick tuft of grass. He parted the stalks, feeling a swooping sense of familiarity at the small bundle lying pitifully on the ground. He looked at the tiny child and found he couldn't muster the usual disgust at those red eyes and pale locks that he felt while looking in the water's reflection. This child had done no wrong and hadn't deserved the cruelty he was faced with at such a young age. He didn't deserve to be abandoned and thrown away – he didn't deserve a cruel name. Gräuel felt affection stir his heart once more and picked the baby up, silently promising to give up the dark sorcery. He brushed his lips lightly on the child's brow and softly, with a voice rough from disuse, proclaimed, "From here forth you are Ségen, my blessing."
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