The Frozen WoodsA Story by Andrew Payn A story about, well you will just have to read on to find out. The Frozen Woods
A Short Story By Andrew Payn.
I
He walked slowly across the rope bridge, which overlooked what could possibly be described as breathtaking. Not to be mistaken for lands of ones dreams, as this was as realistic as it could possibly be, the beasts which walked among these lands, although seeming to be those of a more friendly nature, they could soon turn to a darkness beyond the reaches of your imagination, and then even further among the lands of this earth.
Not many men from this earth can manage to trek among this deadly land, although a small spot of safety for the monks of Shaham, only pilgrims dare to tease this land with their pitiful lives, of which are carelessly wasted by mortals to achieve the seclusion of safety.
As he put one foot onto the bridge, the rope bridge which started to sway as he placed his, well moderately sized, feet upon it. Signs of wear had started to take its toll upon it, the foot wells seemed to be in a better position than where one would place their arm, he started to falter as he crossed. As he looked down into the frozen chasm below him, he could see his death flash before his eyes, he shuddered away, to try and shake the memories out of his mind, but this was a mistake, as it started to shake, so he soon stopped and continued.
As he reached, solid ground, his foot sunk into the foot deep snow fall which had fallen around this place, how long it had been here will have been one question, and another would be, why there are no more other footsteps, it was the time of the earth turn when the pilgrims of earth would trek here, something felt not right. He could feel eyes burning into the back of his neck, from with the tree line, it reminded him of home, when he would venture into the forest, and take down a tree to burn for his family to keep them warm during the colder moons. But he soon moved along, not to be deterred by simple tricks by the mind!
There is no set path through these woods, many get lost, many get picked up by the Snow-stalkers, but a fair few people manage to almost get to the 50ft high iron gate of Mohahn Monastery, manned by the monks of Shaham, although no one has successfully got over the gate in well over 500 years, No living memory remembers the correct rout, and even if one did, they still would have to await the 6th moon (and it was currently the 12th), when the gates would open again.
A smell soon graciously greeted his nose, a pungent, a smell that had lingered for a long time, clearly not been picked up yet by any human. The smell made him convulse, almost throwing himself to the floor, grabbing his nose with all of his might, this was no natural smell. Should he continue, or turn back, after all the warming sun was about to fall down behind the tree line, so he would have to make camp soon, but go back to the bridge, or to be kept awake by the smell. The answer, to him at least, was quite obvious, he soon turned back and headed on back towards what seemed the safety of that old rope bridge. But, nothing is ever as it seems! II
After the lingering moon had passed over, to give the sun a chance to awaken from its slumber, he started to muster all his efforts into getting moving again, he knew he would have to get going today, lest not let the mind wander as it did yesterday. As he carried himself forward, the smell still lingered, but he knew it would have to be passed, in order to get to Mohahn Monastery before the snow melted, he would have to get going.
As he passed through the dense woodland, more dense than earlier, he noticed several things amiss, uprooted trees, unearthed mounds, scrapes of metal. There had been a conflict here, almost certainly, but who with is the question that began to ponder within his mind. Soon the smell hid harder, lifting the hairs on the back of his neck, he began to think of what could possibly be making this unnatural smell.
He soon found out, little over 25 metres afterwards he met the source of the aroma. A body, well what was left after what could possibly be described as a devouring of the flesh, a head stood out, placed upon a rusty pike, the expression was one definitely not of content, but of fear. The face was ageing, that much was clear, but he had a medium sized whitey/grey beard, which was tied into a knot, and placed under his chin. He had, from what could be told, blue eyes, which had clearly seen many parts of the world. And longish hair, going to down to what would be shoulder height, again the same colour of his beard.
Various other bodily parts were strewn around, but nothing as lingering in the mind as the head, but alas he pressed on, as to not think further as to what could have done it. At first he thought it could be a snow-stalker, but impossible, he thought, they were wiped out in the purge of snows end, wiped out by the order of maleficarum. He shook his head again, he should not think of these things, else wish for them to return.
Again the eyes pried into his very soul, he moved on, quicker, he must get some meat, else he may end up as dead as that man.
III
The beast had watched him from afar, the being he stalked, seemed tall, strong and tender. How it longed for the chance to sink its teeth into its soft human flesh, the beast salivated at this thought. For you see, this is a beast of unmatched hatred, any stories you have heard, or read, contain no match for this beast, it took 3000 years for the maleficarum order to oust any being of this kind from this earth, evidently their victory was in vain, as they never left, just hid.
The beast had not yet met any of its kinsmen, not for a long time, not even since the great purge in actual fact, it troubled it so, but it was brought up to only feel one emotion, pure hatred. And it planned to let loose this bottled up emotion on this unsuspecting human that dared to travel across the lands it claimed to be its own.
The human it met half a moon ago didn't taste quite as nice, the meat was old and stringy, the taste lingered. Which wouldn't have been albeit too bad, if it was a taste that wanted to linger, but when flesh which had been exercised as much as that was eaten, one would wish they would never have to again.
The beast fled with a tremendous speed to its legs, the wind flew past it, as if it were cowering from an oncoming oppressor, but alas the beast did not hunt trivial things, it did not hunt for food, as it could eat anything. No this beast hunt for fun, and enjoyment nothing less, and nothing more.
IV
He could sense something, something that stalked, something that hunt, something after him. But what could he do, he brought with him nothing but a sheer hunting knife in order to catch his food. Actually that reminded him, he ate the last rabbit meat last night, maybe he should hunt one, or two, maybe even three, yes, that would satisfy him. His mouth salivated at the thought of fresh cooked meat!
He knelt down, the frozen twigs below him started to crack, that was odd though, he thought, there was more snow here earlier, but around here, there was little. There was little canopy above him, and the sun shone down, maybe the earth turn had started anew? Alas such trivialities should not concern such a unlearned man. Maybe when he got to the monastery the monks would adopt him, and teach him.
Thinking of a future brought him back to the thought of his past, his late family, his two sons. Hmmf, possible future knights of the watch that played in the rolling fields of the farm lands surrounding his small simple abode, too the south east of his wooden home, was a coniferous forest, and in all other directions were farms, farms which stood tall against all weathers. But alas not against the Timrodelean Army. When he returned home, after his journey to the closest village where he needed to sell some wares. He came home to see everything burning, and inside his home, hung from the rafters, hung his wife and two sons. Embedded within his eldest son was a knife, a knife dripping with the blood of his son, the blood of his family, his blood.
He was awoken from his day slumber by a rustling from within the trees. He dismissed it early as it was probably just a rabbit bounding around, the trap will snare it he thought as his mind went back to a state of unaware.
Soon this tall beast, the Snow-stalker clambered out from within the trees behind him. Probably about 6 foot tall, dark, not black but dark. No hair, but deep wrinkles in the head. As one goed down to see the face, they are met by ominous green eyes, a deep nose and a mouth. A mouth which seemed to smile, yet the face did not, dark was within all the wrinkles. These wrinkles continued all the along its body, even the feet were covered in deep wrinkles into his hard, dark skin. The claws which protrude from its hands weren't necessarily long, but sharp, sharp enough to cut into the fleshy skin of the humans.
As the beast got closer to him, he sensed something adrift, he went to grasp his hunting knife, knowing it is not nearly long enough, he still went for it, for it better to die an honourable death than to die at the hands of another without as much as a struggle. As he swivelled around, his hand clasped his knife. He pulled it out as he lunged. Fighting was futile he thought yet he persisted, the beast stared him in the eyes, but still he persevered. His strength and courage and determination was something the beast had not seen in a long time, not since the great purge. But still the human pushed on determined and set on his goal.
The beast shouldn't have been worried, his natural armour would have provided him with enough protection, yet the beast backed down slowly, something about this human scared it. An emotion, an emotion other than hate, how was this possible.
Just as earlier, the human had his life flash before his eyes, his family, his home, his love, all about to be returned to him. He was to be reunited, his wife, and children were going to be a family. A tear started to roll down his cheek, rolling like the boulders on the mountains that take so many. Rolling like children happily playing in the grassy hills. Rolling... rolling like tear created from sheer love, a tear that has more power than any other weapon created by any creature.
For emotions are the strongest of them all. As the knife pierced into the beasts skin, a deep gash was created, he knew he would not succeed in his endeavour, yet he pushed. The beast extruded a claw and pierced his heart, the human fell down dead. The lifeless body, now just a victim of gravity sunk into the snow, the snow becoming slightly more red around the heart. The look on his face, not contorted with anger, pain or fright. He looked peaceful, like he was where he belonged.
Before he hit the floor, that lone tear flew from his face, it landed on the beasts skin. Something so minuscule the beast did not notice. And yet it rolled, it continued to roll down one of the wrinkles until it went into the gash. The beast started to convulse, his body contorted in various different ways. It wasn't until his body settled that the force keeping him alive had died. There was nothing left to keep him alive and the beast died, died like a coward.
For you see, emotions are strong, they can bring light to dark places, and oust the very evil within our realms. The beast was immune to any disease, strong against any weapon, most magic could not defeat it. But the one thing it never planned for was emotions. When the emotions hit an emotionless being, the being dies becoming a new being. But the rules are tough, and many do not make it. The last Snow-stalker had died, the last coward had passed. Mankind, could now rule with a benevolent heart. Fin © 2012 Andrew PaynAuthor's Note
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Andrew PaynLeeds/Bradford, Yorkshire, United KingdomAboutStarted writing a few years back. Back then it was for the enjoyment. Since then things in my life have taken a turn, and writing is often a way I express how I'm feeling. Which is why a lot of my .. more..Writing
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