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A cool fall breeze blew over the flowing fields of Kjeldor. Past
waves of beige, it continued on towards a small line of smoke just a few
miles off. As it moved, it passed all of the wonders of the world;
plants, animals, and finally the small cottage of an as yet unknown
man. As it passed the dwelling, the wind shivered. It is said that
nature itself can feel the aura of those destined for greatness. It
seemed to stay there for a second, twirling itself in circles as if to
saver this feeling for as long as it could. Then the breeze picked up
and continued on through the morning light.
A cold wind woke Coag Moonrick up from a sound slumber. He quickly
leapt up to close the window responsible for such a rude awakening.
With the latch tightly sealed, he got dressed and prepared for another
days work.
Entering the kitchen, he was pleased to find the fire of last night
still flicking quietly. He added another log, jumping instinctively at
the pop, and began the preparation of his morning meal. He removed the
large pot from over the fire and poured in water, cabbage, and carrots.
The pot, also serving as his pan and kettle had, like most of his
belongings, been in his family four generations. With it swiftly
heating over the flames, he looked out of the window to observe the new
day.
The sun was just peeking over the tall caps of the Snowy Mountains. It
cast an eery light that ran from one end of Kjeldor to the other. It
caused the wheat to glow and the tall trees to cast a long shadow over
the land surrounding the cottage. The breeze that had woken him was
fading and already the grasses were beginning to settle in their
comfortable manners. With the passing of the breeze, it was now curious
to see that not all the grass was naturally still. By the treeline it
sprung up, as if just released from some great pressure. This
phenomenon drew Coag's attention to the forest that commanded the
eastern side of his land. If you looked just right and with the aid of
the glowing morning light, it appeared as if you could barely make out.
. . Ssss!!!
Coag turned in time to see the water in his pot boil over and put out
what remained of last night's fire. Grabbing a blanket, he removed the
pot from its place above the smoking ashes. In his haste he spilled a
quantity of the water on himself, resulting in a little bit of singed
flesh and a lot of curses. In his ranting, he completely forgot about
the shape lurking in the woods.
Many miles away there was activity of a more serious kind. The town of
Cedar Vale had a population of only about 150 people. The vast majority
of these were simple farmers and trappers trying to eak out a living in
a world were nothing came for free. It was a town were everyone knew
everyone and no one wouldn't lend a helping hand. Thus, it was
surprising that no one knew about the four chickens that were found
ripped to pieces on that fine fall morning.
The chickens belonged to a farmer by the name of Mart Gillem. He had
woken up that morning to find feathers and blood streaked across the
inside of his chicken pen. Under closer investigation it was noticed
that a huge hole had been torn into the back wall. Why this was not
noticed initially can probably be attributed to the amount of drink at
the wedding feast for Merl Ymeth the night before. You see, Merl's
whiskey doesn't wear off as fast as the regular stuff and you kept on
feeling it right on through week. This is the main reason why it was
not until he tried to lean against the wall were the hole was that Mart
Gillem became aware of it.
It was enormous. It stretched about six feet from left to right and a
full seven feet from top to bottom. It even took up a chunk of the
roof. It was obvious to the swaying farmer that instead of breaking the
flimsy lock on the door the criminal had decided to take the easy
approach of busting through three inches of oak. He immediately wobbled
forth into town to take his loss straight to the mayor.
Mayor Vledon of Cedar Vale is probably the most sensible person in the
town. The people were not afraid to admit this and, subsequently, he
was elected unanimously against his nonexistent opponent. The inaugural
party lasted for a week and he has been sitting in his office ever
since. You see, the mayor of Cedar Vale doesn't really do a whole lot.
Besides acting as the judge for the petty land and water disputes
between farmers, he pretty much just sits around. He was assuming that
today would be no different and he looked forward to another day of
relaxation and a nice pay check. Thus, you can imagine the surprise on
his face when a drunken farmer burst into his office screaming something
about how his chickens were falling apart and at the same time tossing a
piece of one of them on the mayor's desk.
"I've walked all the way 'cross, urp', town to see you Mayor and I,
urp', and I would like an audi. . ." The mayor looked at him
quizingly. Mart tried again. "I would like an audient. . ." Mayor
Vledon continued to wrinkle his eyebrows. Farmer Gillem summoned up
some more strength for the effort. "I would like an audienf. . ." The
mayor began to look for a reason to send Mart to jail before he puked
all over his floor. Then, from the confines of his body, Mart brought
up the word as well as the majority of a piece of Merl's wedding cake.
"I would like an audience."
With the cake quickly drying on the wooden floor, Mayor Vledon tried to
finish this quickly. "What can I do for you Mart?" he asked over the
smell of last night's dessert.
"Someone kilt my chickens."
"Do you know who it was?"
"I think it was a, urp'... Someone kilt my chickens..." Mart
intelligently replied.
"Do you have any idea who that person was?" the mayor asked with
decreased patience.
"I know it wasn't me..."
"That certainly narrows it down now, doesn't it?" The mayor began to
open his front drawer.
"Why, I guess it does!" Mart said excitedly. At this rate they would have the man in no time!
"What would you like me to do?" The mayor began to pull an object out of his drawer.
"I would like you to. . .," Mart paused, trying to remember exactly why he had come down here.
Mayor Vledon pulled a short-handled dagger out of his drawer. Mart was
standing with his eyes pointing as if he was trying to see up into his
head. The mayor took this as a chance to toss the dagger down at the
man's feet.
"Mart! You know it is against the law to carry weapons around town!"
Mart stared stupidly. "I'm afraid that I am going to have to have you
locked up for this." And with that he called for his secretary to get
the Captain of the guards. He then congratulated himself on his
remarkable sense.
Deep in the forest, a hunter was stalking its prey. The sound of
silence pervaded as he stealthily approached his chosen victim. A small
doe was nibbling on the grass of a tiny, treeless patch of ground. The
sun shone down through the opening in the canopy and played like a
spotlight over the animals fur. The silence was broken by only by the
sound of fingers separating and the gentle movement of air that
followed. The doe briefly cried out, and then all was silent once more.
"Hey pop, I got her!"
"What's that you say?"
"Come and see what I got!"
When his father didn't respond, Seth Darkborn set off in the direction
of his voice. Weaving his way through the tangled underbrush, he crept
back along the way he had come. In just a few moments he had found his
father, leaning against a tree with his eyes closed.
"Dad?"
"Hmm, huh, what's that?" he blustered.
"I got one! I got a deer! It is a really big one two, with giant
antlers and, and, it was huge!" The boy began spinning his tale, "I
chased him all through the woods, over logs and through the thickets.
Finally I had run him down into this little open space where he was all
vulnerable.
"Yeah, what did you do then?" the father replied with feigned interest.
"I drew back the bowstring and got him, right in the neck!"
"Well then, let's go see him."
The two set off in the direction that Seth had just come from. In just
a minute more they were upon the meadow where the "battle" had taken
place. Seth's jaw dropped.
"It was right here! This is where I shot it!" he stammered.
"Sure it was son, sure it was." The father smiled inwardly to
himself. His boy was quite a storyteller. Maybe he would be famous one
day. It was with those thoughts that he led his son back home. As they
walked away, a small splatter of blood fell from high in the trees.
Neither of them were near enough to notice.
Coag gave a small sigh and passed through the door and onto the wind
swept grasses of Kjeldor. Closing the door behind him, he took a deep
breath, both relishing and dreading the sweet smell of the air on the
open landscape. Without another pause, he walked around the eastern
side of the house and pulled out his tools from the shed situated
there. With winter coming soon, it was time to harvest the grain. In a
couple more months he would sell it. By that time the snow would be
falling and the prices of grain would be at their highest.
Grabbing his scythe, he headed out to the far end of his field. The
scythe he held was over 50 years old. His father had made it from the
same wood that had built his house and it kept a special place in Coag's
heart. Moving his fingers down its length he felt its sturdy grip and
polished handle. He shook his head in pride.
By now he had reached the end of his fields, testifying to their small
size. He grew enough and made enough to eak out a simple living on the
edges of civilization. He knew he would probably never do anything
important or invent something that would show him to be anything but a
simple farmer. At least he thought he did. Every now and then he got
an urge. No, not an urge, more like an itch. He could never put his
finger on it, but he knew he was missing something, something important.
It was probably one of his father's traits. Now, he had been destined
for greatness. Coag was only thirteen years old when his dad had left
the house to hunt down an animal that was harassing Cedar Vale. He had
never returned and Coag was forced to be the one to comfort his mother
in a time of grief that was hers as well. Perhaps no one came because
they knew that it was their fault that his father had died. However,
the animal didn't return and Coag's father was hailed as a hero, one who
had given his life to save the people.
He dropped this thought and began to slash off the tops of the wheat,
each pass with the scythe creating a small snowstorm of brown heads. He
continued on, moving farther and farther down the row. As he neared the
end, he approached the forest. For some reason, it began to give him a
sense of unease. He quickly finished that spot and moved away. As he
walked back down another row, his scythe dug deep into what seemed like
a stump hidden in the wheat. He knew that he had cleared every inch of
the field, so stooped down to take a closer peak. He recoiled in
horror. The severed head of a deer stood laying on its side under the
cover of the wheat.
The sun began to settle over the horizon as the shadow of night was
cast over the land. Back in the town of Cedar Vale the lights were out
and the streets deserted. At the far end of town the neighbors could
hear the nightly routine of the Stagfists. The sound of their arguing
continued long into the evening before it finally came to an abrupt
end. Mr. Stagfist had decided that he would sleep better out in the
cold. Bringing along a jacket and pillow he went to find the shelter of
a tree in case it rained. At the edge of the woods he made his stop,
settling down under the boughs of an ancient pine. Cursing his wife he
tried to get some rest.
He propped the pillow up behind his back and tried to get comfortable.
As he did so the fog began to roll in from the forest, a sign that the
night was truly on. Shivering in spite of himself, Mr. Stagfist turned
the subject of his swearing to his own stupidity in coming out on a
night like this. After all, winter was not far away and already the
temperature was beginning to change. He pulled his hands inside his
jacket to ward off the cold that such thoughts seem to create.
Even so, he could not help but feel the icy fingers upon him. His
unprotected neck suddenly turned as frigid as winter itself. "My
lord... it's so cold." he whispered to himself. Thinking the loss of
pride of returning home would be preferable to freezing to death, he got
up to walk back. He went as far as one step before he was pulled
screaming up into the roof of the forest. He yelled for only a few
seconds before his breath failed him, followed quickly by his heart.
All across town the lights flicked on. Soon the streets were swarming
with people. All had heard the horrible scream and were intending to
help, no matter what the emergency. It is probably safe to assume that
no one had any idea about what had really happened. In the people's
minds were pictures of a broken arm or a twisted ankle. Even so, the
town was a family and no one was ignored.
As they neared the sight, Ms. Stagfist was already there staring with a
blank face into the forest. Ms. Crenrud, the first to reach her, asked
pleadingly what had happened. A repeat of the blank stare was all that
she received in response. As she looked in the direction that the now
Miss Stagfist was facing, she saw a deep streak of blood along the trunk
of one of the largest pine trees in the forest.
"Helda, what, what happened here?" Ms. Crenrud asked in between
attempts to hold back the vomit.
". . ." Helda whispered something inaudible in response.
The rest of the group now came upon the scene. The captain of the
local military garrison brought up the front of the line, as the
barracks were only a few hundred yards from the attack. And it was
obviously an attack. In the same section of the tree that harbored the
massive amounts of blood were grooves. Grooves about three inches deep
in the side of the tree. They continued up the tree as far as anyone
could make out with the absence of substantial light. Watching the
grooves advance up the side of the tree, the captain gave an order.
"Cut it down." the captain said to a corporal that was also among the crowd.
"Cut it down, sir?" he asked.
"You heard me." the captain responded with all of his authority.
"Yes, sir." he replied. "What do you think did this, sir?"
"My guess is some sort of mountain lion."
"With claws that size?!?"
"Who knows?"
With that the corporal ran back to the barracks to get a couple of axes
while the mass of people stood whispering to themselves. "What do you
think happened?" "Do you think Helda witnessed it?" "Why doesn't
someone ask the captain?" Such questions continued being asked, even
though it was obvious that they would not receive an answer anytime
soon.
The corporal shortly returned with two axes. Handing one to the
captain they set to work. After working two hours into the deep of the
night they finally came to the conclusion that it was a futile effort.
The tree was over four feet thick and they had only chipped away at its
surface. With nothing more to see, the people returned home, their
hearts saddened at the loss of a citizen.
The only person not leaving was Miss Stagfist, whom the captain had
kept behind to question. He led her down to the barracks were it was
warm in order to learn what had happened. Even as they walked away, her
gaze stayed fixed on that one spot in the forest, as if afraid to turn
her back to the darkness.