There was a time when I enjoyed moonless nights. There were certain rituals and spells that could only be cast at their most effective levels at these times, and the fear inspired by a truly pitch black night in the peasantry was like a fine wine that you could almost taste on the air itself.
Now I hated nights like this. Partly because of those memories that I had tried to lock away – memories of power, the thoughts and feelings that I was reminded of when my mind wandered over the thoughts of those spells, things I wouldn’t be able to do again. And partly because I needed the light.
I had been alone in the forests for many months, possibly even years, since I never tried to keep count of the days since my exile. I knew it had been nearly a week since I had anything more than a mouthful of food, and half as long since I’d had a good drink. The last time I’d been within touching distance of another human being I had been too paralyzed with white-hot fear to move, and that was some months ago perhaps.
Which was probably just as well. I didn’t know what my face looked like anymore, but what was left of my clothes was nothing more than rags, and the rest of my body was half-starved or worse. I would be able to see my ribcage clearly through my shirt, if there was any light to see by.
Over the unknown months I have grown used to these nights somewhat. My natural night sight comes into effect much more rapidly, and even in nights like this I can make out the figures of trees and the shape of the ground I’m walking on. Something wet crunches underfoot, shocking me from my train of thought.
A fallen bird’s nest, with one of the tiny eggs still intact, despite my clumsy foot. I reach down and pluck the egg from the remains of the nest, and open it with my teeth. Some of the yolk leaks over my chin, but I drink as much of it as I can, along with the miniscule morsel of the unborn bird inside. It’s old, too old for the taste to be anything remotely pleasant. But I needed the food, and beggars…which I realise I have become, cannot be choosers, as they say. I can’t help but gag a few times, as I carry on my walk.
I refused to stay in one place for too long. The forests are rife with hunters, even during winter. There are still roots and plants that can be gathered, and deer have to eat all year round. It had been so long since I’d been able to sneak up on a deer. I’d eaten better than a bird’s egg that night, but my usual meals consisted mostly of berries and less than pleasant insects. I shudder to think, and so should you.
Events in the past had made me wary of straying too close to civilisation. My appearance is frightening, or was, last time people had seen me. I looked down at my left arm, and though I couldn’t see it in this light, I knew all too well that my muscles were visibly shifting under the skin, which had taken on the texture of melted wax since the fire. The fire.
It brought back a train of memories that I thought I’d forgotten, that I’d left buried under the concentration of just surviving day to day.
They used to call me an apprentice. And I used to call them my masters. We had power, and we didn’t care who knew it or how we used it. One taste of it was enough to ensure you’d look for more. Bringing life to the dead is a gift that just keeps on giving. So we gave, we gave and after a while they came to stop us. Anger flared in my gut, and spread out in a burning line to my arms, right to my fingertips. It felt familiar. They didn’t understand.
The Slayers. That’s what they called themselves. I knew who they were, but we didn’t think we were hurting anyone, so we carried on. When they came first, we fought them back, and raised their corpses, as the master commanded, to warn off the others. Talking to them hadn’t worked, so we stooped to their level; a brutal display of power.
To defend ourselves, we renegotiated the deals we had with the nearest towns; instead of simply opening a channel to the afterlife, in exchange for use of their graveyards, we ramped up their end of the bargain. The old, the sick and the dying became ours. Master Cyrus told us what we were doing was right. I had unyielding faith in a man that only half a dozen other men of my order had ever seen.
I know now that what we did was evil, by the conventional standards. But a necessary evil. A world of undeath was the ultimate goal he spoke of. No diseases, no dying, no ageing, no disruption – perfect, silent, ordered. I didn’t exactly agree, even then. The world is violent, bloody and chaotic in its very nature. Survival of the fittest. Survival.
I returned to myself, now on all fours in the middle of the night time forest. I can feel the fire of rage burning in my blood, and the barest tingle of a cool power in the air. There was death here, and there still is life nearby. I was near a town, or at least a sizeable village, judging by the old death in the air. It was wafting through the trees like a cooking smell, from some graveyard far our of sight.
I closed my eyes, pushing that power back down into the pit of my heart. If I tried using my magic again then they would find me and they would burn me. There was no two ways about it. I had to stay hidden, I had to stay alive. I was too proud to die. So I carried on along my path, towards the first town I’d been to in so long.
If I lay low, just stole enough for a good meal or maybe even found new clothes, then I’d be able to run back into the night, refreshed and ready. I toyed with the idea of looking for shelter in the village, maybe even rejoining society; but society means death. Not just for me, but for them. Everyone dies, and the dead get buried. If I knew there was a graveyard I would not be able to resist calling on my magic. It was dangerous enough to risk stealing food.
The temptation would be to great, and if by some miracle my control was even any good, then I would not be able to keep it up for long at all. Assuming that the town didn’t find out what I was and burn me alive. No, I had to stay away. Just get what I need and then leave. It’s kept me alive this long.
So with a new purpose in my step, I walked towards the town my power had pointed me towards. It’s hard to control the magic. I had forgotten how hard. I spent so much time focusing my thoughts away from it that I don’t even realise I have arrived until I hear the soft squawk of a chicken, not ten yards ahead.
My stomach growls and my heart quickens as I run towards the sound. Like everything else, chicken was a distant memory. A wire fence about four feet high swims into vision through the dark. I’m certainly not short, bordering on an unusual level of height, so I can swing my leg over the fence and climb over.
I can see two large coops in the garden, big enough for two or three tiers of chickens, and given how soft the soil is under my feet I could guess I was in a farmer’s home garden. The house looms into vision as I look upwards. Two floors, plain wood, and not a single light on that I could see. Still, I had to be quiet as I moved for the front of the coop.
The door made a soft sliding noise as I pushed it open, and slipped the little rope into place that held it up. I couldn’t see inside, so I crawled into the coop and waited for my vision to adjust. I crouched in there for a moment, long enough to get a good idea of where a couple of the nearest chickens were.
With a little involuntary snarl of hunger, I reached out for two necks, and squeezed with predatory strength, killing them as quickly as possible with two cracks of breaking bone. Maybe that woke the other chickens up, or maybe they had just become aware of my presence amongst them, it doesn’t matter. They made noise, a lot of noise. The flapping of wings and sound of squawking was almost deafening after the silence of the forest only a moment ago.
I didn’t know how long it would take for the farmer or whoever else lived in the house to get outside and check on the chickens, so I scrambled with my two prizes for the exit, and found it to be smaller than it was on the way in; a mental drawback of rushing my exit. Adrenaline and fear shot through me.
I was excited, that I was going to eat well in just a few minutes, and scared all the same time that the farmer would catch me and bring me before the guards. I got out of the coop and dropped off the tiny ramp onto the ground. I came out feet first, which explains why I didn’t see the girl with the crossbow until she was suddenly just standing there.