At all costs, don’t let them be taken. The children are the key.
Wrapping his fingers around the worn reins a little tighter, Henry squeezes the sides of the horse urging her to go faster. As nice as the rolling, crop-filled farmlands they traversed the first two days of their journey was, the current landscape leaves much to be desired. And after the farmland slowly changed to a wasteland, Henry was unaware how much worse things could get. The misty bog in his sights seems to taunt them with despair.
The two companions have been traveling for days at this furious pace, and Henry had to admit that the mare was doing quite well considering the circumstances. He arrived alone and did not expect a friendly face when he entered the nightmare underworld but his overnight stay at the old homestead with the aged farmer, Loren, reminded him to keep an open mind and open heart. He was lucky to have found the place on his first day in this realm.
With the sun setting in the distance, Henry pauses his pursuit to rest before entering the dangerous swamp. He pulls slightly back on the reins and utters a low “whoa” to slow the mare to a stop. Jumping off the well-worn saddle, he strokes the thick neck of his companion with appreciation. She knickers a reply while he grabs an apple from the saddlebag. As she happily crunches the apple, he turns back for his share of the rations; a jerky that Loren had finished drying out that day Henry arrived. Loren made a joke about where the meat had come from, but Henry didn’t understand. Although, the more he thought about it, he hadn’t seen much wildlife in the open pastures surrounding the farm.
Deciding not to give it any more thought, Henry tears into the jerky while laying out his bedroll. He rests his head and looks to the sky above him. All the training he endured could never prepare him for the shock of entering this nightmare. Things change here and not for the better.
He noticed it his first night at the ranch with Loren. Henry’s normally fluffy coat started to become coarse – hardened almost. No matter how vigorously he washed it that night, it didn’t change. And the second day is when the shedding started. Not that he lost all his fur, but his normally fluffy coat was replaced with something shorter and more rough that resembled armor in a way. If Henry had to guess, the longer someone stays in this place,the more their apparent goodness in them fades away and is replaced with something…different.
But what about Loren? He seemed so caring. Is the old farmer an anomaly or something else entirely? He shudders at the thought.
“Bah”, he exhales and waves the thought away. It’s not time to speculate about the universal laws here. He has one goal and he’ll do whatever it takes to achieve it.
Henry tries to clear his mind of these thoughts, but soon after his mind races to the creatures lurking in the swamp that Loren described. He dreads the idea of confronting the slithery, lizard-like droggdads or the beastly urshaks with their thick hair and knife-like teeth and claws.
Squeezing his eyes tighter, he focuses on the blowing of the wind, and the sound of the mare’s tail softly swishing back and forth.
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Each step of the mare’s hooves in the muddy water of the moor echoes across the surface, sending ripples all around. Worried that the splashing might conceal the approach of additional enemies, Henry reaches for the sword at his side. It’s seen a lot of use in the last day and a half inside the swamplands and he might very well need it again.
The wounds across his arms and legs sting with each movement, but his sense of pain seems deadened. Where the cuts have healed, his fur is thick, providing a solid layer of protection. His body continues to change and adapt. His earlier hypothesis about this place seems accurate. The longer he’s been here, the less he feels, and the more “dead” inside he’s become. He is motivated only by his one task.
Complete the mission, no matter what.
The grand willow tree looming in the distance matches the description provided by Loren. When Henry explained the purpose of his journey, Loren described this tree and the nearby lair filled with unimaginable beasts with great detail. Seeing it in person, Henry wonders how many times Loren has seen this place. Why would anyone come here willingly? Squeezing his heels into the sides of the mare, he urges her to carry him closer to the dreadful tree.
As the lair comes into view, the movements of enemies around him are no longer masked by the splashing. Henry is fully aware of the dangers surrounding him. He grits his teeth and tightens his grip on his sword.
He knows this is where he’s meant to be. He can feel it. Despite fear threatening to keep him from entering the lair, he knows he must. He dismounts and scans back and forth the area around him. The rocky outcrop of the lair leads into what appears to be a larger mountain further ahead. He realizes he’s reached the end of the swamp. The sunlight barely breaches the fog that hangs heavy over this land. Henry isn’t sure how tall the tree is, but he sees the thick trunk rise into the mist and out of eyesight.
With each foot step, something draws him into the darkness of the cave despite his brain telling him the most dangerous of enemies lies within. Before he can reach the entrance, vile monsters descend upon him, circling him with blinding speed.
Loren didn’t mention these beasts. Their scaly armor reminds him of the droggdads, however these are shorter in length and more muscular. Wide faces set two eyes apart from each other that move independently, glowing yellow in the darkness. They crawl on all fours, kicking up mud and water as they scurry to surround him.
Henry exhales and enters a defensive stance, keeping the point of his sword ahead of him while he tracks the new enemies. His eyes are darting from one to the next, searching for an opening or a weakness to exploit. The monsters respond by cackling at him, or possibly at each other. A few gnash their teeth at others if they stray too close. Honestly, he can’t tell if they are speaking to one another or not. Pure ferocity is all these things seem to display.
As he prepares to begin his attack, another being emerges and the cackling stops instantaneously.
Henry pauses. Confused, he loses the ability to speak or even think. His sword tumbles from his grasp and splashes into the swampy water, completely forgotten.
The new threat emerges fully from the cave. They stand before him with arms outstretched, clad in black, chanting in a strange, guttural tongue. It’s the one thing in his world he swore to protect, no matter the cost. His not-so-innocent-looking child, Iris.
Writing by Adam 