His father was almost transfixed by the woman, unable to keep his eyes from her. Garren watched while his father spoke to her, observing her odd movements. She walked as if she were floating on air, her arms and legs barely moving with each stride. It wasn’t until she smiled that Garren took action. Her mouth spread wide upon her face–too wide–and every single tooth was long and pointed, curving like the fangs of a viper waiting to strike. He didn’t think, only reacted, knowing that something was wrong, this woman was wrong, and instinct told him he needed to get rid of her before something bad happened.
Garren grabbed a hot fire poker from the burning embers and whirled, hands shaking with terror. He stumbled, dropping the burning metal rod to the sandy ground. Quickly, he recovered it and drove its scorching tip deep into her belly, flesh sizzling. The woman shrieked a terrible, otherworldly sound that shook him to his bones.
Her eyes turned black. She grabbed the poker sticking out from her gut and, pulling herself forward along its hilt, she brought Garren closer to her, all the while plunging the poker further inside of herself.
Garren watched in horror as the creature took one slow step after another in his direction. Something wet and warm traveled down his legs, evidence of his fear. He released the poker, ran backward, tripped, and landed hard on his backside. The woman turned away from him and toward his father, still dazzled by her. A heinous cackle came from her as she revealed her tremendous row of fangs again. That was all Garren needed to see for his courage to slam back into him. He wasn’t about to let her get close enough to his father to cause any harm, so he sprang to his feet, grabbing the poker to pull her closer before kicking out hard. The woman went flying into the wooden doors of the smithy and crashed straight through as if she had been kicked in the chest by a mighty steed. But when he went outside, she had vanished.
He thought about that day for a long time afterward. It wasn’t until almost a year later that he realized what she had truly been. A demon. After that day, demons became all too real, rapidly appearing throughout Svakland as if the gates of the underworld had opened, allowing them free reign of their world.
But that first encounter would haunt him until the end of his days. If only he had gone after the demon, he might have saved himself a considerable amount of heartache and self-loathing.
Garren shook the thought away, snapping back into focus. The sun was steadily beginning its descent behind the pines. He raked a hand through his unruly black curls.
“It’s too quiet,” he muttered, eyes narrowing as they darted west from where he had come.
He listened closely for sounds of the approaching demon, but heard nothing. Strange, he thought, furrowing his brow. He had made sure the beast was following them, keeping a slow pace to ensure that he could hear its snarling at all times, that it was still on their tail. Something must have distracted it, veered it off the path. He sighed, shaking his head at his own stupidity. “Damn...”
A twig snapped behind him. He turned just in time to see a smudge of black against the emerald green of the forest. It was the beast gliding through the air, fangs bared, a set of catastrophic claws reaching for him. “Fuck!” was all he could say before the demon crashed into him.
3
Oriana
1st day of the First Month, 1100
By the time the sun had fully ascended above the horizon, Oriana had gathered herself enough to venture into the nearby town, leaving her gore-spattered gown in a heap of shreds on the ground.
Not long after, she began sneaking her way through the back alleys and streets of the town–cloaked in shadow, as she was completely nude–a crowd started to gather in the square. Anguished cries of outrage and sorrow rang out as townsfolk carried the bodies from the field. Oriana sank into the shadows further, unable to look at the faces of the people.
Pulling her legs into her chest, she wrapped her arms around them and squeezed her eyes tight, shutting out the remembrance of her actions, of the blood. There had been so much blood. But behind her closed eyes, a flash of memory pushed to the surface of a knife materialized through the darkness, a ruby glinting on its end, buried to the hilt in a broad chest she knew so achingly well. Oriana flung her eyes open as the beating organ in her own chest constricted painfully, leaving her unable to catch her breath.
Oriana clutched at her bare skin in agony and attempted to slow her breathing, forcing the images from her mind. They were too painful.
A yell from the town square cleared her mind, her heart seizing from its torment. The citizens were growing angrier. She needed to clean herself and figure out how to blend in.
Oriana stalked further through the back alleys of the town. She crept on silent feet behind the wooden homes like a thief in the night, where she stumbled upon a wash bucket behind a house. Oriana sank to her knees before it, using the fresh cool water to wash away the evidence of the horror she had committed. After thoroughly washing away the blood and filth, she grabbed a simple chemise and gown left to dry on a low-hung wire.
The town was exceptionally small. She had made her way from one end to the other in a matter of minutes. On the south end of town was a road that ran east to west. Beyond that was the field she had come from, and to the north, a meager forest of pines curved in a crescent shape around the town. Even farther north, beyond the small forest, were magnificent white-capped mountains stretching as far as the eye could see.
Oriana donned her stolen garments, plaiting her snow-white locks into a single braid and tying it off with a piece of string she had yanked from the chemise. She stopped to close her eyes and take a long, deep breath. Her hands trembled uncontrollably.
So much had happened. Her nightmares had come to life; Anthes had committed the most inexplicable evil upon her. Clenching her fists, she shook the thoughts from her head. Now was not the time. She needed to blend in–to not seem like an outsider–while attempting to figure out where exactly she was. That was the only thing her mind seemed to glaze right over. She had no idea what town she was in, for she had never been here before. The last she could recall before the field, she’d still been in Elscar with…tears welled in her eyes as she thought of his name. She swallowed her emotions and breathed out her sorrow in one drawn-out breath before blinking away any lingering tears and walking into the town square.
The townsfolk gathered around the bodies, some openly mourning their loved ones and others yelling about finding the monster who did it. Oriana hovered on the outskirts of the square, listening for any information to glean her whereabouts. That was until her eyes landed on the screaming woman from the field. The woman’s eyes locked directly onto Oriana’s. But before she had a chance to alert anyone, Oriana reached within herself, pulling on her glamour magic and casting an enchantment over her features.
Her hair darkened from snowy white to the same auburn locks adorning many of the villagers gathered in the square. Then came her eyes, transforming from their intense glowing green to a muted icy blue. Her willowy frame was at odds with the women around her–much taller and less curvy–so she created a new version of herself that was petite yet well-endowed. Her enchantment complete, Oriana watched as the woman shook her head before turning away, eyebrows furrowed in bemusement. Oriana let out a sigh of relief.
Her gaze caught on an oval wooden sign, squeaking on its hinges as it waved in the biting winter wind. Golden letters glinted in the sunlight that read, The White Fox Inn & Tavern. Oriana headed along the packed dirt streets toward the clay building. Ivy climbed up the facade, spreading out like the tentacles of a great octopus.
She pulled open the heavy wooden door and was instantly assaulted with the scent of ale mingling with something sweeter and something far more foul. She couldn’t tell if it was pleasant or abhorrent. A little of both. The place was packed full of townsfolk, a few of whom turned their heads at her entrance, but quickly returned to their drinks, uninterested.
Oriana maneuvered through the throng of people, picking up bits and pieces of conversation as she went.
“What would have done something like this?”
“There hasn’t been a snow lion come down from the white caps in years.”
“Maybe wolves? Some of them had been ripped to pieces.”
