Wolf Moon Part 2
As the midnight hour crept in like a silent sentinel, a silhouette made indistinct by the wavy windowpane, perched on the narrow sill with the sureness of a bird of prey. The phantom observer's eyes, reflecting an internal glimmer, had no problem seeing in the limited light as they scrutinized Heero's fetal-curled form. There was no malice in those odd orbs only curiosity tempered with concern.
"Tracker." The single word was whispered softly.
Heero stirred as if prodded by the calling. The word was repeated but, this time, not a verbal but a mental connection was made. Heero's face contorted into a frown and his brows drew together in puzzlement.
Beneath tightly closed lids, Heero's eyes jerked as they tried to follow the rapid succession of images flashing across his vision. His breathing increased until the bedroom's stillness was punctuated by the sound of panting.
Bright amber mist encircled Heero making it difficult to identify his surroundings. An unearthly cold rose around his legs and a shiver clawed up his spine. The stench of decaying flesh rankled in his nose sending queasy waves thrashing through his insides.
"Tracker, can you see?" The disembodied voice asked.
Shielding his eyes Heero drew in a startled breath at the carnage he saw. Mutilated bodies of humans and demons littered the blood-soaked ground as far as he could see. Nothing was alive. Trees were bare, the grass scorched, even the largest stones had been pulverized to dust.
Suddenly a tormented wail reverberated so harshly that Heero slapped his hands over his ears, dropped to his knees and trembled from the pain. It was a Banshee's scream...the forlorn howl that always followed the senseless destruction of battle.
The mist began to churn and born from the funneling vapors, thousands of lost spirits reached out in desperation. "Save us." They begged in one besieging voice.
Heero shrunk back from the imploring souls that writhed in misery and hopelessness. "What can...I...do?" he stammered as their icy hands threatened to freeze his skin and halt his heartbeat.
Then a new voice joined the utter despair. A soothing tone defused the anguished lamentations. "I know the way." the voice declared, "Trust me."
There was a promise of peace in the declaration that touched Heero's quivering body and dissolved his fear.
Heero lifted his head at the affirmation. Before him stood a young man dressed in a simple brown robe and narrow-hemmed pants. Soft shoes covered his feet. He held a polished wooden staff topped by three intertwining gold rings. The center ring was filled with a smooth ruby stone that glowed from within.
The amber mist laid about the man's shoulders like a cape and shrouded his head defeating Heero's attempts to see his face but his emerald eyes were clearly seen. They, too, held a promise that the terrible consequences of a full-fledged demon war could be avoided and that mankind could be saved.
Heero swallowed hard to wash a fearful lump from his throat so he could speak. "Who are you?"
Emerald eyes beheld the Tracker in a comforting gaze. "I am the Priest of Twilight."
Heero dared to be bolder. "What do you want with me?" he demanded as he stood up.
"Your skills and your knowledge." the Priest answered, "Also your courage."
"You don't need my help; you have your magic."
The green-eyed man tiled back his head and an amused laugh sparkled over his lips. "Magic? Are you so sure I am not a man like you?"
Heero opened his mouth in rebuttal but the priest raised his staff signaling for silence. "You will understand in time. I have sent a pair to guide you to your destiny. They will lead the way."
"A pair? A pair of what?" Heero growled. He was quickly becoming irritated with this Twilight Priest and their vague conversation.
"Sleep now. No more dreams."
The Priest waved his staff, the mist enfolded over him and he began to disappear into the swirling vapors.
"WAIT!" Heero shouted, "Dammit I'm not finished with you."
Despite Heero's demands the Priest became more and more transparent until he faded away. The dreadful sights and sounds and smells also dissipated and in their wake the land was reborn. Grass was green, flowers bloomed and birds warbled in the trees.
A heaviness of body overtook the Demon Tracker. Drowsy cobwebs were spun over his mind and he involuntary lay down in the cool, sweet grass. In the Inn's bedroom Heero's troubled countenance relaxed and his breathing evened out.
At the window the phantom watcher used a slender finger to trace a sacred sign on the filmy windowpane. "No more dreams." The voice repeated inside Heero's head.
Then the substantive form, flesh and blood but different, stepped off the sill into thin air. A flawless somersault and the lithe body landed gracefully on a branch. Seconds later the form scurried down the tree and stood beside his nomadic comrade.
Black eyes sparkled in the muted moonlight. "Did you speak to him?"
"Yes."
"Does he understand?"
"He will."
The ebony-eyed figure leaned closer. "Will the Tracker follow?"
"Of course. No one can resist when I choose to have my way."
"Then let's copy his example and go to sleep. We have a long road before we reach Twilight."
*********
Rosy sunrise streaked above the horizon and painted "The Sisters" mountains in multi-hued bands of scarlet. Heero squeezed his eyes tighter against the invading brightness, hissed out his curse-laden condemnation and pulled the duvet over his head.
Perched on a branch near the window, a mocking bird chirped cheerfully but the bird's constant crooning was not appreciated by the grumpy Tracker. Also a rooster's frequently occurring and quite enthusiastic crowing was viewed as an intolerable nuisance.
Issuing another mumbled mouthful of curt profanities, Heero snuggled deeper under the downy coverlet in an attempt to shut out the daybreak noises that had so rudely interrupted his slumber.
*********
A bewildering dreams had plagued the Tracker's sleep but the subconscious vision was not the usual repetitive accounts of fiendish demons or humans who were equally evil. Oddly the peculiar dream was both frightening and alluring, filled with comforting familiarity but also urgent undertones that demanded immediate action.
The lingering alarm had tagged along even after Heero drifted back to sleep. A certain brand of restlessness pried at his mind and wouldn't allow his body to relax. And no matter how many times he changed positions or tried to exorcise the dread, the edgy feelings persistently vied for his attention.
*Three rings.* His mind subliminally recalled the riddle.
Heero's instincts were pressing him to the east, towards the Kingdom of Aragon. There was something near the twin mountains he was meant to find, some knowledge to learn. He also sensed that his demon quest would end there, one way or the other and that he had no choice but to discover his destiny.
Now the morning heralds of sunlight and song were quickly becoming more than he could abide. "Let me rest in peace." he growled into his pillow.
The natural order paid no heed to the Tracker's pleas for shadow and silence. A new day was beginning and no amount of swearing or threats could stay its arrival. Finally with a surrendering sigh, Heero eased back the duvet and begrudgingly greeted the dawn.
*********
The Demon Tracker was an imposing figure, dressed entirely in black and carrying his lethal armaments. His heavy hair was tied back but long bangs feathered over his eyes to offer only brief glimpses of cobalt blue as he descended the stairs.
"Will you be staying another night?" the Inn's proprietor inquired.
Much to the owner's disappointment, Heero shook his head negatively. "Is the tavern open?"
The owner nodded "yes" eyeing the crossbow and quiver. "Expecting trouble?" he wondered as the cloak's side hem slid back to reveal the dirk strapped to Heero's thigh.
"Its been my experience that trouble usually comes when its least expected." The last of the reply faded away as Heero stepped out into the morning activity.
*********
A modest stone chapel with unadorned windows, a single wooden door and a bell tower set opposite the Blue Bird Inn.
A priest dressed in a humble cassock, draped over his thin frame like a mourning shroud, stood in the opened door hoping that his parishioners would seek his help in defeating Satan's minions that maimed and killed and enslaved innocent souls.
Despite the villager's best efforts to carry on normal lives, there was always an underlining tension and an acute sense of fear. Even the daylight seemed inadequate to keep the spiteful shadow spirits at bay, to deter the day-walkers or discourage other unearthly fiends from their vicious maliciousness.
The hunter of hellhounds barely noticed the priest who, in his own way, desperately strived to keep the Sovereign of Sheol in his place. Heero had little confidence in religion or prayerful intervention. He had seen both forms of intersession fail too many times. No, a keen intuitive "second sense" combined with his crossbow's deadly sting had proven to be his only reliable salvation.
Despite his lack of conviction, Heero hadn't completely forgotten his childhood lessons or repeating daily prayers with his mother.
"Sometimes faith is all you have to lean on." his mother would say each time her son questioned why people had to suffer or why there was no one strong enough to stand against the wickedness of the world.
"Faith wasn't enough to save you, was it mother?" Heero mumbled bitterly.
"Perhaps your faith won't be betrayed." He wished on the holy man's behalf as he respectively nodded to the priest.
Heero squinted up at the bell tower and took a moment to scrutinize the blushing sky before he growled under his breath. "The damn devil doesn't understand anything but hatred. He answers to no force but raw power and he fears no one but me."
*********
Wagon wheels creaked, horses whinnied and that irritating mocking bird continued to sing. A steady stream of villagers flowed up and down both sides of the wide dirt path that served as a street.
The only people conspicuously absent at that early hour were the whores who used the darkness to hide their sexual sins. No doubt they were tucked in their beds, sleeping peacefully, totally oblivious to the hustle and bustle.
Shopkeepers called from doorways to tempt customers to buy their merchandise. "Bread, fresh this mornin'." the baker announced.
"Potatoes, five for a shilling." was heard from another doorway. "Cabbage ten pence a head."
Poorer vendors in shoddier thatched-roof kiosks offered everything from live chickens and an occasional goose to roughly woven cloth and simple trinkets made of wood or amulets craved from stone.
An old woman with scarcely a tooth in her mouth and long white hair curtaining her gaunt face screeched out. "Talismans."
A metallic glint flickered in Heero's side vision. Slowing his pace, his head turned just enough to identify the phantom light's source.
The crone leaned over the kiosk's crude railing and motioned to Heero. "Come...buy a charm for your lady or a shield for your soul."
Gnarled fingers held up a heavy chain that was clearly not as delicate as those worn for mere adornment. A Celtic cross of equally high-quality composition dangled from the shiny links. As it swayed, its polished silver surface reflected shafts of sunlight slicing through the trees causing bands of crimson to shimmer across Heero's eyes.
Sidestepping a steaming pile of horse dung, the curious Tracker moved nearer to the crone to better inspect the cross that had so suddenly sparked in interest.
"Ah yes," the woman continued, "come see what I've got for ya." she cooed in a sweet tone that was totally opposite of her tart appearance.
Heero paused at what he considered a prudent distant in case the woman was really a witch who offered the cross as an enticement to lure him close enough to cast a spell. Nevertheless, his eyes perfectly copied the back and forth pendulous sway and, despite his caution, he found himself being drawn to the intriguing object.
*The cross is most likely stolen.* Heero's inner council warned as he stopped just inches from the railing.
"I know."
*Most likely from a priest.* his council declared, then added for Heero's sake, *Returning it could save your soul.*
Heero sucked in a shaky breath. "Or damn it." he replied lowly as he remembered his mother's daily entreatments for his spiritual welfare.
The cross was lifted higher so the potential buyer could study the workmanship and precise details. "Pretty." the woman stated, "See how it twinkles? Like the stars."
Heero slid a single finger under the holy symbol to stop the mesmerizing swinging. Gracefully flowing vines intertwined around the ringed junction of the staff and crosspiece and a single rose bloomed in the circle's center. There were no other markings, no letters in Latin or other clues to identify its origin or owner.
Before Heero realized he had spoken, "How much?", echoed in his ears.
The hag tilted her head allowing more stringy strands to flow over her wrinkle-creased cheeks. "Two pounds, not a pence less."
"Too high." Heero argued to haggle down the price.
The nearly toothless woman narrowed her eyes that were dulled by age and further bowed her hunchbacked shoulders. "Ya can't put a price on divine defense." she stated, hoping that the promise of heavenly protection would be sufficient incentive for the black-clad stranger to part with his money.
Heero snorted at the crone's cunning salesmanship but considering that the tragic events plaguing the village had worsened over the last fortnight the Tracker couldn't blame her for using every persuasion at her disposal.
"One pound fifty." Heero offered his final price.
A grin thinned out the woman's pale lips. A raspy chuckle rattled around her throat before finally finding a voice. "Ya barter good."
Then the grin twisted into a frown and her clouded eyesight locked on the Tracker's face. ""Let's see if ya do as good with the devil." she declared, holding out her hand for payment.
The Tracker dropped several coins into the flattened palm then reached out to receive his newly acquired silver treasure.
As the chain slipped free, the woman's rough fingertips tracked across the back of Heero's hand. The fleeting touch prickled over his skin causing icy currents to race down each finger with such swiftness that the cross almost slipped from his numbed grasp.
An involuntarily gasp followed the sudden chill then Heero held his breath as the woman responsible for the witchery leaned closer and whispered. "Silvery ring round the moon, your dream will come true very soon."
Resisting the urge to use his dirk to silence the old crone's mad ramblings, Heero quickly shoved the cross in his trouser pocket then slung the crossbow's strap over his shoulder along side the arrow-laden quiver. He gathered his bag and bedroll in his left hand leaving his right hand free to come to his defense if necessary.
Employing his long-practiced habit of constantly shifting his sight, Heero merged smoothly into the crowd always alert to any dangers or challenges...human or otherwise.
As the Demon Tracker stepped over the tavern's threshold a current of cold air brushed across his back and bristled the hairs on the nape of his neck. He froze in place before his instincts prodded him to look back at the old woman who had sold him the cross.
An amber aura surrounded her head and shimmered around her shoulders and her once dull eyes glowed with the same golden light. Heero tilted his head in wonder that no one on the crowded street took notice of the woman's altered appearance as if he was the only one meant to see the changes.
Before Heero could question the unnatural chill or the validity of what he saw, a breathy whisper hissed in his ear. "Sub Rosa."
With a slight nod Heero acknowledged the telepathic command and made a solemn pledge. "Protect the cross." he promised in the same silent response.
TBC...
Back to Karen, The Huntress's Fanfictions Page