Into the Deep Wood

The Bauk’s head shook back and forth as if it was gliding on its shoulders. It bared its teeth, jagged and protruding at odd angles. Bits of discolored saliva dripped as another deafening bellow reverberated from its depths.

Its heavy, calloused paw had already swiped the Ember Sword once - sending him flying as if he weighed as much as a housecat.

The man spat on the ground, the pink coloring the snow where it had landed. He scrambled up and again faced the monster with his sword forward. The snow had nullified any evasive footwork the man knew, but it had not stopped the beast that seemed bred for the harsh conditions.

The Bauk reared up, the antlers on his head looking like bare branches against the night sky. The dark bone spirals down the Bauk’s skull and through to his muzzle, twisted and melted with the browbones to where his eyes would have been. And, like a buck, he lowered them, preparing to charge.

The Ember Sword dug his toe into the ground, where the boot hit the earth below. When the enormous beast leaped forward, the man pushed himself off the one piece of earth among ice and flew to the side, his shoulder hitting the ground hard - a crack radiating through him, one he didn't know to be ice or bone.

The lantern was dropped when the Bauk’s claws threatened to shred him as they came forward from the darkness. It lay, still lit but fading, in the snow. The oil leaked and thin strands of black smoke rose where it was eating at the wick. The Ember Sword lunged for it, cradling it on the ground beneath him. The earth shook with the Bauk’s return - its breath wet and heavy - it would have crushed the man had he not turned over, and the lantern shone onto the creature from mere feet away. The monstrous form flinched back and shrank as a shadow when the light had come too close. It howled in its low tone and retreated back, circling the man, its head rearing and falling.

“You’re uglier than I am…” the Ember Sword muttered as the jaws snapped at him from only feet away.

But, it did not advance. The light had been abhorrent to the thing, and not even in its bloodthirst did it dare to risk losing its shadow.

The lantern flickered. Most of the oil had been lost. The Bauk reared again, but instead of coming down, it stood, its huge paws clawing in front of it. Again, it showed its teeth, and the smell of decay was carried downwind to the Ember Sword.

The wick faltered and extinguished. The Bauk charged. The man threw it to the side, and turning, he ran. It was not far, nor did he mean it to be.

As the beast lowered its head, meaning to gore its prey, the Ember Sword jumped toward it, grabbing hold of an antler, and swinging around his sword was lodged up to the handle through the back of the Bauk’s skull. The animal bellowed; in its open mouth, the blade shone among blood. The Ember Sword twisted it in and gripped the neck of the beast with his legs - hard as he could, his hand on the hilt and the other on the twisted bone.

The beast twisted and swiped but could not touch the man on its neck. It growled and snapped at the air, and it tried to throw him off - but he held on, pushing the blade further in every time it threatened to dislodge.

Three times it tried to get away and melt into the shadows, three times the man had forced it away from the nearest one - with the pressure of his weight, he forced the Bauk into the open snowy field, far from the trees and bushes that cast shade from the light of the moon.

The Ember Sword’s strength began to fail; his muscles shook, and his joints groaned. His physical body had limits that the Bauk did not, but he still held on.

And, by the time it had lightened with a whisper of a blue morning sky, the Bauk fell, its fur sinking into the snow and the earth below it as it melted into fetid tar. The Bauk gave off one final, strained roar, the viscous substance gurgling in his throat, and the Ember Sword pulled his blade back from the sticky, rank spill that covered him up to his knees now.

He walked a few feet and collapsed onto the frozen white, his breaths wheezing and hard.

She did not leave until a loud, irregular snore rattled the walls on the other side of the door. In her fist was still clutched the gray, hairy creature.

Val walked to her room. Once inside, she shut the door and lit two candles on the desk where her journal lay open. She sat, and only then did she carefully uncurl her fingers, setting the creature down on the table - but she did not let go of the scruff between its shoulder blades as it began twisting and trying to get away.

It was completely covered in thick, curly hair. It was humanoid, with a face clearly defining a nose and mouth. Only his little arms and legs were free of the curly gray obstructions.

“What are you…” Val whispered, curiously forcing the thing to turn so she could examine it from all sides.

“What are you!” It hissed at her.

“You speak.” She was delighted. The little old man spat in her direction like an angry newborn kitten. “What did you do to Ivan?”

“Nothing he did not want to do himself!” The creature squeaked.

Val shook her head, still examining him.

“What do you want?” She asked next.

“None of your business!”

“How do you feed?” She persisted.

“Let go and find out!”

She leaned down slightly and took a whiff. It smelled like mothballs and strong spirits.

“You got him drunk.” She said, her face lingering between excitement at the revelation and distaste.

“I did not hold up the mug! I didn’t!” It screamed at her, its small voice getting lost in the room's walls.

“What did you whisper to him?” She asked, but the creature pursed its lips tightly, done speaking.

Val watched it for a moment before repeating the question.

“What did you whisper to him?”

She only got silence in return.

Frustrated, she sighed but did not let go of it. She was not entirely sure what she was to do from here. This point had not crossed her mind while she was trying to catch it.

She could release it; would it run or disappear? She could hit it over the head with a book and probably squash it. But, she could not do so, knowing it could be harmless.

“If you don’t answer…” She threatened, but did not have an actual threat in mind and allowed her words to simply fall off, and sighed.

Her eyes drifted beyond the creature and onto the open pages of the journal.

A thought.

A two-way door. The thread.

“What is your name?” She asked it, her voice growing more serious and hushed.

It hissed again.

“Then, let me tell you mine.” She said, “It is Valeria, and you would do well to learn it.”

Something in the little face changed. Was it a grin?

“Fool!” It squeaked. For a moment, Val doubted herself; after all, this was a Nothing-touched.

She concentrated on its movement in her hand and its presence - the way he had taught her to do.

She left herself behind and searched, her eyes closed. It was meant to feel like anticipated pain, a flinch, a looming sting. She found it very, very quickly.

It was so faint, but there it was. She reached out her thoughts and felt the tether. Thin and wispy, like a cotton thread, but she could take hold.

The creature stilled its struggle.

“What are you?” Its tone was different now, guarded and alarmed. Now, it was she that did not answer.

“What did you whisper to him?” She asked again, holding the thread. It got ready to spit again but she tensed it and it stopped in its tracks.

“I only told him to have another!” It whimpered.

“What are you?” She held it taut now.

“Zabava!” It hollered suddenly as if it had been stung. She tried to loosen her grip, but she did not know how.

It’d taken her all she had to keep a hold of the connection to the Hag, but this one was so much more… fragile.

“How do you feed?” She asked with a bit more uncertainty.

“I eat the will!” It cried out. “I eat the will until it is all gone! They try to stop, and they cannot!”

“The will…” She repeated. This nasty thing had left men broken. That thought had taken away any pity she had for it.

“What did you whisper to him!” She raised her voice and felt the tether tighten like a violin string. Her skin warmed.

“I told him that the first would soothe, the second would mend every wound, the third would be a lover’s touch, and he could never have too much!” The creature screamed.

She felt the thread snap in her hand, and the creature went silent, its limp body hanging from her fingers.

She dropped it on the table, recoiling. Her eyes remained on it as its flesh dried before her until only a dust bunny remained.

“Gods…” She whispered, the feeling of the thread still pulsing through her fingers. She looked at her hand, and a thin, straight burn line ran across her palm and index finger where it had been.

Zabava: An entry.

Small, gray, the size of a rat. Human face. Curly hair. Rude. Hides in the shirt collar of men near taverns and whispers temptations into their ears repeatedly. The intensity of the need increases as he consumes the will.

Invisible? Cause of death: Unknown.

Sun had very quickly become the enemy. Its light, shining through the window, felt like it had been knocking at his head.

Ivan turned onto his side, as being on his back had threatened all the contents of his stomach to evacuate immediately, one way or another.

His body was sticky with sweat, and even though the air in the room was cool, he felt hot yet shivered still. It only took a moment to realize how parched he’d been, and how much he would give for a glass of water.

Next to his bed was a whole carafe, and he drank it eagerly, its contents spilling over his face and onto his chest. When he finished, he felt even sicker as the water sploshed inside.

This was not right.

It had been many years, not since his youth, that he had felt this sick after a night.

“All-Father forgive my simple thoughts,” He prayed, laying back down, “forgive my ignorance and guide me away from its ruin.”

He groaned as his stomach shifted.

“...for I am but a man…”

He laid his head back down, the headache alleviated for only a heartbeat. He willed himself to go back to sleep in hopes of waking up a more respectable man, but the Witch’s face took shape in his mind, and his eyes opened in dismay.

Had he tried to hit on the Witch?

Had he tried to kiss the Witch??

… had he succeeded?!

He groaned again and wiped his face with his hands. She was going to eat him now, for sure.

Unless… he did not drink this much, ever.

He had not even remembered why he had the night before. But, he did remember her smiling at him, sharing a drink, her hand running softly across his shoulders and caressing his neck…

“Merciful All-Father…” He muttered again but did not care to recite another prayer.

He had half a mind to pack up and leave. Half a mind. She must have cast a spell, done one of her evil rituals, or hexed him at the very worst. Because, it was just that, only half a mind was still his own.

He’d not been entirely himself, and now, he felt as if he would follow her to the ends of the earth - for what? Would he have to kill her to free himself? Was there a riddle? Was there a Nothing-touched trinket that would heal him of this affliction?

He sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his eyes again.

Whatever the case, he pulled on a shirt and went to find her.