DAIN RUTTERKIN

Chapter 2

When I wake the next morning, my first inkling is I am still in the throes of those horrid festering dreams. But when I finally raise my head from the cold floorboards to look about me, I see the nightmare was real. Mother is where I remember her, throat ravaged and dress torn to shreds. Father still lies where he hit near the kitchen table. His throat is worried and his neck broken, his head twisted at an impossible angle.

I get to my knees, then attempt to rise further on trembling limbs. I can barely stand. I feel the marks of the monster's fangs on my throat and wonder at them in spite of my grief. Why was I left alive? There is no answer immediately forthcoming, only tears.

I cover my parents' bodies with blankets and stagger about the house aimlessly, at a loss for what to do next. It is mid-afternoon and the sun is already well on its way to meet Oceanus in the west. I finally decide to go outside to the barn first to check on Doxy, and then into the village. It is horrible to imagine, but what if this beast has waylaid and killed others along the road? What if it set itself upon all of Haven?

It is only when I go to open the blood-spattered front door that I glimpse the note. It is a scroll of thick yellow parchment, sealed and stamped with black wax. It has been pinned to the door by one of Mother's kitchen knives. The sigil embedded in the wax is unknown to me. I break the seal open and spread the scroll upon the kitchen table. It is penned in a brilliantly flowing hand, in ink the color of blood. Although I can only discern the basic runic letters of our dialect of Old Aelmric, I am able to grasp the essence of the message. It reads:

"THE PRINCELY ISLE IS YOUR WELLSPRING. ALL WILL BE MADE CLEAR."

The note is unsigned. In no state to decipher cryptic missives, I toss the scroll aside and throw open the door. My grief is abruptly transmuted into blind rage. I tear the door nearly off its hinges. Thundering outside, I scream curses into the air. I curse the old gods, then the new, then the old again. My throat is raw and I fall to my knees in the dirt. Why? Why did the thing not simply kill me and make an end of it? Why must I live to see the ruin of my home and family?

I have donned a heavy woolen cloak against the chill afternoon wind. I have also wrapped one of father's scarves about my neck to conceal the horrid bite wound.

Doxy was fine when I checked on her in the barn, just hungry. She whinnied and danced in her stall upon seeing me. I would have hitched her to the cart, but then decided I might as well walk at that speed. Though she had not been ridden in some time, she seemed untroubled under my weight as I gently kneed her ribs and guided her into the village at a slow trot.

Haven seems to be going about its afternoon business untroubled when I arrive. Even the children who often taunt Doxy are in their accustomed loitering places on the fringes of the market square. The westering sun still shines brightly overhead and only a few tufted clouds mar the cerulean sky.

Bowen is upon me the moment I cross the threshold of the Bull Craw. "By the gods, Dain, you are green as the grass! Sit down!"

I drop into the chair he pulls out for me at a small table by the window. I cannot speak until I have swallowed several gulps of the house grog he sets before me.

"What is it, lad? Where's your pap?" I manage to croak out the events of last night. Speaking of it again does not bring tears; exhaustion has left me, for the moment, in a place beyond grief. The old innkeeper sits across from me, listening intently whilst stroking his long mustaches.

Bowen leans forward and in low tones says: "You say the thing that did this is a monster? With red eyes and fangs?"

I nod and take another swallow of grog. The hand gripping the mug has begun to steady.

"You need to be cautious, lad. Most folk around here are not like me; they have not seen the world. They are a superstitious lot, more heart in them than brains. They are good people, but you must take care in whom you confide."

"I am lost," I say. "I don't know what to do. Do you believe me?"

Bowen pats my hand. "I believe you, lad. And I am heartbroken to hear this news. I've known your father since before birds could fly."

"What shall I do?" I ask.

"First you must eat something. Then we will return to your house together so that I might see it with mine own eyes."

We return to my house as dusk is settling in. Bowen eases off his old gelding then follows me inside. In my earlier rage, it seems I forgot to fully close the door. But Mother's and Father's shrouded remains are as I left them. Bowen gently pulls the blankets aside.

"By the lords of dawn," the innkeeper gasps. He manages not to retch. Then he looks hard at me, his brow furrowed.

"What is it? Have you seen its like before?" I ask.

"Not in my most harrowing nightmares," Bowen says. "I will go for the luminar. He will be able to tell us more. Stay here and wait. Do not speak to anyone else of this." He places a reassuring hand on my shoulder. Then he is gone, the door closing behind him on creaking hinges.

No sooner has he departed than I am scrabbling across the kitchen toward the wash basin. Bowen's grog comes up in long, lurching spasms.

Hope you are enjoying so far!  Please COMMENT with any questions or suggestions!

Much Love,

Dave