Hollow

Chapter 1: The End

The still night sits quiet, peaceful and serene under the black sky and shining moon. A subtle breeze floats through the air, following the farmers and mercenaries into the tavern as they all retreat for the night to grab a pint of ale and a warm bed after a long day, not aware of the presence atop the tavern roof. A shadow against the dark. A boy sitting, tapping his feet against the thatch.

"Howling stirs with the whistles of wind rushing through the deep dark of night, yet all is quiet, quivering. Still. Silent for those who can hear, but screaming for the ones who can't," his voice enters no ears but his own. As if a ghost, a whisper in the night.

Tap, tap, tap.

His head hangs low. The wide brim of his straw hat just barely allowing him to see the forest ahead. The shivering wind makes all it wraps around chilled to the bone, but he remains unbothered by the physical world.

"Just a few pints down and a hot meal before bed," he scratches his bloody nails into the splintered wood beneath him. "The bard's voice is like a lullaby to the night. Soft, soothing, serenity stills against the silence that can only be heard by the ones who can hear. Laughing, drinking, talking about tomorrow while the deaf girl stands alone out in the wheat field."

Tap. Tap.

The girl stares off at the forest. A young girl in a ratty dress, no older than sixteen. The fisherman's daughter.

"A liability. Her mother would hum to her before bed and she would feel the vibrations, soothing her to sleep soundly. Then the cold cut of a bandit's knife ceased the vibrations and left the girl without a mother's embrace," the boy stares down at her, still scratching and tapping.

She points towards the forest.

"She hears them. Where those with ears would hear the creaking of trees, she hears screams, shrill cries, shattering, cracking, splitting through the dirt and stone until finally—"

Tap.

The ground splits open with a flash of violet light breaking through from the Horror Reach. The girl stumbles back from the tear through the earth and in her panic, she trips over the rim of her dress. Laying prone in the field, she looks ahead, unable to break her eyes away from the crack in the ground.

It grows. The split rips further and further, cracking the rotting wooden fence and stopping just before the girl.

She stares in terror as shadows begin to reach out from the purple light and climb their way to freedom. Tall and slender stands the first horror, a Jeal, that reaches for the girl in a swift motion.

"Her screams echo. The night is no longer silent. No longer still. Once quiet and peaceful now loud, blistering, breaking the serenity with the first blood spilled. Her father was going to sell her for coin in a few days. She couldn't hear him say it, but she knew. She wanted to die."

The Jeal hisses, cracking a shadowed smile before lifting its head towards the roof of the tavern, seeing that the space is empty. Behind the horror, more shadowed figures crawl out of the light.

The peryton strides through the field, the feathers on her tail rustle and her fur bristles the closer she carries Llwell to the village of Nestamund. The night is far too quiet for being within the first month of the Hollow Year. But the horrors and shades aren't what he's here for.

He eases the peryton with a click of his tongue and she halts outside the city limits. He's careful to avoid rubbing over the two healed stumps of flesh between her shoulder blades where her wings used to be as he slides off her back. The wounds may be healed, but enough pressure still brings her discomfort. If only the healers back home still had the magic of the ancient ones. Then maybe Gwynnestri would be able to fly again one day.