Badlands

Chapter 1: Holier than Thou…

               Deep in the woods, a boy of sixteen crouched perfectly still on a tree stump, arrow nocked and arm steady. A doe pranced about happily, never staying still for more than a second. The boy waited patiently for his chance. Suddenly, the doe whipped its head back and froze. A split second later, an arrow was embedded in its chest and it fell over, dead.

               The boy went up to the deer and started cutting away the meat from bone with his bone knife. If he were with others from his village, he would’ve said the prayer of thanks to the Demon King, Chula. The boy’s village worshipped the King of Demons in return for protection from his demons, who varied in type and power. The boy thought that worshipping a Demon was pretty sick and stupid, but he kept that thought to himself. He never let on, not to his family or his closest friends, that he had his doubts about their religion. He’d be burned alive at a pyre if he did.

               Putting the meat in a sack, the boy, Nahuel, slung the sack over his shoulder and trotted along. He already had another sack of small animals which he had left against a tree. A deer and some small game. Not bad for a day’s work.

            Nahuel picked up the other sack and walked along. When he reached the trail back to the village, he stopped a moment. It had been long since he’d explored the forest. Deciding to take a quick detour, he found a good-sized pile of leaves and hid his haul there. He walked off the path, looking around the beautiful forest. Sunlight shone through cracks in the trees, illuminating small sections of ground where lizards and frogs sometimes scurried past. Nahuel smiled. He used to wander around these forests a lot as a child.

               Along his trek, he found several curious things. A busted wooden shield, a bone spear, an oak talisman, which he hung around his neck, and a girl’s cloth doll.

               He stowed that in his pocket in case he found the girl who’d lost it back at the village.

               As Nahuel parted the branches into a small clearing, he stopped dead in his tracks.

               On a stone pedestal, in terrible glory, was a blackstone monument. A cloaked and hooded figure with crossed hands of bone, symbols carved into its cloak. An ancient symbol was roughly carved into the base. A crude cliff with a single tree at the edge. The symbol of the Demon King.

               Nahuel didn’t know what drove him to do it.

               The Demon King was a vengeful god.

               He knew there would be consequences, but at that moment he didn’t care.

               He unstrapped a stone hatchet from his belt and in a rage, slammed the hatchet into the side of the monument. The blackstone, weak and already crumbling, burst into a thousand shards at the blow.

               Staring at the broken statue, a sudden cold fear washed over Nahuel. Terrified, he threw his hatchet into the depths of the woods behind the remains of the monument and ran as fast as he could back to the pile where he left his animals, and then raced to the village. As he emerged from the forest into the plain where his village was just on the horizon, Nahuel stopped to breath. When he looked up, his heart stopped.

               A dark figure stood alone in the middle of the grassy plain, surrounded by disembodied hushed whispers and a presence of power. Its cloak was of shadow, and it gazed upon the setting sun. With a slow, smooth movement, it turned to face Nahuel, shaking in terror. Its head was the skull of a horse, with the antlers of a deer. Its hands were folded across its abdomen, and with its empty eyes and crooked grin it stared deep into Nahuel. It cocked its head ever so slightly to the side. The whispers grew louder.

               Nahuel squeezed his eyes tight. Suddenly the whispers stopped. He cracked open his eyes, and saw that the beast was gone. The air was still cold.

Nahuel shivered. He had angered Chula, the Demon King, and he would have hell to pay. With a sudden weight on his shoulders, he walked meekly back to his village, and never spoke of his sin.