The Crystal Cage

Chapter 2

Noah Girrith breathed in the crisp morning air as he prowled down the chiseled stone path, surveying his ruined potatoes and devoured corn- all of which had been perfectly healthy the day prior. The glittering sun was just now beginning to poke over the jagged horizon, the sunlight reflecting off the snow-capped mountains in the distance contrasting with the towering, shadowed pine trees to the west. Fall had already begun, and winter was lurking close behind it.

Not that Noah had any crops left to worry about, thanks to whatever had ripped through his shack of a house and feasted on most of his crops. The field that had been left slightly unmangled by fierce claws and tearing teeth had withered and died- almost as if the sheer sight of this beast had been enough to squeeze the life out of them.

Noah's shelter balanced precariously on the edge of the inky woods, always seeming seconds away from being swallowed whole by the thick foliage. He and his only companion- a chestnut mare, Betsy- lived at least two miles from any neighboring villages. Luckily, Noah had found Bets snoring contentedly inside of her stable this morning after he had woken and discovered their refuge torn to shreds. The one thing Noah didn't understand was why someone would do this- it held nothing of true value, it was only a makeshift cabin. Anyone who took the time to observe the state of his house could realize that.

But Noah knew this wasn't a man, the bear-sized claw marks covering his house obviously proved otherwise. His small bag of silver—the only thing worth stealing—was still tucked neatly and safely between two ragged cushions on his pathetic excuse for a couch, so whatever it was hadn't been after his nonexistent wealth. Whatever it was had left Noah and Betsy alive, which forced him to ask a question he couldn't answer- what was it?

A sigh escaping his lungs, he picked up the discarded wooden spade which had been reclining on the now-demolished fence. He hadn't heard anything while he slept, not the sound of the fence splintering or his only food supply being ripped up by the roots. He hadn't heard the sound of glass shattering as whatever beast that tore through his crops ripped apart the inside of his small little cabin at the edge of the woods. Whatever it had wanted, it wasn't here.

While plunging the splintering shovel deeper and deeper into the cold, dark earth, heaving up the dead crops and dumping them into the grass, Noah wondered if there could possibly be any useful plants or roots left capable of producing food. He was going to have to see if the neighboring village had any farmers willing to trade with him; he would rather not starve this winter. Noah jabbed the spade back into the dirt, powered by the fact that there might be a few lone survivors buried beneath the surface. There was a squish as the metal stabbed something, something that was definitely not earthy soil.

Slowly removing the shovel from the dirt, thick, black ooze was revealed to be running down the front of it. "What in the hell?" Noah muttered, wiping some of the substance off with his index finger. The sticky matter, whatever it was, had been caused by the thing that had attacked him last night; it surely hadn't been here before. Even a starving grizzly couldn't have caused this.

Noah shoved his weight on the spade, sinking it down into the soil with his foot. The brown earth ripped out, not stopping until he had torn out most of the rich dirt surrounding his wilted crops. Panting, he looked at the black pool of mysterious goo that was once his farm. "That's...not normal." Ethycan should see this. He thought to himself. He would know what this is.

The shovel thudded to the muddy ground as Noah burst into his cluttered kitchen and began searching the cabinets, shoving the aged spice jars out of the way and finally grabbing a tiny glass bottle from the back shelf. Shoving aside the shredded couch cushions and grabbed the painfully small bag of silver before jogging back towards the door. Scooping up a jet black sample of the black ooze from his ruined fields, Noah walked around to the side of the cabin towards Betsy's stable on the other side of the fields. Setting his pack down, Noah walked into the small shack.

The wooden gate creaked open as Noah entered the stable, careful not to step in any of the large shit piles scattered across the muddy floor. Just like his cabin, Noah had built this thing from scratch; everything from the cracking rust-colored wooden walls to the hazel twigs acting as a makeshift roof. The stable was drafty and frigid during winter, but with a blanket at night and warm gruel, Betsy stayed healthy and comfortable. It functioned well enough, and horses don't complain much.

"Come on, Bets." Noah groaned as he heaved the heavy leather saddle off the wall.

"We're going on a little trip." Noah said, and began the chores to get them both ready for a ride. Securing the saddle strap around and under her fleece-like chest and hooking the leather reins around her curious ears and velvety neck. Noah tightened the straps once more to make sure she hadn't breathed in too much the first time, something she did often to keep him from cinching her up right. After doing one last check to make sure everything was secure and comfortable for both of them, Noah pushed open the creaky wooden door and led Betsy out.

Walking out of the dirty stable- straight into the glaring white light of the sun, now towering high over the ghostly mountains, Noah looked at his house one more time. The clinking noise of Bets chewing on her bridle and steady stomping hooves filled the air as Noah stepped on a stirrup and swung his other leg over Bet's wide back, the fluid motion familiar and comforting. Grabbing his pack up off the high fence where it hung and slinging it over his shoulder, Noah situated himself across the mare's wide shoulders. Noah leaned forward and gently pressed his heels into her ribs, and Betsy understood, surging forward into the cool afternoon. Tearing through the destroyed fields and onto the dusty roads, Noah trusted her enough to let the rhythmic pounding of hooves and the steady puffs of air fade as he allowed the taunt reins to slacken and his mind to drift.