The Lost Bellator

Six

Mortem

He was running, running so far, but freedom was just out of his grasp. He was cold and when he looked down at his hands they were blue. He tried to warm them, tried to no avail. They were curling up, he couldn't feel his fingertips. He looked up to his freedom. It seemed every step he took it got farther away.

He could hear them behind him, nipping at his ankles, toying with him. He needed to go faster, needed to get away from them. He was so close.... He stumbled, and when he turned around, they were upon him, those great beasts, their mouths opening to reveal rows and rows of teeth that were heading for his face. And they lunged.

Arlaige jolted awake. A dream, just a terrible dream. He shook his head, brushing his hair out of his face.

He was in his tent, and he could hear his fire crackling outside. He breathed in through his nose. It was warm inside his tent, enough to where his clothes were stifling. He reached to pull his pelt off of himself when he stopped and stared at his clothes. It was his extra pair and he hadn't been wearing them when he had fallen asleep.

He rubs his eyes and crawls from his tent, only to stop at the opening, his lips parted. The clothes he had been wearing were sitting above the fire, now dry. He looked to his side to see his bow and arrows propped against his tent and he reached over. Every arrow was accounted for. The trees around him suddenly felt as if they were closing in.

He scrambled up. His hair was dry, all of his belongings were here, but it couldn't be possible.

He looked around, sliding his arrows onto his shoulder and lifting his bow. He hadn't been dreaming. Those wolves had chased him and he had plunged into that ice cold water. But yet here he was, in his tent. He hadn't gotten out himself. He couldn't have. So who had pulled him out?

He stepped past the fire, an arrow already notched in his bow, when his songbird drifted down from the sky and landed on a branch near his head. It took one look around itself as Arlaige stepped past it and turned its black beady eyes on him. He stopped, staring at the bird. It inspected him, moving on the branch, before it opened its mouth and let out a sharp, sweet cry that pierced his ears.

He reached up, rubbing his ear as it flew away, leaving him alone. There was a distant ringing sound around him and he tried to block it out as he took in his surroundings. The lake was beside him, still frozen, no sign that he had fallen through. The trees circled around it, and the lake went on for miles. There was an opening where he stood, but it was merely a few feet. He stepped to the waters edge and peered over.

His reflection greeted him. The frozen water was like a circle of glass. He reached out, touching it, pushing on it. Nothing. Frozen solid. He rocked back on his heels before turning to look back behind him.

The snow no longer fell and the forest was eerily quiet as he turned in a slow circle. The trees were still, the bushes were still, not a single leaf moved. Even his tent stayed still. It took him a long moment to realize what had felt off the moment he had woken up.

There was no wind.

He struggled to comprehend. Maybe it was because the trees shrouded him, but the opening behind him was still a mystery. There couldn't just be... no wind. Not in the dead of winter. He couldn't even hear animals moving and his songbird was long gone. He tightened his fingers around his bow.

The hair on his arms stood up. How could you defend yourself against someone who could stop the wind? Arlaige knew that he had walked into something far bigger than himself and he wished with every part in him that he could be in his cottage right now instead of in the middle of the woods, where no one would hear him die.

A rustle causes him to turn back towards the lake, but as he poised his bow and he squinted to the other side, he knew his mind must be playing tricks on him. Nothing. Nothing was here, nothing was around him.

A small part of him hoped he was still dreaming.

But a sharp crack hit the air and he turned, only for his bow to be out of his hands and he felt the cool metal of a sword pressed right under his chin and a hand forced him to his knees.

And he realized that his bird hadn't merely just been talking to him, no, it had given a warning cry.

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