(USFB): Seven: Shadowplay

There was little left to exchange between the two despite the sincerity both had willfully employed after the elk had been laid to rest. Between them still stood a gulf that was nearly unconquerable, yet neither could quite say why. Where the others, both the camps of West and East, would dissolve their equal parts abhorrence and ignorance of the other in the throws of war, they had found common ground in the flesh of unlife. Though it had been by the Eastern tradition they laid Terlynn to rest, there was much of the rank and hierarchy of the West in the manner it was carried out. Even as they came into the outer perimeter of the camp, Orathone felt his mind abuzz with more questions and an urge to know all he could of these people, their land, their culture. Yet, before a single coherent thought could be pushed out of the buck’s lips, an observer made themselves known.

Backlit by the few lanterns left burning around camp stood the elk, long and lean, his antlers unforgiving daggers penetrating the heavens. It was impossible to tell his expression where the two nightwatchmen around him seemed to show at least a modicum of their irritation at the matter. Yet, through that dividing shade, it could almost be sensed how furious Imfay was.

He did not call for the duo to halt but stopped them with his voice, “When I was told someone had departed the camp at this late hour, I believed they had been mistaken. If not mistaken, I had assumed it was, in fact, not of my people, if perhaps young lovers eloping for a midnight exchange of passions. Never, though, would I have guessed it was not only one beneath me but one that would think to enlist one of the locals for his nighttime trekking. You have all of a minute to explain yourself.”

Orathone hadn’t thought he would encounter Imfay anytime soon and struggled for a response. The same could not be said of Razien. As though the question were directed to him, the wolf replied, “Unlike most of your stock, it would seem at least a few of your people have a sense of duty and responsibility. I saw none of your attendants come to take the body nor your own too-dignified paws seek to lift your own son and settle him in the graves. This man, however, felt his rightful obligation and permitted my aid in laying your prince to rest.”

“What have you done with Terlynn? Where is my son?”

“Yerra Imfay, these lands are not like our own. They have their own way of things here. Terlynn couldn’t remain where he was, and once he was flesh and fur once more, we moved him to one of the grave grounds they use here in the East. I assure you, he was given all the propriety of his station.”

“Assured by a savage who would sooner tear your throat out with his filthy claws than ever lend a paw, I believe that. Where is he, Orathone?”

Seeking the copse in the shaded horizon, the deer jabbed a finger out, “Deep in those trees. I would return to him at dawn and sprout bouquets of mourning about him.”

“You’ll do no such thing!”

“That is unwise. We do not visit our recently dead, else we irritate their freed spirits. Your prince is already surrounded by all the flowers that bloom in those grounds. If you wish to visit him. Wait until Summer’s end; that should be long enough, if not for the carrion birds than for the Festival of Nayeena, should we live so long.”

“He won’t be visiting my son in the morning because the two of you are removing him from whatever heathens pit you tossed him in and returning him to this camp. If I had wanted my son carried off by savages, I would have ordered it.”

Orathone began to turn. He had come up against Imfay only a few times but knew the man was set in stone when he made his decision, right or wrong. If he didn’t comply, the deer knew the elk had means of forcing his paw. Hardly could he describe it, but should the efforts to make his will reality fail against a particular subject, he would manipulate another to the cause. However, no sooner did Orathone turn a paw caught him, and it was not the chilling grip of the Yerra.

Razien’s gaze was nearly so intoxicating as the eyes of the stern elk opposite them, “Not on your life, or anyone else’s for that matter. We tended your dead, an honor I doubt you wouldn’t find beneath you were it one of our own in your lands. He is safe, and the earth will know him once more. I would not sooner show you his whereabouts than remove him from his cradle of fauna.”

“Proud talk, boy, but you’re hardly any authority here. You’ve run afoul with those you answer to, and I know I’m not mistaken, Razien Moqura. Don’t doubt for a second it was made widely known who they put in the earth this morning.”

“My punishment was for far different reasons than you would know. Bringing this infraction to even Wyse Atlai. He would see little more pain for me than a lashing. If I drag your son out of the grave, that’s where I’ll find real pain.”

“I’ll show him,” Orathone interjected, “This needn’t come to blows. I’ll show you, Yerra, but I beg you not to move him. He is at peace now, away from our war and suffering. If we’re pushed back when the Legion comes, they’ll defile him.”

“You will show me, and you will carry him out,” the elk hissed, directing a digit first at Orathone and then Razien.

With the moon reaching its zenith, the three reached the line of trees that served as cemetery gates to the grave grounds. They stopped and stared into the silent place where the dead finally knew rest. Orathone nudged Razien, implying his lead would be the best one to follow; however, he turned to the elk and pointed him on to the main route through. A silence followed the directive. The faces between the three were no less vexed despite authority and race and position. Finally, as clouds once more oppressed the moon’s light, the elk was ready to explode, but his faintest word was cut short as darkness swept the clearing.

The night itself came to life all around the trio. Orathone shot forward, fixing himself between Razien and Imfay. Neither could register what was happening, only that the deer was in a panic. Yet, before either could assert that it was not simply their vision playing tricks, the squirming tendrils of dark shivering around them leapt into action. A quick step brought Razien closer into formation while another backward pace tumbled him over the ducking deer. Even on the floor of earth, the wolf had a fair vantage to see thin wisps of night form thick vines that ensnared the elk where he stood. As the living void seized the elk, Razien grew still and silent. Orathone beneath clutched himself whispering his dread into his knees.

Imfay was lifted from the earth by his antlers until he hung three spans over the others. Like old wood on a windy night, they creaked from the untamed stress on them. However, the aching of his antlers was not the only noise coming from the Yerra. Instead, he ranted a series of curses and condemnations towards the East and their savagery, their witchcraft, and pacts with those things of the dark. But Imfay’s rage was not satiated by such insults alone. He howled into the clouded sky, “Amirot Uyra.“

As that name echoed across the countryside, the night grew quiet, so much so that the late creaking insects grew utterly dormant. The shape of the dark transformed into the vague outline of a caribou’s face hovering at the same level as the suspended elk. Orathone and Razien stared up at the hideous twisting of the incorporeal features until a scarred and haunted visage the size of five men was utterly evident. The crackling of dead wood falling in the distance reverberated now louder than if it were falling about their heads. As the wretched sound reached its highest volume, Imfay contorted in the air letting free a cry of agony so intense it stilled the onlookers’ hearts as much as it did the man himself. Yet what finally broke their awe-struck fixations on the sight was the coming of purifying moonlight.

A cascade of emerald pierced the manifest form hanging overhead. The glare it shot towards Orathone showed enough that though the ordeal would end, this would be far from the last time they met. As the shade melted away into the boughs of trees and shadows cast on the landscape by distant peaks, Imfay dropped from the sky like a stone. Neither wolf nor deer attempted to save the man, but not for lack of interest. They were both frozen in place for a time, unable to believe a single step would be guaranteed safe. Finally, a groan, one fought out through aching lungs, pulled both to the elk’s side.

Neither man bothered to assess the wounds Imfay may have bolstered, only noting that his antlers had been hewn from his skull. Together, they hefted him and scurried back to the camp, reticent of creeping shade that may be seeking more than to cast itself across the earth. It was an honest shock to Razien to find that not one of his countrymen had stirred by the sounds of the commotion not far from the camp. Moving with intent, he helped settle Imfay beside the nearest fire and went in search of the healer. While the wolf carried on his own way, Orathone took time to examine the injured man.

There were no broken bones he could detect as he passed his paws gingerly over the body. A few lacerations bloomed beneath clothes leaving damp patches of crimson but were none too deep. All that Orathone could glean from inspection was that the shadow, which Imfay had named Amirot, had tried to tear the man’s antlers clean out of his skull. It was not an uncommon means to shame and punish male criminals in his own land, but why it should have been the creature’s first intent was difficult to say. Before he could give the attack much more thought, Orathone was rejoined by Razien, who brought not only a healer but the stern-looking black wolf Orathone had seen earlier.

“What happened to him?”

Orathone met the stalwart gaze of the elder wolf, “He was attacked by… by what I believe sought to kill me on my way here. It was an immense dark thing, but fluid and untouchable like a shadow.”

“It wasn’t an attack through the blood or by some wretched spawn of the Goredrinker then?” the healer asked, her paws lingering just above Imfay.

Orathone shook his head, “No. He was picked up; the thing broke his antlers and dropped him. He is bleeding a little, but nothing I think that the bad blood could work through.”

“You’d be surprised,” Jaium remarked before wheeling on his young associate, “Now, explain to me, what were you three doing out of the camp? You said you were out by the burial grounds. Why?”

“The elk demanded we take him there.”

“Why?”

“It’s my fault. We took his son and settled him deep in that sanctuary. I knew it wasn’t what Imfay would have wanted, and when he told us to pull him out of there, I wasn’t surprised. I didn’t think anything of it until we were right there,” Orathone fought his voice not to break on every word.

Jaium glared at Razien, “There’s only one person to blame, and it is the one who led you to the burial grounds. Did we not learn a thing from this morning?”

“I did what needed to be done. Outlander or not, we don’t leave the dead to rot among the living. I wouldn’t expect that one to thank me but of all the people.”

“Of all the people? Yourself not included? Go on your way. I’ll sort out this mess before the Wyse can catch wind of it. If you’re lucky, you’ll wake up above ground in the morning,” Jaium’s threat held Razien a moment before he began away for the wagon train the northerners had set just north of camp.

Orathone and Jaium exchanged glances, each weighing the other without words. Between them passed messages that would be improper to give voice to. Where Orathone may have defended himself honestly, he instead battled back the battery of accusations dealt him with a temerity he would rarely possess, even against the more deserving opponents set before him. Finally, after a moment hanging at the edge of eternity lapsed, he stood, “Unless there is need for me, I believe I should turn in for now.”

“The morning is swift in coming, buck; best you be ready for it.”