Young Writers Society

Prologue

It was a sunny day in the valley. A hill sloped gently up to the north, toward the forest, where the trees grew tall and thick.

The remains of a village sat nestled in this peaceful dale. Birds chirped as they flitted across the collapsing, mouldered rooftops. Sunlight filtered in through the young trees which had sprung up into a dense grove.

In this small ruin, there grew a certain flower. The stem was unusually tall, with small tendrils growing off of it. The petals were red, growing deeper toward the center. The scent was bittersweet, with a whiff of something metallic and dark.

There was a small movement in the grass, near what used to be a healer’s cottage.

A rabbit poked its nose out from the cover of the soft grass, sniffing cautiously. Smelling only foliage and earth and the very old scent of Man, it hopped out into the open.

It nibbled a bit, then the southward wind tickled its nose. The ears perked, back straightened, eyes widened.

A predator.

Very close.

A twig snapped nearby, and the rabbit turned to run back into the tall weeds. Instead, it turned to face its death.

Sharp fangs dug into tender flesh, powerful jaws snapped a delicate spinal cord, and the little animal died instantly.

A victorious whinny echoed through the valley. A flash of lithe white bodies galloped over to get their share of the kill, even though there was nowhere near enough to fill their bellies.

For the unicorns, food had become scarce. They would soon have to migrate.

Chapter 1

He briefly pondered what he was doing. More specifically, the why of what he was doing. As he had been reminded ceaselessly by his brethren, leaving the monastery meant giving up a long and enriching life of spiritual enlightenment. And for what?

“Hector!” The plump-cheeked girl ahead of him had stopped walking. “Stop lagging behind!”

“Apologies,” he muttered through gritted teeth. The sun beat down mercilessly on his sore back, he had a fair amount of pond-scum caked in his hair, and the wound on his calf was beginning to throb sickly. Yet Mistress Charter admonished him for ‘lagging’? There she stood on the crest of the hill, hands on her hips, watching him, practically radiating impatience.

“You look terrible.” Concern finally broke through her disgruntled expression. “How are you feeling?”

“Terrible.” He came to a stop beside her and looked at the downward slope in front of him with a faint feeling of dread. Bethany and Katherine were already far ahead of them, tiny specks on the dirt road.

Sarah, who was affectionately known as Mistress Charter by her companions, cupped her hands around her mouth and let out a ringing shout. “Mama, Hector is feeling terrible!”

“Do we need to stop?” Bethany called back.

“T’would be a piece of mercy if we did, m’lady!” Hector breathed a sigh of relief and muttered his thanks to the heavens when the two women reversed their course. The brittle grass hardly made for a comfortable seat, but it was better than standing around on a wounded limb.

Bethany Charter was the one responsible for his leaving home. She was a broad-shouldered woman of fifty-three, with shrewd eyes and a wit sharper than a fine surgeon’s scalpel. She and her two daughters had taken shelter at the monastery during the winter’s final blizzard. Her first words to him had been to call him a ‘pompous whelp barely out of adolescence,’ because he had showed hesitance to grant them entrance. However, he had soon grown to understand and respect her ways.

Presently, she knelt in front of him and rolled up the leg of his trousers. “Tch, boy, you should have told me it was worsening. I do not like the look of this.”

He hazarded a glance, and wished he hadn’t. The wrapping on his calf was caked with mud, the flesh around it inflamed, and there was obvious swelling.

Katherine, the elder of Bethany’s two daughters, grimaced as she knelt beside her mother. “That looks awful.”

“Imagine how it must feel,” Sarah said, with something like awe.

Hector groaned. “I assure you, it feels just as awful as it looks.”

“We’ll have to get him to a physician.” Bethany stood and dusted herself off. “Sarah, I want you to find some running water–some clean water–and help him wash that wound. Katherine and I will continue on; the next village is not far off. Meet us there, and don’t take too long.” She smiled and kissed Sarah’s forehead gently. “Stay safe, dear.”

“Yes, Mama.”

--

Hector and the girl quickly tracked down one of the clear brooks that peppered this particular landscape. He dropped his pack and prepared himself for the task of unwrapping his leg.

Sarah seated herself next to him, plucking at the hem of her dress. “Well are you just going to stare at it all day?”

“I do not relish the idea of seeing just what horror has become of my leg.” He heaved a sigh and shifted. “And you sitting there watching does not help matters.”

“It’s not my fault you fell into that pond.” She brushed at the side of his head in a gesture that should not have annoyed him, but managed to anyway. “You’ve got dried scum in your stubble.”

“Yes, thank you for pointing that out.”

She twirled her dark hair around her finger, looking at him with an expression of sweet naivete. It was her special skill and it was generally a very loveable expression, but it currently set Hector on edge. “Can you stop watching me, please? A man finds it hard to swallow his pride when there is a child sitting nearby with a judgemental air about her.”

“I am not a child. I am eighteen years of age. And that is only five years less than you, so if I am a child, then you are a boy.”

He sighed. “Your logic is infallible, Mistress Charter.” Taking a deep breath to steel himself, he untied the makeshift bandage. It peeled away from his skin and the dried mud caused it to cling to the hair on his leg. When it was finally off, he forced himself to confront the puffy-edged gash on the inner side of his calf. It was gaping and indeed swollen; there was an alarming amount of dirt in it. He shoved his leg into the water, feeling the sting of its coldness. “Well, that hurt every bit as much as I suspected it might.”

With the occasional hiss of pain, he scrubbed the wound clean while Sarah washed his wrappings. Though it hurt worse–if that was even possible–the gash now looked considerably more sanitary.

He climbed out of the creek and shivered in the cool spring air. “I think I shall let it breathe a while...the fresh air might do it good.”

“Alright, but if Mama yells at you for not bandaging it, I’m not taking any blame.”

“You never do.”

“Well not for things that aren’t my fault!”

This debate continued until they reunited with Bethany and Katherine in the small village. “Well, how did the wound look?”

“It–”

“It was disgusting, Mama! All red and puffy, definitely infected. I think there was even some pus!”

He glanced at Sarah. “Thank you for elaborating on that. She is right, but it looks much better now that it has been cleansed.”

“I’ve found a physician who is willing to tend to you for a modest fee. I suggest you go see him.”

He fidgeted. “And...the fee? How will that be attended...?”

“None of your concern, boy.” Bethany smiled, her face crinkling. “Just go.”

He nodded, muttered a hasty thanks, and limped away.

--

That evening, the Charter women sat around a modest fire on the outskirts of the village. Katherine warmed her hands over it while Sarah hummed an old lullaby. A slight breeze had sprung up, sending sparks dancing through the air.

Katherine looked at her mother thoughtfully. “What if Hector loses the leg?”

“Then I’m afraid we will be losing our traveling companion.”

“Shame. He does such wonderful things with food...”

“Sarah, I hardly think that is the main issue here.” Bethany undid her tattered braid with a sigh. “I was hoping that he might be of help when we reached Glensud. I hear monks are treated well there.”

“Yes...” Katherine said quietly. “But do you really think there’s anyone there who will aid us? We aren’t exactly...making conventional requests.”

“Have faith, dear. At least we’re not asking for money.”

“Essentially, we are.”

A steel edge entered Bethany’s voice. “Katherine, that’s enough. Get some sleep; I want you up early tomorrow so you can check on Hector.”