Young Writers Society

The story continues! Unfortunately I'm one of those authors that think of a title after the story's finished, guys - So don't keep your hopes up of one just suddenly appearing! My muse is a fickle bitch who demands a finished story to release the title she keeps hostage. Unless sudden inspiration strikes of course... Anyway, enjoy.

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As the distant yells finally abated, too far to be heard, Theron slipped into a dark corner to catch his breath. He’d almost traversed the entire town; the gates were just a couple houses away.

The fortifications did little to impress the traders that arrived with the caravans from the south once or twice a year, bringing tools, food, and other essentials; yet they were formidable for a relatively small northern settlement. A ring of heavy sharpened trunks circled the town, with several stands for a band of archers to garrison. The single gate at the southern edge of town that Theron was steadily approaching was a simple thing; a thick, braced set of wooden doors held shut with a heavy iron bolt. Nothing that would ward off a determined assault force, yet more than enough to hold marauding bandits at bay and keep the livestock from straying at night.

Two wooden stairs led to a platform perched above the gates, and a single lookout clad in a worn leather garb stood atop the wooden ramparts, keeping a careful eye on the wilderness that stretched outside the palisade. A longbow lay strung at his side, leaning to a brazier holding smoldering coals. He turned as Theron’s footsteps neared, and nodded at him as he recognized him. Every guardsman knew the strange son of the ‘herb-witch’, and his habit of coming and going at the strangest hours. His broadsword, bearing the marks of many skirmishes with brigand and beast alike, clanked against the studs of metal embedded in his leather suit as he descended the stairs.

“You gonna be out fer days again, kid? You look like it… Careful out there.” Theron recognized the speaker’s rough voice. It belonged to the commander of the town militia; Arn was his name, a burly man in his late thirties with noble facial features. Years of combat had seeped into his figure, leaving him with many small scars and deep worry-lines etched under his eyes and in his forehead. The first lines of gray were starting to appear in his dark brown hair and beard, and his troubled appearance would have made many guess him to be in his mid-fifties. Yet his keen brown eyes had not lost their spark, and every villager had faith that he could still pierce an apple set three hundred yards away with a single arrow. He’d stopped entering the yearly archery contests a few years back, as many would-be competitors didn’t bother signing up after they heard he would be participating.

Theron tightened the straps of the leather pack set on his back that had given his intentions away; He’d indeed be away from town for several days, as he’d have to cover a lot of ground to find everything he needed.

“I’ll be fine Arn, as always. You can expect me to return in a week’s time at most.” Theron smiled mildly as the captain nodded again, and strode to the gates. He grunted as he lifted the iron bolt sealing the gates; a feat that usually took two men to accomplish. Theron shook his head, impressed by his strength as always. He had seen Arn tear a metal-reinforced keg to splinters with a single mighty blow of his sword, and the older guardsmen who had fought with him had told that he could split a man in two just as effortlessly.

The gates slowly creaked open, and the aging commander waved him through. Theron raised his hand in farewell, catching the old man’s eye over his shoulder before the gates slammed shut behind him.

Before him stretched a wall of tall firs, shadowing the narrow, muddy road that led to the ‘civilized’ lands of the south. He wouldn’t be heading that way though. His destination was deep within the forests’ embrace. Theron glanced up to the sky. It was still dark; the sun’s light merely a distant golden glow shimmering from beyond the horizon.

He took a deep breath of the fresh air, chilly even though it was midsummer. The cold winds flowing from the north never abated, and the elderly talespinners claimed that it was the breath of the air goddess Yanave herself, freezing the earth so that the northern folk would have to hunt the savage beasts of the great outdoors and collect what plants survived in the cold to endure; the goddess shaped the tribes in her image, to stay bitter and rigid like the icy breeze that rode through the lands. Farming was a trade of the weak southerners, who, in their arrogance, tortured the land with their plows and cut it bare with their scythes, year after year to sustain themselves. They wouldn’t survive a day in the harsh north, at nature’s mercy, the old shamen declared.

They feared the north. Feared the lands where the earth was free, where nature expected utmost respect - Where it would devour those who would not show it. Here, no axe would fell a tree before it was sanctified by Manimar the Forestlord, no arrow would fly true without his blessing. And none of nature’s gifts were taken without gratitude. No hunter would dare not pay homage to the soul of the animal slain; no woodcutter would tempt the wrath of the spirits by ignoring the rites to honor their home in the trees. It was an uncertain existence to live in harmony with the wilderness, made more so by the tribes of primitive humanoids and misshapen horrors that were said to grow more numerous the further north you went; but the unforgiving environment, and the way of life that they had practiced for countless generations, had made the northern populace the hardiest in the known world.

Theron had never paid much attention to superstitious folklore, yet he knew that it was perilous to venture away from the road. The shady undergrowth could hold any number of surprises for the unwary traveler, and even the tall firs soaring above sometimes held secrets amidst their thorny branches. Bearing this in mind as he ventured into the shadows of the forest, Theron scanned the bushes with a practiced eye, looking for any signs that would point him in the right direction – Towards flora of value. He didn’t expect to find anything this close to town though; what careless townspeople hadn’t trampled he had probably already picked on his earlier trips.

He enjoyed the woods in the summer. Even though the plants were just shaking off the nightly chill and the sun’s first rays had yet to touch the lush forest floor, he could already hear the buzzing of insects and the rustling of small animals. The morning dew dripping from the trees gently pounded the top of his head and slowly trickled in under his tunic, sending chills through his spine, invigorating him. Yet the land wasn't exactly as he remembered - His brow furrowed with annoyance as he noted the trails of snapped twigs and disturbed foliage – A group of woodcutters had passed here during the night. They called themselves woodsmen, yet they stampeded through the forest with a level of grace one might expect from of a pack of bulls.

How different their clumsy stride was to Theron’s stealthy gait! The hunters called him wood-wraith, disturbed by his ability to sneak through the foliage as silent and unseen as the vengeful ghosts of legend; malevolent spirits of those who had committed a heinous crime against the earth and were forced to haunt the woods forever as their punishment. He was proud of his ability, yet there was nothing mysterious about it – It was simply his light build and years of wandering the wilderness alone that had made him develop his skill. His talent added to his dodgy reputation nonetheless; everyone seemed uncomfortable around the shady brat of the herb-witch, dabbling with strange concoctions and missing from the village for days at a time, wandering alone in who knows where. “That lad is up to no good,” they said, ”probably dealing with some evil to return from so far north unscathed.”

These thoughts kept him amused as the miles steadily dwindled; his pouches gradually filling with plants both rare and mundane.

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Thanks for reading folks, comments / critique would be most welcome!