Rovaalian. Chapter 3: Merciless.

He dreamed a nightmare, a sea of faces that wept blood from empty eye sockets. They circled his mind in a world of shadows, sorrow plastered on their stark white faces. Each was a face he knew, one he remembered. He had killed each of these faces. Why? they whispered. He couldn't answer. It was like his blood was being replaced by ice. He couldn't speak. Instead he just curled up into a ball, a ward against the cold dread that plagued him. Why? they whispered. He shut his eyes, but they wouldn't leave. He couldn't wake. Murderer... they seemed to whisper, hissing through the darkness like knives of shade that cut through his mind. Evil... vile... MURDERER...

His eyes flew open, but he did not rise. He couldn't rise. The voices were still there, whispering to him. Murderer... He was still curled into a ball, in a puddle of cold sweat, surrounded by ghosts. I'm still asleep, he told himself. this is a nightmare. Nothing more.

The specters looked down on him, including the boy and his father, their empty eye sockets unblinking. They looked on, however, without anger or fury. They looked down with disappointment, sorrow, and pitt. As one they reached down and seemed to grab Rovaalian's heart... and vanished. Rovaalian shivered with the cold, before sleep took him once more.

He woke the next day slowly, no sounds heard outside, just the soft morning light running through the cracks in his tent. It was daytime, and the cold morning air assaulted his icy skin. Dew was still formed on the outside of his tent. He quickly dressed himself and donned his swords and daggers. He couldn't stop thinking of the souls that came last night. They had conquered his thoughts. In a futile attempt to get his mind off of them, he went outside. It was very early indeed. He decided he needed something that required more concentration to do. He estimated that he had around three hours before everyone woke up. He had never gone hunting before, and now seemed as good a time as any. Surely three hours would be enough time to get some deer. Wouldn't it?

He had never been more disappointed. He had forgotten mostly about the ice in his veins and about the phantoms, but he was more disappointed and frustrated than he had ever been. In the first five minutes of hunting, he had shot a nice, large hare with triumph. He hadn't seen anything since. The forest was vast, and he soon came to a sort of rocky area, where a steep hill covered in rocks let fall a thin brook. It was very beautiful. But it had been an hour, and he hadn't seen anything. He was losing his patience, when a snap of a twig caught his attention. He looked around, but had decided that it was just a squirrel. Nothing was there. He sat down on a comfortable looking stone, and decided it was time to gut the hare. He cut it's belly down the middle and removed all of the guts, which were slimy with blood and other such fluids. He made a face as he flung them into a nearby bush. Something else will eat them, he thought, more hopefully than surely. He then, cutting off the feet, skinned the animal. After scraping as much flesh off of the bones as he could, which was quite a bit considering it was a hare, he wrapped the meat in the skin, and put it in a large sack. He was hoping to get a buck, so he brought a large sack. His bounty looked pitiful, such a sad haul in such an expectantly large sack. He looked on and laughed. The men will find this funny, he thought. He began to make his way back when a daunting feeling caused him to turn around. Right behind him, a mountain lion with reddish brown fur, pointed ears, and shimmering eyes was stalking curiously up to him. He panicked and drew his swords, letting the bag fall. Without any hesitation he swung at the lion, which bounded quickly out of the way, before snarling and growling angrily, and circling around him. It lunged at him, and he cut a deep gash into it's shoulder, but it had landed a swipe of it's claws in his left upper thigh at the same time. Rovaalian fell to his knee, and the lion bounded away for a moment, before roaring triumphantly as it lunged at him. Rovaalian thought he was surely dead, but at the last moment his instincts kicked in and brought up one of his blades. Warm blood covered his right hand as the sword sank through to the hilt, and the lion bit viciously into his shoulder. Rovaalian screamed as the lion heaved it's last, and died on top of him. Rovaalian was furious, and triumphant. He had killed a mountain lion, one on one, and emerged with a battle scar. Instantly he heaved with what little strength remained and skinned and gutted the creature, adding it's skin and flesh to the sack. It wasn't as big as a buck, but it was a mountain lion. He was going to leave again when he heard it.

There was a soft, distant mewling, coming from up the hill. He looked up the hill and saw a small opening, one he didn't notice before. He went up and crawled inside, and there was a small cub, no larger than his forearm, hiding in his shadow. It's eyes brimmed with worry. Rovaalian wanted to double over, for it felt like he had been punched hard in the stomach. Did it know that it's mother was dead? The animal cried and cried, and it may have been  Rovaalian's imagination, but it seemed to be crying murderer! Murderer!

"Please, stop crying... I didn't know..." he pleaded. His throat had begun to close up with sorrow, as tears pushed their way past his eyes. "Please..." and he sat down, and placed his head in his hands. He wept softly. When he looked up again, the animal had receded to the very back of the cave, and surrounding it were last nights visitors, the souls of the people Rovaalian had killed so far in his short life. The pain in his shoulder was distant, and faint. The pain he felt now dwarfed it. His heart ached as he looked at each spirit in turn. All looked at him. Why? Their faces seemed to ask. "I didn't... please stop crying..." he said, as the cub cried again. Murderer! it cried. Murderer! "Please..." and Rovaalian was sobbing heavily, tears falling freely from his reddened eyes, as he pleaded. "Stop it.... please..." and the spirits looked down at the cub with pity. Rovaalian now realized that this cub, this poor cub, was just like the sons of the men he had killed. What would happen to the cub? Still it cried, and with it the spirits whispered angrily. MURDERER! MURDERER! Rovaalian curled up into a ball on the ground as he sobbed. "Please! Please... Stop it now!" MURDERER!!! "STOP!" Rovaalian finally shouted, leaping to his feet and dashing across the cave. He swiped his sword and beheaded the mewling cat, and the souls were silent as they disappeared in a cloud of vapor, that swirled away into Rovaalian's heart. He stood stunned next to the corpse of the cub, whose head rolled away as though still trying to escape. The pain in his leg and shoulder crept back, and he slowly began to weep again, painful sobs escaping his throat as he hunched onto the ground. "Murderer..." he sobbed to himself. What was he? Was he evil? How had he become this way? This was what he was taught. Maybe he was a murderer. Maybe he was evil. Was that truly bad? He looked down at his bloody dagger, and at the swords that lay thrown on the floor of the cave, their beauty tainted forever by the blood of those he'd killed. He continued to weep as the wind blew into the cave. murderer...

He made his way back to camp with the sack of meat. None of the men at camp thought he was a murderer. None of them thought he was evil. Besides, he reminded himself sadly. I killed a mountain lion. He made his way to the central fire where Stu had just lit a cooking fire.

"You're up early!" he said. "Where were... Rovaalian!" he cried, seeing his shoulder all bloody as it was. It was worse than it felt. The mountain lion had held nothing back in it's last act, and had bitten deep into his shoulder. The wound was bleeding a lot, and it was very painful to walk on his leg. He dropped the bag on the ground by the fire, trying weakly for a smile as he did so.

"Brought some breakfast. Take a look." he said weakly. His voice came out grimmer than he would have liked, but Stu didn't seem to take much notice.

"I'll be damned, boy, you did indeed bring home some breakfast!" he shouted, very loudly. So loudly in fact that shuffling in a tent nearby stole Stu's attention long enough to yell "Guss! Come have a look at Rovaalians first haul! He went hunting this morning! Come on then! Have a look!" He was clearly very excited. Guss came groggily over, and Stu took out the hare-skin package, and then the lions meat. Guss's eyes widened.

"A BLEEDIN MOUNTAIN LION FOR BREAKFAST?" he shouted, also very loudly. He smiled broadly as he slapped Rovaalian heartily on the back. Rovaalian cheered up a little. Maybe he had done good after all. But Stu wasted no time in bashing the makeshift gong as hard as he could.

"Wake up everybody! Rovaalian's gone hunting and brought us back a mountain lion!" he shouted heartily.

In half an hour, Stu had cooked up the meat perfectly, and men were digging in eagerly. The hare actually tasted better, but the lion was still "a meal fit for warriors like us!" as proclaimed by Red Garret, who even congratulated Rovaalian on his kill. By now Rovaalian was half happy. But still his mind was plagued by the head of the lion cub. In his mind it still whimpered. Murderer... but Rovaalian would hear none of it. He got the rest of the day off, and almost couldn't stand the amount of times the same people had congratulated him. Even Rovaalian Senior was proud. In fact, he was proudest of all. He lifted him up in the air and yelled "That's my little killer!"

Perhaps killing was what he was supposed to do? Surely he was congratulated for it.