The Wildwose

- Title Page

- Part I

- Part II

- Part III

- Part IV

- Part V

The Wildwose

by

G.A. Whitfield

Smashwords Edition

The Wildwose

Copyright © 2010 by G. A. Whitfield

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Disclaimer:

This work is 100% fiction. All scenes and events within these pages have been an invention of the author's imagination, and to his knowledge never occurred in reality. Any resemblance to the reader's own experiences is purely coincidental. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

The Wildwose

Part I

"A strange madness came upon him. He crept away and fled to the woods, unwilling that any should see his going. Into the forest he went, glad to lie hidden beneath the ash trees. He watched the wild creatures grazing on the pasture of the glades. Sometimes he would follow them, sometimes pass them in his course. He made use of the roots of plants and of grasses, of fruit from trees and of the blackberries in the thicket. He became a Man of the Woods, as if dedicated to the woods. So for a whole summer he stayed hidden in the woods, discovered by none, forgetful of himself and of his own, lurking like a wild thing.” Vita Merlini, Geoffrey of Monmouth, 1150

*****

A soft rain fell gently from the sky, dimming the half-light of early morning and dribbling almost resentfully from the signs which swung creaking in the wind. These chained articles were a part of the quaintness of Main Street, where the small stores sold genuine craft articles. Their business-like frontage was interspersed with the more salubrious adornments of drinking holes and low-cost restaurants.

At the top of the stairs, leading to the Prelate’s monument, stood a young officer bedecked in his new uniform, which was now looking a little bedraggled. Drops of rain dripped constantly from the peak of his cap, onto his nose and into his mouth. Now and then he absent-mindedly cuffed the excess away, his thoughts locked on the approaching column of men.

He watched as the troops marched past and wondered who in their wildest imagination had sent these primped-up soldiers to Wose IV. It was a disaster waiting to happen and, he was sure, a mistake of phenomenal proportions. This planet had an Inspectorate hands-off order, even a Cardinal or two as a protective blanket, and yet somehow this recruitment had been organised, and an off-world command structure designated.

Kombel had always thought politics rather over-rated, a kind of tool for the insecure and ignorant. That anyone should feel that they, in their wisdom, had the overwhelming right to instil their beliefs on others smacked to him more than a little of unrestrained egotism. He himself followed the local religion of peace and acceptance, of democracy and tolerance. It had worked well up until now and there was really no reason to change it.

Even so, the belching exhaust fumes and the tinny sounds of the regimental bands did add a certain carnival atmosphere to the holidays. The local Governor had promised two whole regiments and even Kombel himself had signed up. His family more than a little disappointed in him for the action. However, he could live with that. Wose IV was not the only planet in the galaxy and he meant to see and experience as much as he could.

Truth be told, he was a little worried about the apparent lack of intelligence information sent to the incoming troops. This world was a touchy one, having been close to declarations of heresy on a number of occasions. The patina of respectability was just that, a very thin ice beneath which the local inhabitants skated frenetically. Then of course, there was the Wildwose and that was, without doubt, completely different. A taboo subject which had degenerated into myth, something that the Inspectorate itself had encouraged; dissolution of knowledge. Kombel only hoped that the apparently successful conversion of fact into fiction, would not come back and bite the Inspectorate on its sanctimonious butt. After all, urban legends had been known to have a basis of fact at least, and these Church boys did not want to experience even a little of the reality that was Wose IV, of that Kombel was sure.

*****

The wood-panelled central room was typical of many of those places used by the Officers of the Inspectorate for their rest and recreational activities. A large central table gave enough room for the huge quantity of food and the even greater amount of alcohol, both local and imported.

As it was want to do, the evening had degenerated into the usual fantasy world of bravado and boasting. One group of junior officers were betting on the outcome of a game of Slingshot, where two teams threw their unfortunate companion up into the air towards the panelling, and he, or she, had to find at least some purchase and cling there for the regulation amount of time. Another group had organised a game of Simian, and were racing each other around the walls, clinging to whatever vantage point they could find and hooting and hollering.

Older, more refined officers had retired with dignity and were concentrating on drinking and telling war stories. They had yet to reach the stage of scar comparison, but that was definitely on the agenda.

“Can anyone,” asked a clearly worse for wear Major, “shed some light onto these ridiculous stories? What were they called, ah yes, the Wildwose?”

A young Leftenant sat to one side of the others, flanked by two of the Mess servants, who watched him warily. He stared at the drunken men intently, as though trying to divine which way they would jump this evening. By the frown on his face, it was not looking good.

“Perhaps I can help?” he asked, trying not to force his way into the conversation, but rather to appear as a junior officer should, respectful and effacing.

“And who might you be, Sir?” asked the inebriated Major, “Can’t say I recognise you!”

“My name is Kombel, Sir, Leftenant Barry Kombel. I have been assigned here as a local liaison officer, Sir.”

The Major, one James Wolis, peered foggily at the young man, whose clean-shaven good looks jarred with his own fleshy worldliness, and snorted. “Come on then, boy, tell us all about it!”

Even the Major’s companions baulked a little at his off-handed treatment of the Leftenant, but the young man seemed not to notice.

“Very well, Sir,” he agreed, moving his chair closer, “let me tell you about the Wildwose…..”

Part II

“…The colony ship Sentiment was lost, not just vaguely so, but well and truly, world-shatteringly lost. They had suffered malfunctions in almost all of the equipment, had experienced incidents and accidents, until finally their main engines failed. It was then, and only then, that their Captain realised that none of these events were coincidental and had finally called in his arms men to deal with the matter.

It of course had not helped that the complement of the ship were pressed men, or that their cargo was mostly made up of the dregs of labour worlds, prisons and of course the poor. Their venture in itself had been sponsored by a capital risk company, who had seen an easy profit. They themselves went bankrupt at about the same time as the Sentiment dropped out of fold space for the first and last time. In fact, many of their creditors related the disappearance of the company directors alongside that of the craft itself.

Whatever the underlying reasons, the ship’s Captain did at last find the cause of his problems and that was traceable, almost solely, to Gunnery Sergeant Wose. The big man had not been happy at his forced re-enlistment and his grudge had become contagious. For one so obviously intellectually-challenged, an almost supernatural and inherent cunning shone through. He had convinced many of his peers, either through sheer strength of personality, death-threats or promises of wealth, to follow and support him. The culmination of his work was the ship’s current position, in the middle of unknown space, stationary and rapidly running out of options.

Bloodshed was inevitable and the Captain’s frustration took form in a quite barbaric demonstration of violence. The fact that Wose had never expected such a reaction, probably explained why he, and the few surviving men and women from his rebellion, were now chained together awaiting sentencing here in the main hanger.

Captain Bridges was even now trying to understand his more than capable Gunnery Sergeant, but the one thing he could not internalise, was why the man was smiling. It was neither vacuous nor flippant; it was almost beatific in its radiance. The man was simply, genuinely happy and almost orgasmically so. Why though? He was chained, caught, even defeated and the pureblood bastard was grinning. With a dawning realization, a deep sinking feeling, the Captain suddenly knew. Just as the first of the bombs exploded, ripping through his beautiful, yet ill-fated vessel.

Wose was shouting now, pushing his people out of the Hanger space and towards the emergency escape pods. Insanity had taken hold, yet he had deep down a driving sense of survival, and it was this which urged him on. Not in any way did he know where they were, nor whether any habitable planet was nearby. In reality though, he did not really care. His strangely unique logical mindset, dictated his actions, and the next one was to get off the ship. He would deal with whatever arose after that.

Bridges pulled his sidearm free and began firing. Never the best of shots at the most opportune of times, right now he was a disaster. His rounds struck indiscriminately into his Guards and his officers and were more than helpful in aiding Wose’s escape. As the distinctive sound of the pod’s firing was routed to his hearing, so too was the final screaming pain of his ship. More bombs exploded, fuel conduits shearing and ammunition stores angrily boiling out through their retaining walls. The Captain and his ship died together; the knowledge of their final fate was to be lost for centuries, as was the outcome of Wose’s frantic flight.

Luck, strange or otherwise, was with the mutineers and their escape craft found a welcoming environment close by. It was a lush, forested world and boded well for their survival. They cut their way free from the chains via the propitious use of the laser-pistols in their emergency packs and set to making themselves at home.

Wose of course still led, and his own brand of violent command quickly instilled a rigid and unequal discipline on the survivors. As the years passed their technology failed and they had to learn how to live as had their ancestors; hunting and gathering. It was on one of his hunting expeditions that Wose found the natives, who he automatically assumed were of lower standing and lesser intelligence. They were humanoid; their bodies covered in a dense carpeting of hair, and lived in small social family groups. Not only did they hunt, but they also farmed, cultivating local vegetables and what came to be known as herd beasts.

Of course, the Gunnery Sergeant and his men took them to be savages and exploited them ruthlessly. Inter-racial relationships were not the most palatable, but as the years passed, the fruits of these passions were born. It was from such unions that the first problems came and ultimately the Wildwose evolved.

Unnatural as these unions were, they created something new, untapped and as these meldings became more frequent, they also became more dominant as the human gene pool was spread thin.

None would have recognised the survivors from the Sentiment; they had gone native, almost feral and the worst among them was Wose. His men, those who still deigned to talk civilly to each other, called him the Wild Wose as his more basic and brutal self became the dominant and driving force in their lives. Murder, rape, thievery, violence, all rose to predominance as the natives culture was subsumed.

It was Wose’s own son who changed this, who overthrew his father and led his people on their new, yet ancient path. They were now more self-aware, more reasoning and so consciously chose a peaceful co-existence as their prime tenet.

Centuries passed and the intermingling of genes reached its culmination and produced those we now know as the Wildwose. They are a peaceful, benign folk who continue to maintain their original lifestyle and stay well away from the human population on this planet. A second wave of colonisation found this world and claimed it as their own. It is from the historical records of that colony ship, that we learnt of the fickle and tenuous peace that there exists between those who share this planet.

Within the original Wildwose there was a pagan and spirit worshipping religion; they venerated the trees, rivers, birds and animals. Their shamans claimed to practice an elemental form of magic, yet it seemed of little potency as Wose and his people easily overpowered them. Whether it was pure coincidence, or in reality the human genes helped to connect the shamans to their spirit world or some other heretical channel of energy, that they did so is now without question. The second wave of colonists found this out to their own cost, as their attempted exploitation of the Wildwose met with a fierce and obviously supernatural resistance.

Help was called for and a large force of Church Guard, ably directed by the Inspectorate landed here, with the intention of cleansing the heathens from this world. It was the biggest mistake that the Inspectorate ever made, and explains why they, up until now, have restricted access here.

Their ill-thought actions awoke something within the Wildwose, put them in tune with their spirits is the local take on this, which literally tore the Church forces apart. Those locals who had accepted the Wildwose were untouched, yet others were smeared across the landscape. Even ships in orbit were affected, men whose fingers moved towards the activation sequences for viral bombs, melted before their companions’ eyes. Psychics babbled insanely, blood pouring from their eyes, ears, mouths and fingernails as they died.

The Inspectorate’s perseverance was finally tempered by understanding, not one threatening gesture was made, not one of the Wildwose was threatened and all returned to peace and tranquillity. Humans and Wildwose kept to themselves, although still there are stories of intermingling, of natives who appear almost human and blend in amongst the colonists, watching and waiting.

It is a cardinal yet unspoken rule that the forests belong to the Wildwose and none enter there unbidden. To all who come here, on each and every data pack given to them, is written this rule and that those who break it, do so not only at their own peril, but that of all of the other inhabitants of this planet as well…”

Part III

“Absolute rubbish!” snorted the Major, “As you well know Leftenant, many are the worlds which contain children's’ nightmares of this kind. We are grown men and have nothing to fear from such drivel!”

“I am only trying to warn you Sir, this is the planet where….” he was cut off abruptly as the Major laughed, turning his back on the Leftenant and so dismissing him. Kombel watched the drunken oaf and his cronies as they continued to demonstrate their bravery, boasting now of what they would do to the Wildwose. One even commented on mixing a little blood with them, as he winked craftily and all-knowingly. His response was one of joint disgust from his fellows, but soon his comments were forgotten and their boasts got wilder and wilder.

The Leftenant left, cautioning the two local servants to make sure that the Major and his men got safely back to their billets. He also made sure that they promised him a full and detailed account of the rest of the evening’s discussions. Deep down, he could not shake the premonition of doom he felt, these fools were capable of almost anything of that he was sure.

*****

“Well,” said the Major, feeling the need to expand upon his obvious martial qualities, “I for one don’t believe a word of it. No hairy native is going to tell me what to do, nor where I can and can’t go, and that’s a fact.”

“But, Sir,” commented a pock-faced Captain, whose oily voice matched that of his countenance, “surely if the Leftenant advises caution, we should pay heed. He is after all our locally appointed representative.”

“Captain,” explained Major Wolis, his drunken slurring becoming a little more coherent as he concentrated, “if I say we can do what we like, then it’s true. Take it as an order if you wish!”

“Yet, still … there’s the Wildwose...” continued the Captain, slyly prodding at his drunken commander.

“Sub-human savages,” snarled the Major in response, now totally succumbing to his alcohol-induced aggressive tendencies, “and I’ll prove it! We’ll go and capture one of them, drag the damned thing back here, and show our boys that they’ve got absolutely nothing to fear, what?”

His bucolic affirmations were greeted by a muted round of applause, followed by further toasts to his sagacity, wisdom and courage. The two servants still watched the officers from near their serving table. They had not been able to totally hear the Major’s conversation, only partial words like sub-human, hairy natives and the like. Tomorrow would be soon enough to report things to the strange Leftenant, tonight they would follow his orders on getting the drunken officers to their beds.

*****

Light flickered through the breeze-lifted leaves, patterning the open area. A man and a boy sat, heads hunched closely together as they studied the corded mechanism before them. An anxious nervousness hung in the boy’s eyes, this was one man he did not want to disappoint, and he gnawed at his lips as he waited for the forthcoming pronouncement.

All of his senses were attuned to the testing and prodding taking place of that which he had built as were the other’s, so neither of them noticed that the local animal population were not acting in their usually energetic fashion, nor that the occasional broken twig, might herald something a little more dangerous than a roving herd beast. Instead they smiled, one at the other in pride and love, and then their world fell apart.

*****

The troopers watched the calm and peaceful scene before them, knowing that such tranquillity would soon be shattered. There in a shadowed glade a father taught his son how to set snares, his rude clothing hiding little of his strangeness; a stoutly muscled body, thick neck and long arms seemed normal, but it was the large head, beetling brows and bright green eyes which gave the first indication of other worldliness. However, that which really gave the game away, which indicated the less than humanness of these two, was the thick, matted hair which covered them from head to foot.

It seemed an insult to any Church-fearing believer that these abominations should be allowed to walk the earth. No matter, that the father lovingly and protectively draped one arm around the boy, as would any of the parents amongst this squad. Their orders were clear; find a specimen and bring it back to headquarters, dead or alive, it made no real difference.

*****

Eldrid had finished, there was nothing to find fault in. His son had made him proud. As he turned with his mouth open to speak the words of praise, he saw the orange flower blossom on the boy’s forehead. A look of uncomprehending surprise became stamped onto the now rigid face, and Eldrid heard a high keening noise echoing in his ears. It took him a short while to realise that he was the one making the high-pitched wailing sound, that it was his hands which reached out in vain to catch his son as his only child’s body crumpled backwards, bouncing once onto the earth, before lying still.

Rage bubbled up from deep within him, feral and rank, straining to be released. Seeing the guilty men running towards him, he could not find it within himself to follow the peaceful teachings of his tribe. With a roar, he scooped up his staff, rolling forward over it and standing in a smooth motion to face the first of the onrushing soldiers. The man wore a cap of some sort and whirled a sword above his head. This however did not concern Eldrid.

As the soldier’s blade scythed downwards, Eldrid raised his staff in what appeared a useless blocking motion, the Inspector, for that was what he was, grinned in evil anticipation of the sound and feel of tearing flesh. In that he was to be disappointed, as the sword met no resistance, the single piece of wood becoming two with a deft twist of Eldrid’s wrists. The now twin sticks sported a sharp straight blade, and another which had sprung out at almost right angles to the first one. This curious ‘L’-shaped weapon whistled, as Eldrid twirled it rapidly round, allowing the sword stroke to clash uselessly against the ground before him. His left leg shot backwards, his right knee bending as he struck. The point of the horizontal blade pierced the Inspector’s eyeball, the second digging deep into flesh, as Eldrid levered the offending sphere free in a welter of blood.

He span, the weapon in his other hand flicking across the officer’s throat and relieving him of the excruciating pain he was suffering. The violence of Eldrid’s attack had stunned the Guards for a moment, but as veterans do, they quickly responded, bringing rifles to bear. Eldrid, however, had not waited for them, rolling and crashing into the first line, his blades slashing wickedly into exposed flesh. There was no wasted movement, no time spent in retrieving more sophisticated weapons, all he wanted was blood.

Guardsmen fell. Armour became less than useless as Eldrid cut and sliced, never standing still and with a total disregard for his own safety. Men lay crying in pain, begging for a mercy that would never be forthcoming. Eldrid was not concerned for the wounded. In his mind, they could be dealt with later.

It was only when the second wave of Church Guards appeared, a Sergeant forming them into a ragged line and sending a volley of laser fire towards the growling and snarling Eldrid, that sense finally permeated a father’s ruined mind. His boy lay in the middle of the carnage, too far for him to reach right now, and so he raced away. Behind him was the cooling corpse of his only son, although his journey to death would now be accompanied by the souls of his enemies, bound to his service at the behest of his grieving father. It was though, not enough, as the laser rounds scorched past him, Eldrid spoke his curse and his promise, before he turned and melted deeper into the forest.

Part IV

The office was well-appointed; high-class imported furniture graced the wood-panelled walls. A small fire crackled heartily in the grate, which had been set into a sculpted hearth that graced the far wall. Two uniformed men stood with their backs to it, warming themselves in a companionable silence. One of them, the more portly of the two, sighed and moved away from flames’ heat, out into the room.

Major Wolis, looked down on the pitiful bundle of matted hair that had been dumped unceremoniously onto a hastily thrown groundsheet, laying in all of its rumpled functionality in the centre of his office floor. His broad face was split by a grin of triumph. He would be the toast of the Officers’ Mess this evening, the previous night’s drunken boast fulfilled. He prodded the obviously sub-human creature with his toe and then laughed heartily, along with the brutish-looking Sergeant by his side.

Their revelry was interrupted by a knock at the door, followed by the entrance of the junior aide from the previous evening. The man looked upset about something, his tight-lipped salute and his rigidly held position of attention, suggested a formally delivered rebuke might be forthcoming. Wolis bristled in response, how dare such a junior Officer behave so? Deliberately provoking the man, he prodded at what they claimed was a child, once more.

“Sir!” snapped the Leftenant in outrage, “I must protest!”

“Protest?” queried the Major lazily as he moved over to where a decanter, brimming with a ruby liquor, and glasses rested on a nearby table, “About what?”

“This!” pronounced the Leftenant in outrage, pointing at the still glistening corpse, whose blood marked the protecting material, “Do you know what you have done?”

The Major raised an eyebrow at the lack of the use of his rank and merely waited, like an expectant parent whose child has forgotten their manners. In this, though he was to be disappointed, as the Leftenant, uninvited, moved to kneel next to the small body. Almost gently, he brushed the hair away from the child’s neck, revealing a strangely designed tattoo. His exclamation of surprise was followed by a curse and once again he faced the now bemused Major.

“You, Sir,” began the Leftenant, “have managed to do in one afternoon, what we on this planet have guarded against for generations. With this one stupid act, you have signed the death warrant of all of your men!”

With no further comment, the Leftenant span on his heel and marched for the door, pointedly ignoring the Major.

“I did not dismiss you!” roared the Major, slamming his glass down onto the table in anger, “You will come back here right now!” and as the Leftenant continued to ignore him, “Sergeant, arrest that man!”

There was a slight movement on behalf of the non-com, but this was quickly halted by the sight of the laser pistol in the Leftenant’s hand. A grim smile played across Kombel’s lips, as he saw the Sergeant raise his hands in submission. With one last pointed look at the Major, he turned and continued on his way.

“Get after him!” snarled Major Wolis, as the door closed behind the Leftenant, “Wait,” he said, moving to a communications-unit, “I have a better idea. We’ll make sure that our local aide, Leftenant Kombel, has nowhere to hide on this planet. Except maybe with the rest of his subhuman friends, eh?”

Their laughter rang out from the office and echoed along the corridor, where a number of nervous Church Guards had seen the Leftenant stride away. They too were local men and had watched the corpse worriedly as it was dragged in. These off-worlders had heard the stories, heck in fact most planets had similar stories. The only difference was that this was the place where it had all begun, the one place in the galaxy where it paid to listen to myth and legend. Mistakes had been made once before, long ago, and the consequences had been terrible.

Of all of the planets in the Church-blessed Protectorate, this was the one that neither the Inspectorate nor the Ecclesiarchy dared to challenge. This was the home of the Wildwose and a drunken Major and his cronies had just woken them.

*****

It began as a slight breeze, which tugged at Kombel’s coat-tails causing them to flap fitfully. Dark clouds were gathering over the forest, billowing outwards faster and faster as the wind increased in speed. A harsh rain came quickly, stinging his exposed flesh as it slashed downwards onto Main Street. The Leftenant peered towards the apparent centre of the rapidly encroaching storm and nodded, almost in satisfaction as he spied the boiling mass at its centre. It had begun, and there was somewhere he had to be.

His lone figure strode purposefully away, leaning into the wind as he struggled against the wild elemental force opposing him. At last he reached a covered vehicle, the engine quickly roaring into life, its feeble lights picking out little amongst the torment’s blackness. Slowly and steadily he drove away, whilst behind him the rain turned to hail and fist-sized ice particles slammed down onto the roof of the main Command Centre.

*****

Major Wolis had lost his self-satisfied smile and he now stood open-mouthed, watching the storm’s fury from the safety and comfort of his office. The body still lay where it had been dumped, although the protective sheet was rolled across it, even the Major having become tired of his self-praise. He leapt backwards as a bolt of lightning struck, expending its massive energy in an overwhelming explosion of heat and sound. The monument to the Prelate had served as its grounding point and now all that was left was the twisted remains of the imitation throne at its base.

Half-blinded by the intense flash of light, Wolis blinked rapidly, trying to clear the strange shapes which floated before his eyes. At last he managed it and suddenly jumped back from the window screaming. His Sergeant rushed to his side, laser-rifle at the ready.

“Sir?” he queried, not sure what had caused his Major’s unexpected reaction.

“The…the face!” shrieked Wolis, burying his own face in his hands, his shoulders shaking with fear.

“There’s nothing there now, Sir”, the Sergeant reassured him, “perhaps you were mistaken?”

“I was not mistaken!” replied the Major angrily, his tear and snot-streaked face rising from its hiding place, “It was horrible! One of them I think.” he said indicating the bundle in the middle of the room.

Shaking his head, the Sergeant stared out of the window. There was no way that anyone could be out there, they were three stories up and there was no terrace. Neither were there drainage pipes nor crenulated facades, designed for ostentatious display rather than security. No, the only obvious answer was that the Major had imagined it.

Another bright flash struck, followed by an immediate roar of thunder, then darkness. Complete darkness. This time the ravening energy had struck some local power supply and now all the illumination that they had left was that of the small fire, still burning merrily in the grate. For a few breath-rasping moments there was nothing, then wall lights flickered and began to burn steadily once more.

“No-o-o-o!” screeched the Major, pointing at the now bundle-free protective covering; the child’s body was gone. An eerie chuckle sounded and the lights began to dim again. The Sergeant heard a trickling, bubbling sound and was assailed by the smell accompanying the terrified officer’s bowel evacuation.

“Crap!” he cursed, putting some distance between himself and the Major, whilst at the same time moving away from the window. If there was going to be a target here, he certainly did not want it to be him.

The office door banged open and the Sergeant spun in a ready crouch, his rifle trained into the centre of the door as he watched it swing closed once more. A repetitive scratching noise could be heard and a voice whispering pleadingly. With no second thought, the Sergeant opened fire, his rounds punching their way through the wooden barrier. He heard a muffled cry, followed by a thumping noise, as if a body had fallen. The Sergeant stood, straightened his tunic and approached the door. His finger still rested on the trigger, but he was a little calmer now, more focussed.

Taking a deep breath, he snatched open the door, the same time as he sent a spread of shots through. There was no sign of movement or light, the illumination here not having come back on. As he shuffled forwards, his foot bumped into something pliant and he fired once again, the muzzle flash highlighting the wetly glistening body which lay crumpled in front of him.

Turning, the Sergeant propped open the now half-destroyed entrance allowing at least some light to filter through. He gasped in shock and horror, this had at one time been a Church soldier and although his rounds had taken the poor man’s life, they had done so cleanly. Someone or thing, had not been as considerate, the trooper’s face was non-existent, as though it had been peeled away. Eyes hung slackly from their sockets and a lipless mouth grinned skeletally. Fighting against an overriding need to vomit, the battle-hardened veteran backed slowly into the main room. Step by step he inched away from the soldier’s grisly remains, his eyes scanning the dim reaches of the corridor. He knew that there was something out there, just not what, and he almost buckled under the sudden wave of agoraphobia assaulting him.

“Sir?” he called querulously, “Major, are you there?”, but silence was his only reply.

Now inside the room, he half-turned looking for his superior officer. There was no-one there, no trace that anyone had ever been there, and the Sergeant began to shake. Without warning, the lights blacked out, glass crashed and the raging wind and hail lashed into the room. At the sound of the breaking window, the Sergeant began to fire, keeping his finger depressed until the rifle ran out of charge. Hastily he fumbled for a power cell, his fingers disobeying him as terror took its grip. Warm liquid ran down his legs, which had begun to shake uncontrollably. His breath began to steam in the now frigid air and a scream bubbled up from deep inside, bursting out involuntarily as a child’s laughter sounded in his ear.

His scream lasted a long time, cutting through the raging storm’s own voice occasionally, yet it too, just like the Sergeant, eventually died.

Part V

Pain coursed through the Major’s arms, as the rough woodland floor skipped past his face. His hands had been wrenched backwards and bound to what looked like a large piece of metallic tubing. Cords also bound his feet and the jostling, jerking motion of his passage occasionally dashed his face into the grit and dirt.

He opened his mouth to shout or rather scream his outrage and it was only then he realised that not all of this agony was limited to his shoulder blades. His whole body ached and pain lanced through him with every small movement, but his mouth, that was something different entirely. No recognisable sound came from it, rather a muffled moan, and when he tried to explore his teeth and cheeks with his tongue, he realised why. There was nothing to feel, nothing to test, or rather perhaps there was, but he would never know as the realization crashed in on him. He was now an enforced mute, nothing in his mouth responded to his brain’s frantic messages.

Agony exploded as he was carelessly pulled through a thorn thicket and his forehead crashed into a hidden rock. Ruthlessly he was dragged forward and at last his prayers were answered as he fell into the blessed release of unconsciousness.

*****

When he at last awoke groaning and mewing in pain, Wolis saw that it was now daylight. The sun shone through the foliage and patterned the grassy area in front of him. Still he hung face downwards, yet he was somehow raised on high, as he could see all the open area and the creatures there, encircling him.

Silently they watched; straggly hair hanging down over their eyes as they squatted patiently. Forgetting his inability to speak, he started to plead for his life, but the muffled noises emanating from his mouth soon convinced him to desist. Time seemed endless and it could have been mere moments, or at least half a day, before the crowd stood; the excited buzz of conversation beginning.

Almost directly in front of him, a group of the natives parted allowing passage through to an Officer of the Guard and another of their brethren. Hope flared briefly in the Major’s eyes as he recognised the young Leftenant, but soon began to fade as the two stopped side-by-side, staring at what was Major Wolis. They embraced, the stouter native murmuring something in a deep bass voice, the Leftenant nodding in agreement. Then Kombel turned and spoke.

“I warned you,” he said, as he unbuttoned his tunic, taking it off and laying it carefully to one side, “but would you listen? No,of course not.”

Here he shook his head, tossing his cap next to the tunic, “You all know best, you all feel that the hairy sub-humans are nothing, don’t you?” he stopped, patting the Major absent-mindedly on his cheek. “ What? You can’t answer me? Never mind.”

Then his undershirt was removed, leaving his pale skin bare, his hairless body in stark contrast to the pelts which covered those of his companions. As Kombel stretched his arms above his head, in what appeared to be an elaborate form of warm-up routine, Wolis noticed the tattoos which ran down the insides of his arms. When the Leftenant turned away to speak to the crouching multitude, the Major also saw the intricate design inked alongside the Leftenant’s spine, culminating to a point just below his neck.

“You see Major, every once in a while, we need to remind you, need to reinforce who exactly are the savages, and why we have chosen a peaceful path. Many generations ago, we realised the depths to which we could sink and vowed never to allow it to happen again.”

The Leftenant’s skin began to darken, to shake, the tattooed pattern rippling and changing with each shudder. His whole body was moving, in an insanely peristaltic fashion, and he shivered, like an animal trying to rid itself of excess moisture.

“Ooh,” he said, grinning at the Major who swung in a slow pendulum-like fashion, his body’s involuntary spasms betraying him, “that tickles!”

Pausing, he stared into Wolis’ eyes and then, as if remembering where he was once again, continued with his dialogue.

“As with most things, now and again you have to dip your toe into the shallow end, just a little. Perhaps to reinforce the need to respect dangerous things, to gently reprimand a child when they over step the mark, just like you did.” here he waved a finger in admonition at the Major, before he carried on.

“I have spoken with the local Inspector, have reminded him of our agreements and I believe steps will be taken, to repair this unfortunate misunderstanding. However, you my dear Major need to pay some, shall we call it, parental damages. A personal atonement for your grievous error is required.

For you, Major Wolis, have awakened the Wildwose, and like all spiritual blades, blood must be shed before it is resheathed.”

Wolis had long since sunk into abject terror, his shaking now causing his restraints to shiver uncontrollably. There was nothing left in his stomach to vomit forth and his mindless moaning reached a peak as he saw the Wildwose finally appear.

“I did warn you ….” growled the Wildwose, as its long fangs sank into the Major’s neck, paring slivers of skin away with an exquisite delicacy, “but you just wouldn’t listen …..”

END

Englishman, traveller, who was captivated by Spain and stayed. Proud husband and father. Work took me around the globe, taught me a new language and opened my eyes.

Other Works:

Sudden Dearth

A Guiding Light (Sudden Dearth Book Two)

A Leap Of Faith (Sudden Dearth Book Three)

Urion’s Belt

A Cold Dish

Euthan Palace

26-S

SALIGIA

Find out more by visiting www.sudderndearth.blogspot.com