Ash-colored Despair (1)
Act 2. Ash-colored despair.
His first memory always started in the same place.
An endless plain painted in gold. The wind raged above her.
He made his way through the swaying grasses, and an unnaturally deep blue sky poured overhead.
The longboat, seized by a powerful thrill, wandered aimlessly along the border of golden and azure light.
At some point, he no longer understood where he was going - he simply rushed through the wind, intoxicated by freedom.
He was free.
Could go anywhere. Could do anything.
The world before my eyes whispered this with dizzying beauty.
My heart was pounding as if it was ready to burst.
The heat of blood running through the vessels and the cold of dry air filling the lungs. All this told him one thing: he was alive.
He tasted the joy of life.
But the dazzling moment did not last long.
Thick gray walls closed in on all sides. A cramped space where it was impossible not only to lie down, but even to sit down.
Locked in this cell, indistinguishable from a coffin, he scraped the walls with his nails until he bled.
However, this pathetic attempt at resistance quickly fell apart.
Through a narrow gap in the wall the fanatical gaze of the priest followed him.
Until the last “evil” in him is destroyed, the priest will not allow him to leave.
In the abyss of despair, he methodically killed his feelings.
At first I pulled out a feeling of pain. Then my sense of taste and smell became paralyzed. At some point he stopped feeling hungry. Even the desire to sleep disappeared.
He ceased to be a living being.
When all living things evaporated from him and only an empty shell remained, only then did the door of the crypt open.
He raised his eyes—empty, meaningless.
But instead of the icy face of the priest with eyes burning with insane heat, he saw something else: a refined face, pale with shock.
A woman with dark hair and light eyes extended her hand towards him.
Fragile fingers touched his wounded cheek. But other than a slight pressure, he felt nothing.
Perhaps it was a hand of salvation. She pulled him out, from the grave.
Cold sunlight poured directly into the pupils. An unnaturally pale landscape was imprinted on the retina. He suddenly realized: everything he sees is colored ashen.
A world without color or smell, as if faded to complete emptiness.
It seemed that if you touched it, everything would crumble into dust.
No. Perhaps he himself turned to ashes.
He slowly raised his eyelids. At first I couldn’t understand where I was.
Only a few seconds later the tent ceiling, obscured by darkness, appeared before my eyes.
He raised his hand.
In front of him was not a child’s thin hand, but a man’s hand with visible tendons.
He touched it, as if trying to convince himself of reality, and at that time an animal howl was heard.
The longboat rose mechanically. Almost at the same second a soldier ran into the tent.
- Sir Siekan! The dire wolf [1] has appeared!
He immediately swung his legs off the bed.
Grabbing the halberd placed at the head of the room, he went outside. The servants waiting at the entrance immediately rushed towards him, helping him put on light armor.
He pushed away the annoying hands and looked around the chaotic camp.
The pale dawn illuminated the rows of tents and the soldiers flickering between them.
Everything around was engulfed in an alarming bustle.
Soon he saw a black animal in the bushes - almost eight khvets in length (about two meters and forty centimeters).
It seems that the monster noticed him too.
The huge wolf, bending to the ground, rushed forward with a furious roar.
Longboat extended his left leg half a step, holding the halberd at an angle. The heavy blade at the end of the shaft bent toward the ground. And at that very moment, when the black shadow completely filled the field of vision, he sharply twisted the shaft with both hands and slashed diagonally.
The half-moon curved blade easily broke through the tough skin, pierced the dense muscles and severed the strong bones. Thick blood flowed like a fountain from the severed neck.
He wiped the splashes from his face with his sleeve and, turning around, looked around the surroundings.
The silhouettes of other ash-gray creatures flashed through the slender coniferous trees - they quickly scattered in different directions.
Making sure that the wolves were retreating, Longboat lowered his gaze to the massive body thrown to the ground.
"Looks like it was an alpha..."
Once a wolf pack loses its leader, order within it collapses in an instant.
Having plunged the tip of the shaft into the ground, he headed towards the overturned tents to check if there were casualties.
There were also several wolves lying there.
He crouched down and examined one of them - a beast with a pierced heart. And then a frivolous, even slightly mocking voice came from behind:
— Шумно вы возвращаетесь на родину. They gave such a magnificent greeting.
Turning around, he saw a bare-chested man with a loose cloak hanging from him. Warrior from the Barakan tribe.
He stuck his ax into the ground and nodded towards the forest:
—Will you order people to follow the trail?
“We can’t waste our strength now.” First, counting losses and strengthening security.
- Yes, there is almost no damage here. They only dragged away a pack horse,” the man lazily scratched his neck. — One green youth, who underwent the initiation rite this year, suffered a little, but, fortunately, no casualties.
Longboat straightened up. The sun had already fully risen over the camp, its light flooding the entire chaos.
He looked around the area to assess the situation, then turned back to his interlocutor:
— Put things in order in the camp. We leave before other creatures come running here at the smell of blood.
- It will be done.
The warrior slowly turned and left, and Barkas headed towards the center of the camp.
Concerned soldiers rushed past him, trying to pacify frightened horses, and servants, hastily dismantling littered tents.
Walking past, he approached a barrel of water near a large tent.
His face was reflected in the transparent rainwater - pale, as if ghostly.
He silently looked at his reflection, then scooped up some water and washed the blood from his face.
Warm moisture barely touched the skin.
Roughly wiping his face, he raised his hand to his nose and inhaled.
The smell of blood had almost disappeared - only a slight dampness remained. It cannot be said that one was better than the other.
Smell was the first sense that returned to him, but he still couldn't connect sensations with emotions.
He knew how to distinguish odors by intensity and character, but felt neither disgust nor sympathy for them. He simply knew - from observation and experience - what smells people liked and what they disgusted.
Blood, he had discovered, was generally repulsive.
Taking off his stained armor and carelessly throwing it on the ground, he examined the shirt.
Luckily there were no stains on it. But, who knows, maybe there was some kind of unpleasant smell that he didn’t feel?
He headed to his tent to change clothes. And suddenly I noticed a quarter-dwarf rushing about near the central tent of the camp.
The longboat immediately approached.
- What's happened?
Even to him, the voice seemed alien - hoarse, rough.
The woman looked up at him in fear.
- Uh... For some time now the lady has not been seen...
At that same moment his ears began to ring.
Note:
1. Ужасный волк (Dire Wolf, лат. Aenocyon dirus) — это вымерший вид волка, который обитал в Северной и Южной Америке в эпоху плейстоцена (примерно 250 000 — 13 000 лет назад). He is known for his powerful size.