LITMIR.BIZ

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of clouds.

      Nill retreated along with his thoughts and fell asleep over them. Esara waited for the moon, for she had questions to ask before she went to sleep, but the moon seemed to have been caught in the clouds. It became later and later, and Esara’s last glance of the night was towards her fitfully sleeping boy.

      Neither mother nor son witnessed the clouds finally break apart, upon which a pale yellow moon shone down. They could not have enjoyed the stars for long, either, because soon the mists began to waken in the flatlands and sloughs, sneaking into the village as they always did, spying into every stable and every hut that let them in.

      The only place the mist could not go was Esara’s flower-house. As the fog hid the starlight, the emissions from Grovehall kept the mists away. Slowly a grayish-yellow smoke began to rise from the flattened earth, along the roots of the whisper-willows and the low-alders, more massive than the thin mist in the coolness of the night, more hectic than the quivering branches of the willows. While the damp air still caressed the animals and the scents of the evening dissolved into tiny water-beads, a foul, fusty smell broke through the earth of Esara’s house, with hints of sulfur and tar. And in the veils and swirls of this smoke, where it condensed for a few short moments, the first outline of a figure became visible.

      Nill tossed and turned on the ram skins. The first fumes reached him and covered him. The smoke interrupted the deep, regular breaths of the sleeping boy and turned them into a hoarse, hasty cough, tearing at Nill’s lungs. Nill coughed and retched, screamed and leapt from his bed, his dagger held in his right fist.

      He could not tell whether the smoke was surrounding the figure or was indeed part of it. Grayish-yellow streaks wafted over the mighty tusks of a huge battle-boar, its skull adorned with curved horns. The thick neck and muscular torso were mostly human, apart from two ridiculously small, red wings sprouting from the back. The hands ended in long, scythe-like claws and tore through the air like singing swords. But what made Nill’s gut cramp up were the creature’s legs. Strong, furry thighs from the hips downwards reminded him of wooly buffaloes, tapered down to giant feet that looked like they belonged to a bird of prey. The closer to the foot the fur got, the more it solidified and stuck together, forming horny scales, and below the knee it became a steely armoring. The feet were armed with rough, dark yellow talons, three pointing forwards and one backwards. A whipping tail, long enough to reach the creature’s own head, ended in a barbed point: a terrible weapon, combining the capabilities of a hook-spear and a whip. Talons and tusks, barbs and claws, strength, mass and wildness were opposed by nothing but the boy’s dagger for the protection of Grovehall and his life.

      Nill thrust and his dagger sliced through the creature’s outstretched arm, merely disturbing the smoky swirls. The whip-tail with its metal barb circled through the air with a howl, passing through the walls of the hut as though they weren’t there, and wrapped itself around Nill’s chest. Nill felt icy cold and fiery heat at once. But the tail dissolved on the surface of his body, disappearing into his flesh and reforming behind him. The smoke became murkier and denser. It stopped swirling and started to drip like oil. Nill let out another scream. His battle-cry of anguish and anger with the light, penetrating sound of his young voice made the creature jerk up its head. It roared back at him. Dull, but from the depths of its body it aimed the roar at the boy. It was the sound of chaos, shaped, but not yet words. The sounds marked the beginning of feelings, while destroying all thought. The roar blasted through Nill’s head, surged down his spine, tumbled in his stomach and tore back out through his skin. Nill shook under the branding storm of a language he did not understand.

      Esara stood with her back to the wall, paralyzed by fear, her fingers digging into the woven branches of the low-alders. Nill’s first cry had woken her. She had leapt up before she could even see anything, prepared to defend her son from anything and anyone threatening to disturb Grovehall’s peace. But at the sight of the swirling cloud whose stench settled heavily in her nose she lost all strength and determination. Esara was but a truth-teller, yet from the remains of a past life that had long sunk beyond memory an old knowledge rose. And with that knowledge came understanding.

      Esara’s eyes darted around the room and came to rest on a small table, on which stood a bowl of blossoming Nightwort. Nill had brought it home two days ago from one of his wanderings.

      “Drop the dagger and take the flowers!” she screamed.

      But Nill did not understand. He glanced at Esara and saw her mutter words he could not hear, their sound drowned by the growls of the boar. Nill flipped the dagger so that the point faced downwards like a wildcat’s claws. He lowered his arm, stretched his wrist and the dagger vanished from his opponent’s sight, well hidden behind his body. The beast swiped at Nill with its left arm to crush his shoulder and sink its claws deep into his flesh. Nill turned, dodging the attack, and struck upwards with his dagger. The blade went through the arm, throwing up a cascade of brownish-yellow swirls. The battle-boar roared louder.

      Esara’s voice was suddenly clear and bright in Nill’s mind and bypassed the disturbed air. Somewhere in a mystical center between his ears it sounded calm, decisive and urging, with no fear or desperation. “Drop your dagger, take the flowers. Focus on the flowers, forget the smoke. Remember how it was when you picked them.”

      The beast’s next blow hit his shoulder and the claws sank deep into his flesh. The pain was more severe than when he had been struck with the whip, but again there were no wounds, and not a drop of blood spilled from his body.

      “Remember how it was when you picked the flowers, how you carried them home, how you placed them back in their natural element, the calm water.” Esara’s voice had lost its urgency and instead sounded as monotonous as a small brook. It took Nill’s thoughts away from battle and war to peace, to beauty and love. Nill turned about, took the flowers carefully out of the water and let the beast be. He did not feel the hot-cold grasp of the paws around his throat, nor the sharp horn of the claws. A comforting warmth spread from the watery plants in his hands through his body. The pain of fire and ice dissolved, the eerie creature in the smoke became ever more translucent. The last thing Nill saw was the battle-boar’s wide open maw, the huge skull thrown back. It looked as though it wanted to shout something. Then the smoke vanished and only a faint echo remained of the roaring and howling.

      Esara embraced Nill and whispered: “Come now and sleep. It was just an illusion, a vision with no power.”

      Almost limply Nill let her guide him. He was numb and fell asleep instantly. Inside him, the battle still raged. All through the night he tossed about, screamed and woke with blank eyes staring at invisible pictures. Esara sat by him all night. To stop the slight beginnings of the fever she repeatedly spread a few droplets of water from the Nightwort on his brow. When Nill finally seemed calm, the sun had begun to rise.

      “I had a terrible dream,” Nill said as he sat blinking on his bed. “I dreamed of a terrible creature I had to fight.”

      Esara looked tired and old. Several strands had loosened from her banded hair, her hands shook slightly and her eyes were deep. It was not the lack of sleep that brought this weariness about.

      “I wish it were so,” she said quietly. “Look, your knife is lying there. Exactly where you dropped it. And if you check the floor, you’ll find traces of your foe. I’ll brush them away when the sun stands higher.”

      Nill looked at the floor from his bed and saw a fine yellow dust with a scattering of rough black grains.

      “Sulfur and Dark-filth,” Esara answered his puzzled gaze.

      “What was that creature that attacked us?” Nill asked.

      Esara gave a bitter laugh. “It was a demon. I only saw the smoke and smelled the stench that heralded it, but I’ll never forget that smell.”

      “Couldn’t you see it?” Nill asked.

      Esara shook her head. “Sometimes only the person who is targeted by the demon can see it.”

      “I don’t even know if it was really there,” Nill said. “I could make it out quite clearly, but we could not touch each other. My dagger

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