Their hunt for wolves had not gone as well. Ancel wrinkled his brow with the thought. Every wolf trap they visited had already been triggered, paw prints in various sizes covering the ground, yet they saw no wolves. The missing wolves and Charra’s disconcerting whines had put Ancel on edge. The promise of a storm from the charcoal clouds gathered above the mountains did little to help.
However, neither his mood nor dusk’s dim light could hide the beauty around them. Enhanced further by the dying sun’s orange hues, low foothills lush with long needle grass, and yellow and blue bellflowers rose about them. An occasional copse grew along the slopes, the young pine and cedar often thinning out until just one or two trees grew between each thicket strung together like jewels on a necklace.
Ancel frowned. Not a hint of song from the usual evening birds drifted on the stiff breeze that was blowing. He slid his hand to the reassuring feel of his longsword’s pommel.
Loud, incessant barks burst from Charra, startling Ancel and Mirza. The dartans mewled to each other, eyes rolling back in their heads, their necks swinging.
“You smell that?” Ancel scrunched up his face at an earthy, rotten odor.
Mirza gazed at the narrow entrance between the hills where the daggerpaw stood. “Yes. It smells like spoiled kinai.”
Bone hackles forming a ridge of hardened, knife-sharp edges, body straining forward, Charra stared down into the glen. The daggerpaw’s tail whipped back and forth, and a spiky bone appendage slid in and out from its tip.
The young men pushed their skittish dartans into a gallop and topped the rise at the glen’s slim opening. Ancel’s breath caught at the sight beyond the daggerpaw. Mirza gasped.
Fungus crawled over decaying kinai fruit trees, hanging in thick dark ropes. Some of the head high trees bowed to the earth under the weight, dark worshippers at pray before a forsaken god. Branches still visible under the fungus were black rather than brown or green. The rotten stench choked the air as the sickly growths strangled the orchard. Bloated, decaying kinai covered the ground in clusters, their fluff spread like thick, red spider webs. The buzzing of thousands of flies gorging themselves rose with a chill breeze as the insects swarmed over the crop, their wings glinting with blackness.
Cold, clammy fingers trailed down Ancel’s spine. “What, in Amuni’s name, could’ve done this?” he whispered, his voice shaky.
“I–I don’t know,” Mirza uttered, his often flushed face now a pallid mask.
Ancel reached a tentative hand down next to his saddle and retrieved his bow. He slung it over his back. Steeling himself against the dread running through him, he said, “I need a closer look.” He dismounted and double-checked on his longsword at his hip.
“Y-You sure about this?” Mirza dismounted next to him with a spear in his bony hands.
“Yes. We need to find out what did this and report it to my father.” Ancel’s voice trembled, but he fought down the urge to mount and ride home.
“We’re only in training, Ancel. Remember that.” Mirza looked up at him, gray eyes radiating fear, his hands shaking. “I’m with you though.”
Ancel glanced at his daggerpaw. “Charra can protect us.”
Mirza nodded, but his knuckle-white grip failed to keep his weapon steady.
As they eased forward, Ancel found himself wishing he’d continued this training, that he could Forge the essences within Mater like an Ashishin. He would have used the waning light and heat to make a fire, ready to hurl at any threat, or dried the decaying mulch beneath their feet. Better yet, he would have Forged the Forms in the earth to make a solid pathway or a shield of stone. The lack of ability made him grip his sword hilt that much tighter.
They squished their way through the decayed fruit toward the small stream feeding the glen. Disturbed flies buzzed about before they settled once again among the squashed kinai that stained the youth’s leather boots and Charra’s paws, a somber red. A reek similar to moldy unwashed fur mixed with shit underlay the odor from the kinai. The stench reminded Ancel of Master Javed’s disgusting dog kennels and grew to near unbearable levels as they approached the stream. Charra whined.
“Oh Ilumni…” Mirza pointed as the stream’s muddy banks became visible.
Black clumps of shit littered the water’s edge, and some floated in the stream. Ancel turned back to the kinai field. Black mounds lay among the trees, half hidden by the fluff. Huge paw prints, similar to a humongous wolf’s or a mountain cat’s, but twice as big, trailed from the muddy banks. He couldn’t tell if the other tracks he saw were manmade.
“We have to leave this place. Now.” Ancel’s gaze swept across the glen for signs of movement, but he saw none.
Mirza needed no prodding. They both sprinted for their dartans, their cloaks flapping around them.
“Home, Charra!” Ancel shouted.
At the command, Charra bounded ahead, growling the entire time. Ancel and Mirza mounted and dashed from the glen down the long trail.
With Charra leading the way, they galloped from the sandstone foothills. Not once did they look back as they crossed a field of long, swaying grasses, oak trees, and gooseberry vines. A wind blew with tangy gooseberry smells upon it, but it carried no warmth. Ancel took a deep breath, grateful to be rid of the stench from the glen.
Insects chirped and lightflies flitted among the grass and trees. Twilight’s glow had disappeared from the sky, replaced by the brilliant twin moons. Still, the celestial bodies did little to brighten the Greenleaf Forest when they entered past looming pines and oaks that stood sentinel. Ancel didn’t need a lightstone to guide them through the dark woods, but he used one anyway. Uneasiness tickling the hairs at his nape, he and Mirza wound their way through the trees.
Resinbuds with their yellow, purple, and white blooms blinked on and off among the trees-the light within the flowers attracting numerous insects. Several times, he thought he saw movement from the corner of his eye, but when he tried to glimpse the source, he saw nothing but shadowy trunks and brush.
Charra stayed next to them this time with his ears pricked up and a low rumble in his throat. The daggerpaw’s hackles remained upraised. Ancel scratched at his itching neck in an attempt to shake the uneasy feeling, but it stayed. Mirza must have sensed the same thing because his wary gaze swept around them often.
Even with the usual hooting wood owls, buzzing insects, and other noises from foraging night creatures, the feeling not only persisted, it grew. So did Charra’s rumbling growl. Ancel fidgeted with his bow and made sure he could reach it with ease.
They pushed the dartans harder through snarls of gooseberry vine snaking through the bushes in their path. Branches like reaching fingers snagged at their cloaks. Once, Ancel was almost yanked from his mount as his cloak caught then tore free. Breaths coming hard and fast at the close call, Ancel pulled what remained of his cloak tight around him.
Charra’s rumble increased to a sharp snarl that could challenge a mountain cat’s growl. The wind picked up, carrying with it the same fetid stench from the glen. A chill slithered through Ancel’s gut.
They urged their mounts on, but the foul odor grew stronger. Cold sweat trickling down his brow, Ancel flicked a hand across his eyes to clear his vision and snatched a look behind.
Shadows flitted between the trees, and branches crashed and snapped. Resinbuds, that moments before had added light, blinked out in an advancing trail ahead of the shadows, racing toward Ancel and Mirza as if the dying glows chased them.
Ancel whipped his reins harder.
The dartans crashed through small branches and brush, oblivious to the rake of broken wood and scratch of thorns. They warbled in short spurts, and their breaths came fast and heavy. The wind swirled through the trees around Ancel and Mirza, the rotten smell chasing them, riding the breeze.