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Its the week of the autumn harvest. Winter is only a few short breaths away, the crisp red and yellow leaves dance in the air a whirlwind of laughter. Swept up in smell of cinnamon and molasses the world is like a photograph a picture of gold and orange of beauty and satisfaction.
The Beast is tensed like a bowstring pulled taught, only seconds away from snapping. In his land of eternal winter the fall harvest means nothing, yet he seems to be gnawing at the bit to enter the land of eternal autumn. Pacing at the border of his territory he hopes that the great harvest god will turn his head to see him.
Dusk falls heavy on the land, his eyes two cold moons set in a sea of blackness, he glances into the wood and to the festival which takes place only a sprinting distance away. He shouldn't be this close to the border, it will be taken as a weakness.
Damn it all to hell, he didn't care.
The Beast was winter, he was the winter spirit, he was the warden of the winter wood, he was cold biting frost. If he succumbed to the earth spring and autumn would devour his woods and all that he was and had ever been save a knowing hunger and a fear that envelopes all.
Deep below the surface buried under carpets of dead leaves encased in ice and trapped in the roots of trees were legions of souls who- when spring's thaw teetered into his woods weakening their prisons- would fight to take his place in guarding the winter wood. Every thousand years a tendril of spring's warmth would trickle through the soil.
The ice would soften, and the souls, still beasts of instinct and hunger, would rise from the soft ground and stalk through the trees. Hunting him with the persistence of a wolf. Sometimes the thaw would reach many of them at the same time, he had fended off dozens at a time when the guardian of spring last entered his kingdom. He was the threat, when they snuffed out his lantern they would take his place. After thousands of years he persisted cutting down any of them who dared try to blow him to smoke. Deep below the earth he could feel something shifting. Thousands of years old, not nearly as old as he, it snapped and clawed its way to the surface.
He could feel it, the earth shifting to release the monster into his forest. He had to act now, he would survive being torn apart, ripped to shreds, and even cast into a fire and left to burn, he could piece himself back together. The lantern which slowly swung on his left antler was his only weakness. He could not succumb to the earth, he would not. He had been nearly blown out before, out of pure luck and doggedness he had survived with a single ember in his lantern. He would survive again or the whole winter wood would perish with him. Nearly every spring one of these corrupted souls was released into his wood, fighting them off was a simple task, but this time was different. This creature was older than any he had faced before. Wiser, and like him it too had walked the surface before it had fallen to the earth.
It had been nestled deeper in the earth than any he had fought before, intertwined in the roots of one of the oldest trees in his wood. A witch it had once been, after millennia after millennia his victims became a blur, the tree may have even been there before he had been the warden. He didn't remember before, before he had his purpose, perhaps there had been another before him, but perhaps he was the eldest. Autumn did not remember a world without winter, nor did summer or spring and none of the other guardians could remember winter without his song ringing through the trees, his only memories of a time before were fleeting. Enoch could not remember a warden before him, in fact the autumn god was under the impression that the Beast was older than he, the harvest god as old as the grave and the monster as old as the wilderness, perhaps older.
Steeling himself the dark figure took long strides across the picked pumpkin patch, his two oval moons of eyes flashing pale colors of pink and yellow and blue, the third light, his lantern, cut through the night with a cold white light. The earth frosts under his feet, the vines creeping away from each of his broad steps.
The Pottsfeilders stand in their town square, a huge bonfire in the center of the square casts long shadows along the walls of the houses that surround the village. The skeletons dressed in vegetable garb dance and sing, they husk corn and partake in sweet cider that's smell bites through the air. They laugh and talk and tell stories, knocking back a bitter ale and breaking sweet loaves. Weaving corn silk baskets and braiding the ribbons of a looming maypole. Enoch the lord of plenty, harvest god and patron of fall, he stands tall, his voice lilting through the din.
He stands in the ring of shadow beyond the light. He cannot clear his throat, he is incapable so instead he lets his voice carry through the crowd.
"Coughing." The maypole's head snaps up so fast the Beast is surprised that the god hadn't torn his seams.
"Ah, Hope-Eater, what a lovely surpise." As he speaks the Pottsfeilders turn to see who their lord is speaking to and the Beast finds himself nearly mobbed.
"Oh Mr. Hope how lovely it is you've come."
"Have you-?"
"Are you-?"
"Could we-?" Their voices well up around him in a chorus, he's swarmed, he takes a long stride back into the shadows and it seems to stop most of them who seem hesitant to pass beyond the ring of light. The harvest god notices the winter patron's discomfort.
"Don't swarm him now, you'll scare the man." Reluctantly they back away from him. "Now Hope-eater to what do I owe the pleasure?" The Beast cocks his head, eyes slowly scanning the sea of Pottsfeilders he makes a noise deep in his mouth something of a click as he makes his decision.
"Actually harvest god, I was hoping I would have the chance to speak to you in private." Enoch tilts his head and the Beast pleads with his eyes, Enoch doesn't exactly get the message perfectly but as the edges of the Beast's eyes tinge yellow he realizes that he must act fast because his villagers are staring at him waiting for his response.
"Ah yes, perhaps we shall meet in the town hall?" The maypole drifts from the town square and the Beast follows swiftly. He knows the way to the town hall, he has Pottsfeild memorize, curtesy of Enoch's entrapping hospitality and tours. But as soon as they are out of sight of the square Enoch pulls him around a corner.
They hover in the shadows, a ribbon curled around the shape of the Beast's mouth to silence him. Three Pottsfeilders hurried past, the Beast recognized them as Miss Clara Dean, Timothy Grey, and Elizabeth something or another. Slowly Enoch released him from his coils and offered an apologetic explanation.
"The mean well, truly, but they do love to gossip and easedrop." The Beast blinked hollowly at Enoch's foresight at his people's actions. He trailed behind the god and followed a path through the wandering streets. His footfalls were silent as the padded over the cobbled path, Enoch made only slightly more sound, the gentle rasp of fabrics sliding against each other as he glided through the streets. For a living maypole the man was quite easy to lose in the shadows, but the Beast's eyes picked up the soft greens and oranges which stood out like beacons in the darkness to eyes that were accustomed to the soft greys and blues and dark purples that blanketed the forests. Enoch pauses at the edge of the town, a barn.
As he follows the harvest lord into the wooden structure he inhales deeply noting the smell of the place, as he scents the air he picks up on the most subtle of aromas. Hay, the bottom most layers of it rotting slowly into the earthen floors, oil- nothing like his own- that is used to feed the metal lanterns which light the cavernous space. Warm cider and bitter ale, if he remembers correctly under a few large folds of canvas over the hay that reeked of Enoch is a trap door that leads to a cellar full of kegs upon kegs of the beverages. Something is decaying in the corner of the room, his eyes only pick up a small furry lump, a rat perhaps that had been caught by Enoch in his cat skin. He picked up on other scents to, the building reeked of satisfaction. Everything smelled distinctly like molasses, the calling card for a pleased Enoch, but under it was a tinge of worry. Enoch had been fretting in here over something recently. The stench of a worried lord of plenty suddenly hit him in a wave.
"What's wrong Hope-eater?" His voice is hushed and the maypole leans forward doubling over to be closer to the Beast's face. Truly, Enoch was the only one who could dwarf him. He who stood at nearly eight feet tall, dwarfed. Humph.
"I've come to ask a favor harvest lord." Enoch tilted his head, a favor? It was unlike the forest wanderer to request anything from him, the Beast hated being in debt to any one, it made him venerable. This must be important, in a lilting tone he responded.
"Hmmm?"
"I need you to watch my lantern." had Enoch been human his mouth would have gaped. As he processed the sentence which danced about his head like a child's nursery rhyme, the Beast hooked his lantern which hung from his proud antlers with his claws. Gently gracing it off of his antlers the prince of paradice found the lantern, the dark lantern, thrust into his ribbons. The Beast could feel the confusion and worry rolling off his companion.
"Enoch please, I need you to guard it with your life," As his ribbons coiled around the metal of the lantern not completely understanding, the Beast must have taken his holding of the lantern as an acceptance of the task. "Do not leave it out in your barn, do not give it to one of your Pottsfeilders, do not leave it with anyone," In the Beast's voice was a tinge of something he had never heard in his neighbor's voice, pleading. "Please, don't let it out of your sight." Enoch nodded deftly.
"Do not give it back to me, until I sing you my lantern song." Enoch looked down at the dark creature dumbly. From the shaggy cloak the Beast wore he produced two mason jars full of a thick black viscus liquid. Edelwood oil. "This should last a few weeks, keep the lantern lit, if you don't..." He trailed off however it did not matter, Enoch knew what it meant. "If I'm not back to claim the lantern by the time you run out of oil... crush twigs from the edelwood tree on the west border to make more oil.
Before Enoch could respond to the Beast's pleas his companion had pried his barn door open and peered into the darkness beyond before shutting the door.
"Do you mind if I exit through your loft?" Enoch nodded dumbly and watched his companion leap nimbly into the loft and pulled open the window opposite that of the barn door. The dark figure's cloak bellowed up as he hopped down gracefully and disappeared into the night.
Enoch did not take the show of trust lightly, deep in the fabric of his ribbons two ribbons curled tightly around the wrought metal frame of the lantern. An eerie light shown from him when the sun began to go down, a cold light but as the days began to pass and the Pottsfeilders had stopped questioning him about the strange light. Slowly the golden sun began to slip below the horizon, bathing Pottsfeild in golds and oranges. Before casting a crimson shadow on the land and beginning to fade into a blue night. The moon slowly crept up into the sky, a half closed eye in the sky that watched over the land.
Enoch hummed and sung softly short ditties and rhymes as he passed over his land. He drifted between buildings, on nights like these he would shed his maypole body and waltz in the moonlight in his cat skin. However since being entrusted with the Beast's lantern he had taken to roaming in his much more massive and easily strongest, form. The sky was still faint enough that he could see vague outlines of shadows in his land. Most of his Pottsfeilders were tucked away in their beds or ready by the fire place. His land emitted contentedness, or as the Beast would say, reeked of it. He turned his gaze to the fields, the corn was coming up nicely as were the pumpkins, the other vegetables were having a rough year. However there were a few graves that seemed ready to turn. He turned his head to look over the dirt field filled with graves.
The field was littered with scare crows to discourage the vultures and rodents from digging up the dead prematurely. Thankfully the slightly terrifying amount of dead animals that he suspected the Beast left at their borders usually kept the grave robbers at bay. From dead birds and rodents strung up in the trees, to giant fish- as tall as a man- a long slash along the fish's stomach so that its intestines spilled out onto the dirt, and a suspicious amount of half rotted deer and wolf skulls the Beast's 'gifts' were much appreciated as they kept the scavengers away from the resting dead. However one of the figures made him pause.
Two antlers extended from the silhouette but the glowing orbs that belonged to the Beast were absent, perhaps his companion was facing the woods. This slight warning was ignored by the over joyed Enoch who longed to make sure his friend was alright and return his lantern to the care of the man who owned it. Swiftly covering the fields he soon realized something was wrong. The Beast didn't move, the Beast always turned to greet him or tilted his head or made some noise in acknowledgement. He knows he cant sneak up on the Beast, his companion sense of scent was uncanny. However he supposed it would have to be in order to smell hope.
He drew up short a few yards away from his friend. Enoch almost always initiated their conversations, the Beast wasn't very talkative but sometimes Enoch knew not to talk. This was not one of those times however, this time Enoch felt there was something distinctly wrong with his companion. Slowly shifting closer he realized he had been tricked. one of the scarecrows had been altered. Two deer antlers had been shoved into the head of the scarecrow, they were blood splattered as if they had been ripped off the stag's head.
A rustling sound in the dirt made him turn. A figure crouched in the dark on all fours its face tilted to look up at him. It was a dark shadow of a figure like the Beast, it looked as though it had been coated in ice, chunks of slush and dripped of the shadowy form but it's icy armor, despite dripping, doesn't seem to melt. It's 'antlers' were just buds of dark color blooming from it's head.
But its eyes.
They were the most unsettling thing. The Beast had big white eyes that were dead light, like pinpricks of brightness that refused to radiate out to the world. Like two twin moons in the dark sky that made up the shadow skin the Beast wore over his oiled wood. However the eyes of this would be winter warden were dead. Like a lantern that someone forgot to light.
It stared not at him but at the light that moved between his weaving ribbons. It stared like a hungry predator and he could suddenly feel it. The hunger that radiated from it, gnashing, it was more like the Beast than it seemed. But it did not hunger for hope it hungered for the light he held.
It launched itself at him ripping through his ribbons in the writhing green of his tendrils. It snapped and ripped and tore them clawing up to where his two tendrils held the dark lantern. In a panic Enoch wrapped every ribbon he could spare around the body and tried to fling it from him. The creature was successfully pulled from the lantern but remained snagged in his ribbons and clawed its way back. He snapped off chunks of ice but it seemed not to dent the armor of the creature wore.
Enoch didn't know what to do and in a panic he did the only thing that seemed logical, and probably the only thing that saved the lantern.
The god of skins was aptly named, he shucked his skins as easily as one could shuck corn. Despite this power he usually roamed as a black cat or as the maypole, only occasionally would he take the form of a mouse or a hare. However now he could only take one form that would allow him to flee from the creature tearing his body to shreds.
The two ribbons wrapped around the lantern's handle became the talloned feet of a crow that clutched tightly the metal. The fabric of his head folded off of his new form. Pitch colored wings flapped wildly to free itself from the orange fabric. A caw of panic escaped its beak as it tried to escape from both the being trying to grab the lantern and his former skin. Lighting into the sky the crow flew back towards Pottsfeild its ebony form silhouetted against the moon.
The creature tears at his maypole form still crumpled on the ground. It realizes that its lost its prize and growls tearing at the fabric in anger. Slowly it sits back on it's haunches looking for its quarry but Enoch is already tucked in his barn reaching to find another form somewhere that he can use to guard the lantern. The creature in the fields gnashes its teeth and claws against the ground impatiently. When it realizes it lost its prey on this hunt it slinks back into the woods.
The next time Enoch exits the barn its in his raven form, the lantern held against his feathers he recruits some of the Pottsfeilders to weave him another body, they find the ruins of his former skin torn to shreds in the field. They don't ask questions, it doesn't matter, he wouldn't answer anyway.
He doesn't see the creature for four days.
The next time he notices something is amiss in his land its when Timothy Grey came running from the fields saying that there was a fight in the cornfields. Enoch had no idea whom would be fighting, there had been no one new in his lands for many months and none of his Pottsfeilders stirred up trouble if they could help it.
The dead man wont approach the field, he shook his head and refused when Enoch offered to let him come along. There's something in the way he does it that unnerves Enoch. The cornfield sits between the forest and stretches three acers, its still a part of the heart of autumn when he tastes the winter in the air. As if the queen of the clouds had let the north wind out to play among the stalks of corn, and that was a mad thought. For as much as the queen of the clouds hated the Beast the north wind loved him. Winds were fickle creatures they obeyed no one, except the queen of the skies, but the north wind was unlike its companions. The north wind dwelt in the winter wood stirring dead leaves and breathing cold air into the winter land.
It obeyed the Beast. The wind howled around him dragging his streamers forward as if the wind desperately wanted him to solve the problem.
He saw them before they saw him. Two figures grappling in the dirt, slashing, growling, and snapping at one another. One dark as shadow, the other the pure night encased in ice. The Beast and the creature. The snarled at each other, ripping at each other. The one covered in ice froze. It's head went up and wet snuffling sounds could be heard as the creature scented the air. The Beast froze in turn, both turned heads in unison and their eyes fell on Enoch, and the lantern wrapped in his ribbons.
The ice covered monster launched itself at him, only to be grabbed by his neighbor. The Beast made a sound he had never heard his companion make before. It was a growl deep from his chest that reverberated through the dirt and the land. The two lashed at each other as the creature tries to stumble to Enoch.
In a feat of pure strength the creature covered in ice threw the Beast who landed hard in the dirt, corn stalks bend and snap beneath the wooden frame. The Beast does not get up.
Enoch throws the creature to the ground when it reaches him. His tendrils wrap around it's limbs, the ice cracks under his sheer strength. The creature's body trembles as he rips its arm off.
It lets out a sound, a shriek that makes the land quake, the harvest god pulls back out of surprise and the creature lunges in his moment of weakness to grab the lantern. The Beast moves, faster than Enoch's eyes can follow the Beast is on his feet, one hand out cast as if to catch the figure. The Beast's voice reverberates through the air causing the North wind to quiver and still.
"Stop." The command is simple, his voice deep and hypnotic. The North wind stills, hanging in the air like a blanket cast upon them all. Enoch freezes, and the creature freezes. Its eyes widen and twitch, its trying to move.
Enoch knows the stories. The Asal Weala, incorrectly translated to the pied piper. Correctly translated: the antlered one. Beast had instilled his will onto the creature, forcing it to obey his will, to serve him. The creature was no longer a creature of hunger, of anger, of winter, its only purpose... to obey. The Beast takes long strides and grabs the creature by its buds of antlers and drags the creature back through the cornfield to the forest. He looks over his shoulder to where the harvest god is still and Enoch sees something pass through his neighbor's eyes. A glint of something he had never seen in the Beast's eyes. Malevolent glee, and deep in his soul Enoch knew that that creature covered in ice... was going to suffer a fate worse than death.
He stays there, the north wind stirs his tendrils gently like a dog trying to get its master to move, nosing at it's owner's leg. Enoch slowly drifts back over the fields back to his town. He doesn't say anything to Timothy Grey, he doesn't need to. He isn't quite sure of what he just witnessed, if not a king defending his throne.
He locks himself in his barn, dead bolting the door and turning his great head to watch the hayloft window. He watches the window for many hours.
The sun retires and the moon rises, her cold light bathing the land as the stars twinkle in laughter. He can see movement at the edge of the forest. A creature moves from the forest over the fields. Enoch does not question it's identity, he can tell who it is by the broad antlers and cold disks of light. A song rises like a plague digging into his head.
"Burning brightly, one small lamp of oil burned eight days and nights..." The song drifts over the land. His neighbor sings it up until he pushes open Enoch's barn doors. He stops and inclines his head to the lord of the dead.
"Thank you harvest lord." He reaches out and Enoch offers the lantern which is taken by dark clawed hands.
His companion exits silently and Enoch feels a growing feeling of dread that perhaps he has just made a grave mistake.The north wind whispers through the air before rushing out to join its master.
Enoch watches the retreating figure.
The next morning something is strung up in his ribbons, as if someone snuck in and tied it up when he was in a trance of singing: the closest thing he got to sleep.
One of his ribbons had been thrown over the rafter, a loose noose tied in the end of it and in it the neck of a woman. Her dead eyes stare at the ground through a sheen of ice that covered her body. Dark shadows drip from the ice as it melts.
Enoch feels a smile creep upon his fabric face.
"How kind of you to leave me your leftovers." He murmurs without turning around to see the figure he knows is crouched in the rafters like a giant crow.
"I apologize for not staying to chat last night, I was still a bit... frazzled." Enoch laughs at that statement. "When I returned you were distracted."
The sit in silence.
"Thank you."
"Your welcome."