The Gathandrian Trilogy 01 - The Gifting

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    When he wakes, there’s a glimmer of light in the patches of sky visible through the trees and at first he doesn’t know what he’s doing here, or even where here is. Then the memory springs to life again.
    As he breathes in and tries to calm his thoughts, a low snarl pierces Simon’s senses. He glances down. His leg is dangling from the nest he has made. It must have slipped during the night. Mere inches from his naked foot, a wolf’s breath scorches his skin, its red eyes glittering up at him. His blood must have attracted it after all.
    Simon can’t help it. He screams and scrabbles upwards. But the wild movement dislodges him from the refuge and he tumbles headlong to the earth. His body hits moss and broken branches, and the rough coat of the wolf. The animal yowls and dances away for too brief a time.
    In that time, Simon knows his throat is too constricted to scream again and his limbs too feeble to run. Not that running now will save him. As the wolf snarls once more, baring its teeth and crouching for the kill, he imagines he will die here. There is no other hope. As he waits, frozen, for death, he hears other rustlings amongst the trees to the side, and realises that his killer does not travel alone. Its mate, too, is waiting.
    Silent now, the wolf prepares to leap. Simon’s mouth opens and this time he can scream. Almost at once, the trees nearest him explode and another shape rushes into the open. A man.
    The wolf leaps. The man—a soldier—catches the movement and half-turns, but he’s too late. Sharp, unforgiving teeth sink into the white flesh of his neck and ribbons of blood gush out. They arch like strange snakes through the dawn light and lace everything crimson—the leaves, the grass, the soldier’s fallen sword, and Simon. Man and wolf crash to the ground, the wolf on top. Simon hears a brief, strangled cry, a gurgle and then silence.
    Of it all, it’s the silence that pushes him into action. He stumbles to his feet, unable to care whether the wolf sees him or not. Without looking back, he limps away, dry sobs wracking his throat. The sound of low growls and flesh tearing from bone follows him for a long, long time.
    When at last Simon exits the woods and crosses the cattle-fields towards the marshlands, the sun is already beginning the full morning. Shivering and caked with blood, he staggers and crawls his way to the edge of the marshes. There he finds the nearest stream and falls onto his knees in it. He tears off his overshirt and plunges himself and it into the cooling, cleansing water.
    Afterwards, he lays the shirt onto stones, lies back and waits for the sun to dry them both.
    He spends the rest of the day either sleeping or foraging for food, picking berries from the marsh willows and once, in the afternoon, being lucky enough to catch a small fish. Eating it raw, as he has no means to make fire, it turns his stomach. He is also careful to keep near the marsh to avoid being noticed by any field labourer. But all that day, no one comes near. It isn’t unexpected; the people farm as close to the village as possible. Some say the marshlands teem with spirits, especially at night, but Simon sees none.
    Later, when the sun is well on its journey towards the distant mountains, he begins the long trek home. The fields are easy, as they are empty of life. It is only as he approaches the woods that his pace slows. He takes the path along the edge for fear of the wolves; they rarely venture near the open.
    The evening is cooler than the previous night. A soft wind stirs the trees so they seem to whisper and bend towards him, and the sky sparkles with young stars. It takes him three stories’ lengths to arrive at a place where he can glimpse the village, and by then night has reached almost its full darkness. Once or twice he comes across small groups of labourers returning home, but he hides amongst the trees and goes unnoticed.
    Now he gazes towards the village, and it has never seemed so distant. The light of hearth fires flickers through the windows of the dwellings closest to the wood, and Simon catches the scent of roasting meat on the breeze. It makes his mouth water and his stomach rumble. Families will be eating together soon. Later the children will sleep and the parents and older folk will gather at the well to talk and tell stories. Stories of their lives, what has happened to them in the heat of the day. Stories of the past too, tales of their ancestors and the