Wilding

5. 1

1

Fort Spring, Northern Alberta, Canada.

Thomas walked into the quickening wind, snow pellets stinging his face. True to form, Halloween was bringing not only small ghosts and goblins, but the first snow of the season. The cold made him glad for the sweatshirt he wore beneath his jean jacket.

Twilight shadows lengthened around him as children’s voices calling trick or treat rang faintly from the houses that ringed the scrubby field. He walked across the field, parallel to the thick tangle of trees that bordered its east side. He hunched his shoulders against the bitter wind, trying to calculate the benefits of selling his house. It would provide the money to go back to his university studies, which had been interrupted by his mother’s death.

Tommo, don’t give up. Promise me. His mother’s voice ghosted through his mind, his memory flashing back to that night two months ago when she lay against the pillow, fragile as a bird, her bones showing stark against the thin translucent skin of her face. But her eyes held his, bright blue and shining with fever. Stay in school. Please.

He had promised her, of course he had, but when she died the next day, the promise died with her. What did it matter, anyway? Who really cared what he did? His father had died a long time ago, his brother was on the road again. A long-haul trucker couldn’t keep his rig off the road for long.

Danny wanted him to join him. Maybe he should. Get out of this town, away from the memories, the sadness. It was mighty tempting. But he had to deal with the house first, and decide about school. He sighed, his breath a cloud in the cold air. He didn’t much care about school anymore. Truth be told, he didn’t much care about anything.

A movement in his peripheral vision distracted him. A deer—a buck, sporting magnificent antlers, stepping out from the trees. Deer were plentiful in the surrounding wilderness. It wasn’t unusual to see one in town, drawn by flowers or gardens or the tender shoots of trees.

But this one glowed with a shimmery white radiance. He stopped to study it. Albino? Can’t be. Probably the early evening light playing tricks on his eyes. The deer lifted its head, scenting the breeze, its rack perfectly symmetrical.

Suddenly two dark shapes detached from the bushes at the far corner of the field behind the deer. A couple of kids? But they moved too fast to be children. Too smoothly. And the shape wasn’t right. Human-like, but not quite.

What…? Thomas barely registered their presence before they were upon him. Hard hands grabbed his arms, sparking an immediate flood of sensations.

You are ours…come with us…you will obey…

They wanted to make Thomas theirs, to compel his obedience, to take him. He staggered and would have fallen but for their hands—claws?—holding him upright, their triumph singing through him. Their satisfaction matched a quick rising eagerness within him to obey. A shuddering horror at the thought blasted through him, breaking the siren song of desire.

“Jesus!” The scream tore out of him instinctively, and with it, Thomas’ will returned. He wrenched away with no thought but to escape, launching into a desperate run. He saw a flash of white: the deer, jumping into the trees.

Thomas veered towards the shelter of those trees as well, feeling the creatures at his back, gaining on him now, their eagerness for him beating against him. His feet faltered, the desire to turn and surrender welling up within him again. Jesus! He reached the woods and plunged into the trees, thinking only to hide, his breath harsh in his ears.

And then everything went black.

The harsh croaks of ravens brought Thomas to awareness. His head pounded with thudding pain. He cracked his eyes open, immediately squinting against the bright light.

Daytime. He was outside. He could smell smoke. My head…. The pain made it hard to focus, the stabbing light made it worse. He squeezed his eyes shut again, lying still, trying to pull his scattered thoughts together. What happened?

Nothing. He couldn’t remember anything.

Panic seized him. His eyes flew open again, barely registering a blue sky, trees. He tried to sit up, but the motion brought dizziness on top of the thundering pain. He sank down again, groaning, nausea flooding through him.

“Ah, you are awake.”

Thomas twisted around, his heart bolting into double time.

A man half-knelt beside him. He had a strong face, framed by long dark hair streaked with a bit of grey. A faint scar marred his chin, while another rose from the corner of one eyebrow to disappear into the hair at his temple. “Careful, boy. Rest easy. All is well. You’ve hit your head, but you are safe.” He spoke with a lilting accent that sparked a fleeting sense of recognition, a memory that surfaced but quickly disappeared.

Safe? Do I know him?

He wore a hooded brown cloak edged with blue and red embroidery, fastened at the neck by a swirling silver brooch, and a long deep blue shirt belted at the waist. Thin leather straps crisscrossed on the man’s lower legs.

A memory sparked. He had been walking home, crossing Parker’s Field. Halloween….

He’s wearing a costume. Thomas strained at the flickering memory, but it winked out. He gave up in frustration, looking around him for more clues, his queasy stomach protesting with the movement.

Behind the stranger, a small campfire burned. The trees surrounding them spread branches blazing with autumnal glory, but something was off. The ones bounding Parker’s Field had pretty much lost their leaves—it was the end of October, after all. And even before they lost them, those leaves were all gold, not this riot of orange, red, and bronze.

“Where am I?” His voice sounded hoarse and raw, as if he had been screaming. Another flash of memory sparked, but again it snuffed out before he could chase it down.

The man frowned. “You make no sense, boy. Do you not understand me?”

“Of course I do,” Thomas rasped. But the man’s frown deepened. “Where am I?” he tried again, slowly and with more enunciation.

The puzzled look on the other man’s face cleared. “Ah. You speak strangely, to be sure. But now I understand.” The man fell silent, his dark brown eyes wary. “I saw you running last night.”

Flashes of memory accompanied the man’s words. Halloween. Walking home from…where? A face appeared in his mind: Dave. Yes. He had gone to the church to talk to his friend, the young pastor. On the way home, he had taken the shortcut across the field….

His thoughts stuttered to a halt. There was a yawning black hole between that last memory and waking up here.

“Who are you? I don’t know what happened. I don’t know where I am.” He heard the thin edge to his voice and clamped his mouth shut.

“I am the Lord Celyn of Bebbanburg. We are a few days’ travel from there.” His gaze swept over Thomas. “Do you not remember?”

Thomas eyed the man, fear rising within him like a black tide. None of this made sense. Did he crack me on the skull and kidnap me?

He had to get out of here. He pushed himself onto his elbows, but his surroundings swooped around him and his stomach lurched. He fell back.

“Be careful. You must lie still.”

Thomas wasn’t buying the man’s concern. “I don’t have any money, if that’s what you want.” Which was true. His heart sank. He’d even left his cell phone at home because the battery had died. He’d have to talk his way out of this if he could.

Irritation flashed across the man’s face. “You fell and hit your head on a rock. I brought you here, away from the road. You have been senseless since.”

A raven quorked above him, splitting the forest’s silence, and with it, another dawning realization: it was too quiet here. Parker’s Field was bordered on three sides by roads. He should be able to detect some traffic noise, but there was none of that—only the occasional bird and the rustle of the leaves from the slight breeze.

I brought you here, away from the road. The guy must have taken him into the untamed wilderness that surrounded Fort Spring, just a short drive away from the town. But why?

“What do you want?” he croaked, horrible possibilities opening in his mind, revolving around thoughts of psychopathic killers.

“Calm yourself, boy.” The man’s accent became stronger as his ire rose. Scottish? No, not quite. Again, a memory skittered around the edge of Thomas’ mind, but the man continued to speak, distracting him. “Think you! If I had meant to harm you, I would have left you there for—” He stopped, his jaw bunching, and exhaled through his nose. “You are safe,” he repeated.

Another revelation tickled around the void in Thomas’s mind. “Left me?” As soon as he spoke, his memory snapped back with crystal-cold clarity. The deer, those creatures—

The twin sensations of disgust and desire that he had felt at their appearance flooded through him again, and with a cry Thomas shoved himself upright, with no thought but to escape. But his stomach flipped, everything around him spun, and he fell away once again into darkness.