Kieran Faces the Ghost of His Brother
1061 Words
It was too quiet in the woods. Kieran hated that kind of silence. It wasn’t the peaceful kind; it was the kind that made your skin crawl and your ears strain to hear anything out of place. The pale moonlight covered the trees, their branches tangled down. The only sound was the faint crunch of the ground beneath his boots.
His other hand rested lightly on the claw marks scratched into a nearby tree, and he adjusted his grip on the hilt of the blade at his side. Fresh enough to make his instincts flare, they were deep and jagged. Crouched low, sniffing the air, he did. It lingered sourly, faintly, just decay's smell, and it grated on his teeth. This was wrong.
Gaining his feet, his blue eyes, sharp as a dagger, glinted at the perimeter. He’d been patrolling the borders of the haven for hours since the wards flickered and the whispers of Elder Theron’s disappearance spread. The air was so tense it was suffocating, and it didn’t help his job.
He muttered under his breath, shaking his head as he walked on, “You’re imagining things.” “Keep moving.”
He didn’t believe it deep down. He could feel something in his gut; something was being watched, and something was lurking off in the distance, out of sight. He could feel it, his skin tingling, his ear twitching at the faintest rustle. It was the same feeling he’d had that night, years ago, the night he’d lost Liam.
It hit him hard in the memory, like a punch to the chest. He could still see his younger brother’s face, wide-eyed and frozen in fear as the rogues came down on them. He’d been right there. Close enough to save him. And yet—
Kieran clenched his jaw and pushed the thought away. Tonight was no time for ghosts. He had a job to do.
It grew darker, the forest thicker with trees and the air colder the deeper into the Ironhowl territory he went. Ahead, he sighted a den, its entrance gaping mouth like open. His gut twisted. It smelled stronger here, sour and wrong.
Kieran drew his blade and slowly approached. The tangled roots and loose stones fought to make a scuff or two from his boots. At the entrance, he crouched and peered inside. However, the walls were in tatters, and no den animals were inside the house. Claw marks lined the walls as if a wild animal had thrashed around in a frenzy.
He murmured, running his fingers along one mark, “What happened here?” The edges were sharp, fresh enough to make his stomach turn.
Inside, shredded leaves and clumps of fur lay scattered about the ground. There was something in the moonlight... a glint of some sort... maybe of metal? It was too dull, too twisted, no. His fingers brushed against the strange, blackened shard, and he reached for it. Even through his gloves, it felt cold.
He froze at a sudden sound. He could hear it, and it was faint, almost too soft to catch—you could feel it go down your spine—a voice.
“Kieran…”
His blood turned to ice. He turned around, his blade up, but the den was clear. It hadn’t come from inside.
“Kieran… help me…”
He staggered back, his heart pounding. It couldn’t be. He knew that voice. He’d tried to forget it for years. He was trying to bury it.
He whispered so that if Liam heard, he wouldn't be able to listen to who called him.
The silence stretched like a heavy weight; the forest was still again. Kieran’s hands shook, and his blade trembled a little in his grip. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. Liam was gone. He’d seen him fall and felt his brother’s blood on his hands. That was not coming back from.
The voice came again but softer. “Help me…”
Before he could think, Kieran’s legs moved, carrying him toward the sound; he pushed through the trees, with his breath coming fast and sharp, branches clawing at his arms as if they were trying to keep him back. He didn’t care. He had to see. He had to know.
The voice took him further into the woods, beyond the Ironhowl border, and into the shadowed edge of the haven. Here, the trunks of trees grew thick and warped and gnarled. Every step seemed to weigh heavier than the last because of the soft, almost spongy ground.
“Kieran…”
His chest heaving, he stopped short. It was close now, just over the subsequent rise. The familiar warmth of his brother’s presence, something that was a sort of power, tugged at him. He didn’t care; it made little sense. He had to see him—just one more time.
He crested the hill, but when he got to the top, his breath caught. He stopped in his tracks at the sight before him.
Fire had swept through, tearing apart the soil below, blackening and scorching it. Their branches reached toward the ground like broken limbs; the trees were twisted and bent. Tracks—massive, clawed tracks—led straight toward the haven and at the center of it all.
His chest tightened, and he swallowed hard. The tracks weren’t natural. They were too big, too deep, and they smelled the same sour, decaying smell that had hung in the den.
“Kieran…”
Again, the voice came, softer now, almost a whisper. It was so close it sounded like it was right behind him. He turned around, blade raised, but there was nothing—only the trees and the darkness and the heavy silence crashing down on him.
His breath came in shallow gasps; his grip tightened on his blade’s hilt. The tracks were going back to the haven. Whatever had been here was going home.
He whispered his name, his voice breaking. “What’s happening?”
Cold and unyielding silence answered him. Kieran took a shaky step back and looked from the tracks to the shadowed woods. He didn’t know what was real and what wasn’t anymore, what was his mind bending him over, and what was the truth.
But one thing was sure: Whatever made those tracks was incomplete. It would not stop until it reached the haven.
- Writer
