Disclaimer: The Phantom of the Opera does not belong to me, only my own characters do.
Author's Note: This is a repost of chapter one, but there is only a small technical change. My technical consultant on weapons corrected me (and rightly so) that one does not hack away at trees with a sword. So I have corrected my error, please enjoy.
Phantom of the Glen
Chapter 1 - Lost in the Snow
He stumbled through the heavy blanket of snow that already covered the forest floor. The snowfall became heavier as the night began to settle on the deepening wood. The man stumbled again and this time fell to his knees. He shivered involuntarily and reached out to the nearest tree to use it to get back to his feet.
He staggered a few more steps before falling to the ground again. Erik pushed himself over onto his back. How ironic, he thought looking up into the falling snow, that a creature as monstrous as himself should die in something as beautiful as newly fallen snow. He closed his eyes and felt the flakes land softly on the skin of his face that wasn't covered by his mask. It was strange, but the snow didn't seem as cold as it had bare moments ago.
His eyes snapped open and he shook his head. He must have fallen asleep from exhaustion; he didn't know how long he'd lain in a stupor, but night had now come fully upon the forest. The snow was still falling, though not as heavily anymore. Erik knew that if he was to survive the night he would have to get up and find shelter. He pushed himself up into a sitting position and looked back the way he'd come; his tracks had already been covered by the snow, any pursuers that were left would be hard put to track him now.
The former terror of the Opera Populaire rolled to his knees and made to stand up. His legs, however, lacked the strength to hold him up any longer and he fell into the snow again. Knowing it was certain death to stay on the ground, he crawled on his hands and knees to the nearest tree. Grasping its icy trunk, he used it to haul himself upright. He looked ahead, gauging the distance to the next tree. He lurched forward several steps and fell heavily against the trunk of that tree. Erik was breathing heavily from the effort; his breath came out in a great white cloud that mingled with the falling snow. His chest ached with every breath in, the icy air clawing its way down his throat.
Lifting his head he looked forward to the next tree; it was farther than the one that now supported him. He leaned against the tree for a few moments more, gathering his strength. Then, squaring his shoulders, he pushed off and staggered toward the next one. The distance was too great for his legs to carry him and he fell to the ground again. He lay in the snow for a moment, catching his breath; then after gathering his strength again, he crawled the rest of the way to the next tree. After clawing his way up the trunk Erik clung there, resting his cheek against the rough bark. His strength was at its end and it was a struggle to keep from sliding down the tree and into the snow again.
Suddenly in the quiet of the falling snow he heard footsteps approaching him from behind. So the vicomte and his hired hunters had finally caught up with him, he thought, I wonder if he'll tell Christine of how he pursued me till I dropped from exhaustion. The footsteps stopped thirty paces away and lacking the strength to even turn his head, he waited for the ball or blade that would end his life.
For several long moments all he heard in the silence was his own breathing, then the footsteps moved closer. "Using the blade for a more personal touch Raoul?" he rasped picturing the vicomte drawing his sword. "Be sure to bring my mask back as a trophy of your successful hunt."
"I think you've mistaken me for someone else," the figure behind him said softly.
He raised his head defiantly, "Not even man enough to do it himself, he sends a servant instead."
"Shh, save your strength," the figure said now standing close to him.
Erik managed to turn his head and found himself looking into the eyes of a youth. At least he assumed this was a youth, the eyes were the only feature visible beneath the hood and scarf. Then he felt what he assumed was a blanket or a cloak thrown across his shoulders. The extra weight was too much for his exhausted body and he began to slide down the tree. The youth caught him and lowered him gently to the base of the tree.
Then he heard the youth whistle and saw a horse walk out of the darkness toward them. The youth must either be a wanderer or packing supplies for a master living in the forest from the parcels he saw strapped across the beast's back. Next the youth pulled his own cloak off and wrapped him in it. Then going over to the horse, he drew a fransisca from a sheath on his back. Erik flinched, he knew it, the boy had been sent by Raoul to finish him off. But the expected death blow never came; instead he heard the blade bite into wood. He looked up and saw the youth slicing through young trees and then de-limb them. The trees were dragged over the horse and he watched as the youth began to build a litter for the horse to pull. The horse turned its head toward the youth's activity and then went back to nibbling on some ferns that still poked through the snow.
While watching the youth work, he became drowsy and started to doze off again. He felt himself being shaken, "Wake up," the youth ordered him. "Wake up or you'll die." Erik shook his head to clear the fog from it and started to shiver uncontrollably. Upon seeing that there was still life within him, the youth went back to the horse and the partially constructed litter.
In order to keep himself awake, he intently watched the youth finish the litter and went over in his mind how it was constructed and could be improved upon. Normally he would compose music, but that would remind him of Christine and her still recent and painful betrayal. He was having a hard time calculating how much time had passed, but the youth finished the litter and came back to help him to it. The youth crouched next to him and ran his left arm under Erik's, then as he braced himself against the tree, the youth helped him rise to his feet again. After waiting a few moments for him to become steady on his feet, the youth's arm dropped down to his waist and he circled behind to his right side. Keeping one arm around his waist, the youth slowly walked him over to the waiting horse and litter. He was let down onto the litter as gently as possible.
Erik lay back on the bed of springy pine boughs as the youth went back to retrieve the blanket and traveling cloak. He returned and covered him again with first the cloak and then the blanket. Then the youth strapped on a pair of snowshoes before taking the horse's bridle and leading them deeper into the forest at a brisk pace.
Time passed and in his current state, it was impossible for him to tell how much. The trees had now opened up into a clearing, the center of which was occupied by a stone and timber home, barn and several outbuildings he couldn't identify. The youth went directly to the barn and only paused long enough to open the doors wide enough for the horse to pass through with the litter.
The inside of the barn was dark, but he could hear many animals within its warm confines. Light suddenly began to fill the barn as the youth lit several lanterns. He watched the youth hang the final lantern and then come back to him. The blanket and cloak were pulled off and the youth pulled him to his feet again. He was walked over to a pile of hay and let down on it. Then he was covered with a dry blanket. "I've got to tend to the animals, then I'll bring you inside and get you warmed up," the youth stated going back to the horse.
He was more than surprised when the youth removed his cap and scarf to reveal an unruly mane of honey colored hair that reached halfway to his or rather her waist. Next the heavy coat was removed from a lithe feminine form. His eyes widened in shock; what he had assumed to a youth on the verge of manhood was indeed a woman of indeterminate age and a very strong one at that. Erik watched her intently as she moved methodically around the barn tending first the pack horse and then to the other animals within. He counted 4 horses, 3 cows, an unknown number of sheep, geese, and chickens, and two dogs; both of whom came over to sniff him and then lick his unmasked cheek.
"They like you, that's a good sign," the woman said standing over him. "Let's get you inside then." She had donned her coat again and crouched down in front of him, "Take my hands and I'll pull you up."
He grasped her warm hands and marveled at the ease of which she pulled him to his feet. Then she draped a dry cloak around his shoulders and led him to the smaller entry door to the barn. As they walked out into the cold again, he saw that it had finally stopped snowing and the moon was out bright and clear. "This way," she urged, steering him toward the house. Gently she walked him to the door and up the steps.
Once inside, she brought him over to a chair which he sat on gratefully. Then kneeled in front of him and removed his boots and socks. "Can you feel this?" she asked, lightly running a finger along the underside of his bare foot. Erik's foot twitched and he nodded. "And this?" she asked doing the same to his other foot. He nodded again and felt himself start to shiver uncontrollably.
"Right then," she said standing, "time to get that wet coat off you." She then removed the cloak she'd placed around him and hung it on a rack nearby. "Lean forward and I'll pull your coat off," she instructed. He did so and she pulled the frock coat off his shoulders.
"Now," she said pulling a stool in front of him, "give me your hands." She took his right hand and carefully peeled off the wet glove. Then moving a lamp closer to the edge of the table she scrutinized his hand for signs of frostbite. After several long minutes, she did the same with his left hand. "You're lucky, no frostbite on your hands or feet. Now let's take a look under that mask," she explained moving her hand up to remove the mask that covered the right side of his face.
"No, don't!" Erik snapped, his eyes flashing and hand coming up to block hers.
"I just want to make sure you haven't gotten frostbitten under that," she said patiently.
"I can't, you wouldn't be able to bear the sight this mask covers," he replied pulling back from her.
"Doubtful, I've tended men who've had their faces torn off. What ever you look like under there is not going to frighten or repulse me."
Minutes passed silently as Erik looked at her, trying to gauge what her reacting would be to his unmasked face. "Very well," he nodded and closing his eyes, removed his mask and set it upon the table. He sat there waiting for a scream of fear, a gasp of shock, or some sound of revulsion. Those sounds never came, instead he felt the warmth of a lamp brought near his face and a gentle hand turned the marred side toward the light of the lamp.
"You're very lucky indeed, not a trace of frostbite that I can find," she said sitting back. "And as for your face, yes, I've seen much, much worse."
Erik nodded and then asked, "May I have it back on now?"
"Of course if you're more comfortable wearing it, though I'd prefer you left it off till you're warmed up completely," she said handing the mask back to him. "I'm going to get some sheets to dry you off more. See if you can manage to get out of some more of those wet clothes."
She returned to find him in his trousers and shirt with the cloak wrapped around his shoulders again. "Here you are," she said putting a pile of sheets on the table next to him. "I'm going to bring the fire up in the next room, come in when you've dried off better."
He nodded again and picked up the top sheet, unfolded it and began to vigorously dry his wet hair. Then he removed his cotton shirt and dried his chest and back off. A second sheet was used to pull most of the remaining water from his wool trousers. He took a third sheet and after wrapping it around his shoulders, went into the room he saw his strange rescuer enter.
"You certainly look better," the woman remarked as she pulled an ornate metal screen over the mouth of the fireplace. Then after standing again, "My name is S'ray and you are?"
"Erik," he answered simply after taking a moment to consider his answer.
"Please, sit down," she said motioning to a chair that had been pulled close to the fire.
"Thank you again," he replied eloquently as he took the offered seat.
"I'm guessing you're the man that rich idiot at the Inn was hunting tonight," S'ray said sitting in the chair opposite him.
"Yes, "he answered. "And as soon as my clothes are sufficiently dry, I shall leave so as to not endanger you any further."
"Endanger me?" she laughed. "That's very gallant of you, but it is the vicomte and his men who will be in danger if they dare venture this far into my forest."
"Your forest?" he asked raising his left eyebrow.
"My forest," she stated confidently and with the same air he used to refer to the Opera Populaire as his opera. "Are you hungry?"
"Very," he replied remembering that he hadn't eaten these past three days.
"I'll be back shortly," she said getting up and going back to the kitchen. "Don't bother being polite and rising when I do, you need to rest now instead."
After she'd gone to get some food, he leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes to think. S'ray was an intriguing woman, he wondered especially about the statement that the forest was hers. He settled farther back into the chair, relaxed by the warmth of the fire and the low lighting of what he assumed was her main room. The chair was comfortable and he was so weary. The phantom pulled the sheet snugly about his shoulders and yawned. He would rest with his eyes closed for just a bit longer while he waited for S'ray to return with some food. But before she could return, he drifted off into a deep sleep.
Next Chapter 2 - Good Morning Monsieur Phantom!
