Chapter Two
Flickering images scampered across John's consciousness, like dappled sunlight through the thick spring leaves of an old oak tree. Each was fleeting, coming and going before he could grab hold and cling to it tightly, using it as leverage to assure his unconscious mind of its wellbeing. Trying to hold them captive was like trying to cup water in his hands, no matter how tightly his fingers cupped themselves around the cool liquid, it always trickled through and escaped.
Visions of Harry, years ago before he shipped off to the army, her red eyes tight as she pulled him in for a hug. A mental picture of his cabin, with it's old wooden walls and dirty stone floor, the creaky rocking chair and crumbling fireplace. The small pile of blankets in the corner that made up his bed, the chamber pot shoved up against the opposite wall.
His parents tombstones, bereft of flowers, with weeds creeping up on the graves with no one to tend to them. Mike's deceptively cheerful face, smiling over the top of his pint as they sat for dinner every weekend when John went into town for supplies.
And strange, nonsensical things such as a broken cup on the floor of his childhood home, letters carved into a tree, words that he couldn't understand. A bird with a broken wing, hobbling along the side of the river that John used to swim in as a young boy. The first taste of stolen beer on his tongue, and windows longer than he was tall rising up, with the light of the moon so bright upon them that the surface reflected only the images put in front of them, hiding the contents behind them from view.
Then there were more solid memories, such as the faces of his comrades in arms as they sat around a campfire in the wilderness, laughing and telling stories of home. The visions became sharper and more focused, and he was taken through one of their many missions overseas, his body heavy with gear as they trekked through a treacherous forest in enemy territory.
There were the sounds of gunshots and men screaming, voices barking orders and other voices crying and begging helplessly as fingers grabbed at John, digging into him painfully as they gripped him. He tried to shake his head, to pry the hands away from him as he ordered them to be still so he could treat them, but the fingers only held harder. Sharp pains flared all over his body and he cried out, screaming as he jolted to awareness, rising from his prone position to blink at the darkness around him.
He was in a room, a large space, bigger than his entire cabin. The floor and walls were smooth stone, and there were thick bear skins upon the floor. He was sitting on a bed, with cotton blankets stretched over him and a fire roaring soothingly in the fireplace on the other side of the room. John could feel it's heat on his sweat damp skin.
There were no windows, giving John no indication of what time it was, or even what day. Flickering lamps were bracketed to the walls, giving plenty of light to see the skins and artfully woven tapestries decorating the wide stone walls. Depictions of war, of men riding horses into battle and brandishing ancient swords captivated his eye for a few seconds before he tore his gaze away.
For a brief moment he thought someone had brought him to the castle in the city, as surely that was the only place to have rooms as grand as this, but upon remembering the reasons for his current condition, he dismissed the idea.
His head ached fiercely. Gently, he brought his fingers to the wound on the side of his skull, wincing as he felt the dried blood. Another mental check over his body found numerous aches and pains, particularly on his shins and forearms from where he repeatedly fell, with cuts and bruises covering his skin. His clothes were ripped and dirty, with splotches of blood from his wounds.
But though he was thoroughly roughed up, he seemed to be in full working order. Taking another look around, he suddenly wondered who his host was, who had pulled him from the forest floor and taken him into the shelter of their home. Stifling a groan, he pulled the covers back and swung his legs over the side of the bed, setting his feet on the floor tenderly. The stone was clean, clearly regularly swept and treated. There was a plush armchair next to his bed, as though someone had sat and watched him while he slept. The seat was cold. Whoever had been there, had gone long ago.
John took a breath and stood, testing his balance. He swayed momentarily, but remained standing after a moment to right himself. Whoever had brought him to the castle and placed him in bed hadn't bothered to remove his clothes or dress his wounds. Someone without medical knowledge, then?
His boots were silent on the stone as he walked slowly, carefully across the room to it's only door. It was thick and wooden, and swung easily on massive, well oiled hinges. John crept through, taking in the long hallway that stretched out on either side. He must be in a castle! There was no other place it could be, with such grand structure. Wooden beams arched overhead, each bigger around than his torso. More bracketed oil lamps lined the walls, lighting the way down the hall on each side, while woven rugs stretched down it's length. John looked to either side and chose to go left, walking slowly in silence.
Where was everyone? Surely a place so massive and well kept required staff? There must be a servant nearby that he could question. He stubbornly ignored the pounding in his head and the ache of his limbs as he walked, knowing that his condition was not serious. He was most certainly dehydrated, and could benefit from a hot meal, but his vision was clear and his mind was working unhindered. His injuries could wait a little while longer, while he solved the mystery of his location.
There were other doors along the hall, John put his ear to some of them, listening for any noise or suggestion of occupancy, but all were silent. When he rounded a corner and found a wide, curving staircase he gasped at its magnificence, at its wide polished steps and waxed banisters. Cautious and in awe, he started down the staircase in search of someone, anyone, who could answer his questions. When he rounded the stone wall and came to the bottom he could only gape at the elegant landing, the large high ceilings and massive windows, taller than three men combined.
He was drawn to the windows, eager to see the view beyond. The moon shone brightly, from it's position in the sky John assumed that it was very early morning, and that the sun would rise in mere hours. He was still unsure if he had been asleep for half an hour or an entire day.
As he neared the translucent glass, he gasped aloud. The sight before him was stunning, and captivated him completely. The castle was larger, much larger, than he had originally anticipated. He was not in the city as he had briefly suspected. This massive structure put the city castle to shame.
He was on the second floor, or third, it was hard to tell. The high stone walls rose around, towers and parapets rising far above his head. There were obviously more floors above him, and the structure as a whole seemed to go on for over a mile. The dark grey stone and arching windows suggested hundreds of rooms, and that was only what he could see from this side!
The gardens stretched out before the window he looked out of, a neatly manicured lawn gleamed in the light of the bright moon. High walls separated the grounds from the dark forest beyond, the tops of trees going on for miles and miles. John could see no other hint of civilization in the distance.
He stood, transfixed by the sight. Whoever was master of this estate must be someone very important indeed. John felt suddenly insecure at his state of dress, his hand lingering up to the caked blood and grime on the side of his face and head. Surely they would not think poorly of him, after having rescued him from the forest floor?
At the thought, John wondered what became of the beast pursuing him. Was it still out there, hiding in the trees for unsuspecting travelers to wander across it's path? He gazed pensively out at the silent, still forest as he remembered the roar, the painful thudding in the air. A shiver ran over him as he imagined whatever fate he had so unwittingly escaped.
So lost was he in his musings that he almost didn't hear the faint noise from behind. Silent as it was in the cavernous room, the minute sound echoed, thrumming in John's ears and causing a sharp turn about, eyes scanning the gloom as a a cloud passed over the moon, casting him in shadow. There was a hall to his left, opposite the staircase he had descended from. The flickering light of the oil lamps hid any movement, so alive was the light, but John could distinctly hear a subtle noise coming from it's depths.
With a no small amount of caution, and maybe a small amount of fear, he padded silently across the spotless stone floor and into the hallway, listening intently. It was a tinkling noise, as if small pieces of glass were clinking together gently. Someone was moving about, certainly. Perhaps John would finally gain the answers he sought?
There were more door's along the hall, but it was the open door at the end that held his attention so effortlessly. The bright light of a fire coming through the open crack was telling, as was the shadow moving across the beam of light occasionally. John was suddenly nervous, licking dry lips to wet them as he heaved a silent breath to steady himself. His fingers brushed the polished wood of the door and hesitated, then pushed gently. What he saw took his breath away with a rush.
The room was not barren like the one that John had woken in, but full of strange objects and devices that John had no name for. The walls were lined with shelves, full of books and glasses containing various unknown substances. Where there were no shelves, there were papers stuck to the wall, papers with writings and drawings and diagrams that left John baffled.
In the center of the busy room was a long table, on which occupied what seemed to be a chemists set. A tall figure stood with his back to John, facing the fire and tinkering with glass vials on a table the front of him. The man seemed strangely misshapen, with sharp ridges where there should have been softer angles to his form. What at first John thought was wild unkempt hair, he discovered upon closer inspection, seemed to be seemed to be some sort of cap or helmet, covered with spikes and ridges.
He seemed to be clothed, but with the light casting his frame in shadow it was hard to tell. His form was long and lean, with sharp points at this shoulders and accompanied by jerking movements as though he was highly irritated. But it was the noise he made that brought John to pause, voice suddenly seizing in his throat. The growl. That same vicious growl of the creature in the forest.
An arm shot out in a violent outburst, wrecking vials of potions on the table and sending the delicate glass pieces crashing to the floor. John had a mere moment to take in the arm, unnaturally thin and bony, and the hand that completed it, long fingers with supernatural claws tipping their ends, before he let out the gasp that would enable his discovery.
The man, the creature, turned and laid wide, startled eyes upon him. Two pairs of eyes locked in an unrelenting exposure of what was surely never meant to be seen. He was a monster, there was no other word for it. What John had thought was a helmet or headgear of some sort, was simply his head. Instead of hair, there were spikes, made of what appeared to be hard scales, or black bone. His face, wide with what appeared to be horror, was inhumanly shaped. His nose and mouth were slightly elongated, just enough so that at a farther distance he could have been mistaken for a normal man.
The few feet between them did nothing to hide the truth from John. Most of his face seemed pale, the skin of a man, while the edges of his chin and jaw were darker, skin turning hard and reptilian. John could now see that he was indeed clothed, in fine leather trousers and knee high soft souled boots, with a clean white cotton shirt. The stings at his throat were left untied, leaving the hollow of his throat bare to inspection, and John could see that the tentative reptilian skin was not merely on his jaw.
And even as John watched, he changed, becoming more deformed, more monstrous. The spines on his head and the back of his neck became longer and sharper, his claws grew until his hands were scaly appendages straight out of nightmares. His face, now contorted with rage, elongated and his mouth opened in a snarl, baring sharp teeth that no mere human mouth would accommodate.
John turned and attempted to flee, but before he could take two steps the creature was upon him. The hard line of his body pressed against John's back as those impossibly long arms encased him, unweilding as John tried to struggle desperately against his hold. A low growl erupted from the creatures chest, reverberating through John through the close contact. Claws as long as human fingers gripped at him, piercing his shirt as they held him immobile.
John was not willing to give up without a fight, however, and rebelliously continued to struggle. The growl intensified and he was lifted up off of the floor, his feet swinging helplessly as he fought. The creature started to carry him briskly down the hall as John squirmed, grunting with the effort. The arms were like iron bars around him, the claws like knives. In his struggle, he unintentionally pressed into the claws on one hand and they puncture the skin over his ribs, slicing through his flesh like butter. John cried out, tears pricking his eyes at the pain. He only increased his struggle.
The creature was practically running now, down the hall and into another, down a staircase into a darker part of the castle. The lamps were fewer, the air stale. With his arms pinned to his side, John gripped at anything he could, fingers finding little purchase in the cotton shirt or leather trousers his captor wore. He might as well have been pulling at the stone floor for all the good it was doing him.
Eventually John tried to kick out with his feet and his foot collided with the creatures leg, causing a sharp gasp of pain from the monster carrying him. John felt a grim satisfaction and tried to kick out again, only to feel a sharp, excruciating pain in the juncture of his neck and shoulder. Hot, wet heat engulfed the aforementioned area and it took John a moment to realize that the thing was biting him.
Those massive teeth were slicing into his shoulder, right over dangerous arteries and John knew that he if continued to squirm then it would only cause more damage. Damage that might actually kill him. He ceased all his movement, crying out with the pain as the beast held him immobile, like a cat with it's prey.
Only a few more quick strides brought them to a heavy iron door. John blinked blearily through the pain, watching as the monster pushed it open with merely a flick of his wrist. John gasped out as he felt the teeth extract and he was thrown unceremoniously to the cold stone floor. Hot, biting tears of pain spilled over his cheeks and he pushed a hand underneath himself, bringing another to his neck as he turned angrily to the door. Only to find it slamming shut with finality, leaving him alone on the damp dungeon floor.