I meant to update yesterday, but then I was at the baseball field all day. We have the college world series tournament here ever spring, so we went to watch some games. My favorite teams lost, and it rained, but it was fun anyway. More to the point, thank you to Faye Dartmouth for beta reading and to anyone out there who's reading. I'd love to know what you think.
Chapter Three "Into the Darkness"
Cutter wakes because he's cold. For a second, he thinks he's on a camping trip with Stephen, and he wonders how he was coerced into that. Then he remembers. He's in the past. He has to go fight a prehistoric bear. He was dead yesterday. Or whenever that was.
He opens his eyes and sees the dimly lit hall. Light seeps in through cracks in the plank walls. The fire has died completely, and Cutter realises the other reason he woke. There is movement to his right, and he turns to see that Stephen is already up, and someone has left fresh clothes for them.
Cutter watches, mesmerised for a moment by the latticework of scars across Stephen's back and arms. Even though his t-shirt hadn't accomplished much as shredded as it was, the effect was even more striking without it. Thankfully, Cutter realises he's staring before Stephen turns around.
"This feels like sandpaper," Stephen says as he pulls the rough brown tunic over his head.
"I'd say it's an improvement," Cutter replies, sitting up from his position on the floor.
"I don't think I'll be taking my fashion cues from Medieval trends."
"I don't think you take fashion cues from anywhere."
"It's not as if giant prehistoric bears care what I'm wearing."
Cutter stands and reaches for his shoes. "No, but people do, and you said yourself, you looked frightful."
"I said we looked frightful. I was thinking more the creepy hairstyle and bullet hole, but whatever."
"And that's worse than—" Cutter halts.
"Than what?"
"Nothing. Forget it."
Stephen looks at him curiously. "You think you're going to offend me by mentioning that I look like I got tossed into a wood chipper?"
Cutter winces at the image. "I didn't mean to bring it up."
"Why not? We both died. It's not like we're going to forget any time soon."
"No. No, we certainly are not."
~oOo~
Stephen doesn't like the Middle Ages. And it's not even because he has to sleep on the floor or the lack of indoor plumbing. No, Stephen likes roughing it as much as anyone, but what he doesn't like is being required to wear something that didn't come out of his closet. Contrary to what most people think, all of his clothing is chosen with specific comfort and utility concerns in mind. Stephen likes flannel. Stephen likes cargo pants. He does not like linen, or whatever this is. It makes him want to kill something—which is probably a good thing, considering the task ahead.
Giant prehistoric bear.
Stephen can focus in spite of the hellish clothing. He has a job to do, and it's been a while, but he's more than ready. After dying in silence at the teeth and talons of vicious predators, he's ready for a fight. He's ready to go home.
The village is only just awakening as Stephen and Cutter exit the hall. However, there is a small group of men gathered at the far end of the road, opposite of the direction Stephen and Cutter entered from the night before. The leader of the elders is there along with some younger men. One of them sits astride a horse, and Stephen is certain he can't be more than fifteen years old.
The chief elder notices Stephen and Cutter's approach and comes to meet them, leaning heavily on his walking stick.
"Your journey will not be far," he says. "But I fear it will test your strength. Olan will show you the path you must take. If you defeat the beast, I believe you will find your way home."
Stephen eyes the boy, Olan, suspiciously, but doesn't say anything about it. "What kind of weapons do you have?" he asks instead.
The chief elder shows them over to the group of men waiting by the horses. They have bows and arrows—the craftsmanship of which is questionable—and one sword, which probably cost more than the whole village was worth. They try to give Cutter the sword, but he hands it off to Stephen, taking a small knife instead. Stephen also takes a bow. Inferior quality or not, he's better with long range weapons.
Olan watches them in silence, fingering his own hunting knife. He's nervous, and that makes Stephen uncomfortable. He doesn't want to be responsible for a kid dying. He'd rather it were just him and Cutter, but since neither of them have ridden a horse through Medieval England, a guide is necessary.
Before they leave, the chief elder makes a big speech about brave heroes sallying forth into the darkness, and Stephen just wants to get away from there. He wants to find this bear, kill it, and go home. He's never wanted anything so much before, and it scares him in a way he could never admit to anyone. What if he there is no anomaly? What if it closed a long time ago? What if there never was one, and it's all a cruel joke?
As they ride out from the village, Stephen tries to shake off these thoughts. He has a mission for the first time in a long time, and that means something.
Olan isn't much for conversation, though Cutter tries to get him to talk about his life. He seems more focused on getting to their destination as quickly as possible.
They stop mid-morning for something to eat. Their saddle bags have been packed with dried meat and skins of something that isn't quite water, but tastes more like water than anything else. Olan doesn't speak, but gestures for them to hurry.
It's nearing afternoon when they reach the woods. Olan is noticeably more nervous than before as they begin to ride under a canopy of fir trees.
"How far is it from here?" Cutter asks.
Olan shakes his head. "I do not know. They never let me come this far before."
Stephen frowns. "Why'd they send you if you've never been here?"
"There is no one else."
Stephen doesn't ask any more questions. He wonders if all the men in that village are too old to make the journey or so young that they shouldn't have to.
~oOo~
Cutter notices Stephen has been in a mood all morning. He isn't sure if it has anything to do with their conversation in the hall or just their general circumstances. He notices the way Stephen looks at Olan, the way he analyses him for weaknesses. It's not a calloused exercise. Stephen is looking for ways to protect Olan. Cutter realises that he does that with everyone. When they would come up against a dangerous creature, Stephen would determine how dangerous it was, and how much danger each member of the team would be in. He used his findings to protect Connor and Abby—even Cutter himself. Perhaps more so. Stephen would protect them all with his life. He had.
Cutter can't let himself think that may be the case again. He won't let Stephen die. It's just not an option. They can't have come this far to fail.
The forest is dark and foreboding as all scary places should be. A few miles in, Stephen begins to walk ahead of them on foot, searching for signs of the bear.
"I thought you were the leader," Olan says quietly as Cutter rides beside him.
Cutter almost laughs. "Stephen is a master tracker," he says. "I'm better at planning."
"Then what is your plan?"
"We track the bear. Stephen will know when we're getting close."
"But many men have died searching for the beast. What will you do to stop it from killing you?"
"Your village, they're mostly farmers, yes?"
"Aye."
"Stephen is highly trained with weapons, and we've fought creatures like this before."
"I apologise. I did not know."
"No need to be sorry, lad. It's good to be curious."
Olan pauses for a moment. "That being the case, I do not know your name."
"You can call me Cutter."
"That doesn't sound like a warrior's name."
Cutter smiles softly. "No it doesn't."
Suddenly, the horses come to a halt, and Cutter realises that Stephen has stopped ahead of them.
"What is it?" Cutter asks in a loud whisper.
Stephen turns back toward Cutter and Olan. "Fresh dung," he says.
Olan makes a face.
"How far?" Cutter asks.
"Not an hour away. He veered off the path here." Stephen points to an slight indentation in the undergrowth. "We'll have to follow him on foot from here."
"But one of us must guard the horses," Olan says. "Or the beast may come back for them."
"I'll stay," Cutter says. He knows Stephen doesn't want to leave the kid alone.
Stephen nods and gestures for Olan to follow him into the trees. Cutter holds the reins of the three horses and hopes he made the right decision.
~oOo~
Stephen has never liked working with others in the field. He tolerates Cutter, but he really prefers to be alone. But traipsing through an unfamiliar forest with a teenager has to top his list of things he never wanted to do in his life, nor ever wants to do again. Right up there with dying and dealing with Helen Cutter.
Olan really isn't that difficult, though. He's quiet, attentive, and curious at the right times. He asks Stephen why he takes one direction instead of another. It's annoying, but the kid might actually learn something.
Then he says something Stephen never expected. "Your friend thinks well of you."
"What?" Stephen stops in his tracks.
Olan seems surprised, as if it should be obvious. "Most leaders do not praise their men like he does."
"He'd never say it to my face."
"Your face?"
"To me. He'd never compliment me directly."
"Does he need to?"
"No. I mean—let's keep moving."
For someone out of another century, the kid is quite perceptive. Stephen realises that he's always needed Cutter's approval, even when he had argued against him. Stephen had only wanted to be right because he wanted Cutter to think he was right. Cutter's is the only opinion that really matters.
Fortunately, Stephen is granted a reprieve from Olan's questions and his own tumultuous thoughts when he spots a dark brown mass through the trees.
"There it is," he whispers, ducking pulling Olan down to the ground with him.
Stephen feels Olan begin to shake at the sight of the creature. He begins to think this might not go well.
"How good a shot are you?" Stephen asks.
"What?" Olan stares at him.
"With your bow."
"Oh, decent I suppose. I shoot the crows out of the fields sometimes."
Stephen smirks. "Good enough. I want you to climb that tree, and when I give the signal, start shooting at it. Don't waste your arrows, but try to hit it as much as you can. It won't kill it. They aren't sharp enough, but that will distract it enough for me to get close."
Olan looks positively terrified. "You could be killed."
"It's all right. I've been killed before."
Stephen leaves him there, gaping, and begins to circle around the left side of the small clearing where he spotted the bear. As he gets closer, he looks back to see Olan climbing the tree like he said.
The creature itself is bigger than any bear Stephen has ever heard of. It has a dark brown coat with strange light patches in it. Stephen can't see its head from this angle, but he notices that its feet are the size of basketballs with claws protruding dangerously. Maybe his plan was a little hasty. It was too late to back out now.
Stephen slowly pulls out his sword and uses the sun to reflect back toward Olan. Just as planned, arrows begin hurtling toward the beast, and in pain, it searches for the source of the annoyance.
Stephen takes the opportunity to move in closer. He adjusts his grip on the sword and waits for the right moment. An arrow hits the bear right in the eye, and Stephen takes his moment. He gets a running jump off a fallen log and comes down with his sword raised on the back of the beast. As he lands, he slams the blade down between the bear's shoulders, as hard as he can.
For a moment, there is silence.
Then the bear rears back and throws Stephen to the ground. Unable to breathe for a moment, Stephen is trapped. The bear comes at him, ready for a strike that will surely kill Stephen on impact. Another arrow hits the bear's paw, causing its blow to lose some momentum, but Stephen still feels the claws rake across his abdomen, sending searing pain through his whole body.
But the bear is distracted. It turns to face a new enemy. Olan now stands at the edge of the clearing, bow drawn and ready to fire. The bear charges. An arrow goes into its other eye. It doesn't slow down.
Stephen tries to shout for Olan to run, but his voice fails him. He can't see what happens next, but he hears something whirling through the air, and it hits flesh. The bear goes down with a ground shaking thump.
It's over, and Stephen can't breathe.
Before he knows what's happening he sees Cutter, hovering over him. For a moment, he thinks it might be a dream, a dying hallucination.
"Stephen!" Cutter's voice has the same tone and volume as the day he begged Stephen to open the door.
"C... Cutter?" Stephen finds his voice, though it hurts to talk. He's bleeding a lot now. "What are you doing here?"
"I thought to myself, damn the horses, my friend needs help."
"You're... an idiot."
"I know. But I found it, Stephen. The anomaly. I'm going to take you home now."
"Nick..." Stephen gasps. "Forgive me."
"What are you talking about? You haven't done anything wrong."
"No... you have to forgive me... for Helen. Please."
"There's no need to drag that up. It's over and done. Now if you can't get up, I'm going to carry you."
"Please..." Stephen can't think any more. He doesn't know what he's asking. The world spins around him and warm blood sticks to his skin and the itchy Medieval clothing.