Warning: You see that "Rated T" mark at the top? This is where it comes into play for rather bloody descriptions. Just preparing you. That is all.
Chapter 14
Guardian of Murder
Whatever Brendan said to stop the villagers from entering the forest, it worked well enough to keep everyone out for quite a while. However, nothing could ever keep them at bay forever. As I've observed, resources are dwindling. Food has been running low in supply as the number of huts has grown. Many must to live in cloth tents. Some do not have a roof over their heads at all. Of course, I hate to see them in this state. But, when a group of villagers come into the forest wielding axes and pitchforks early in the morning when no one else is awake, the protective side of me kicks in.
The sky is tinted a cerulean blue, the sign of an approaching dawn. This time, I brought the rest of the pack with me. I don't want another one-on-one fight to happen again. The salty taste of blood no longer remains in my mouth, but it dwells in my mind. If a smooth, clean operation can be carried out like with that family, I will be satisfied. Brendan would surely understand, I suppose.
Suddenly it is just like the night with the scavenger all over again. The group of human advances into the forest, whispering to each other in hushed tones. The leader of their pack tells the other to watch where his feet are walking after his foot crunches a dead leaf on the forest floor. However, everyone's worn sandals form a symphony of crushing leaves and snapping dead twigs that can be heard by any one of my wolves from a mile away. They don't have to be following me as I stalk behind the group in order to know exactly where the source is. My pack merges with the forest, mimicking the waving of branches in the wind to avoid the detection of their eyes. Brendan's words echo through my memories: The forest doesn't need you, Aisling. Ha! What a joke! If a whole horde of men enter my forest with those wicked axe blades, I think the forest would need protecting, then.
The shorter man with a stubbly gray beard points to a young birch with a trunk about as thin enough so that my hands would be able to join together if I wrapped them around the trunk. One of the more burly men nod and picks up his axe. I snarl from the shadows and two black wolves crawl into the vision of the men. The smallest of their group takes notice right away and points, speaking in a language I have not heard before, to one of them. It takes only a few seconds longer to realize that he has an ally with him as well. The man with the gray beard, clearly the leader, shouts something to his own small army and they all raise their weapons of axes and pitchforks, poised to strike at the heart of the wolves. I scoff to myself. They're still not scared enough to run. Let's see how valiant they are with the remainder of the pack.
I bark out to the rest of my pack and they creep silently from their position out into the open. Now, the men's chorus of rampaging has been replaced by a great orchestra of snarls and sharp barks. Hundreds of pointed teeth glint in the arriving dawn light. The cloaked men huddle in a circle with their backs to each other, facing the ring of predators advancing. Some hands tremble as they hold their weapons. Other hands are steady and confident. I grimace. I can't say I counted on them having the courage to face a whole pack by themselves. I have a plan, in case they did, of course. I never wanted to resort to it, but I will not have anyone dying this morning, neither man nor beast. I take a deep breath and set my paw forward, melting from the shadows to reveal the rumored "demon" of Kells.
Before I can take another step, I hear a cry of thunder. I watch in horror as the shortest of the bunch, a young man with blonde, overgrown hair thrusts the teeth of his pitchfork into one of the wolves, one of my faithful soldiers. All other wolves are standing still, the dying shriek of their brother resonating through theirs and my own blood. None of the other men make a move, either. All eyes are on the speared wolf, using his last movements to paw at the fork lodged into his heart. I watch in horror as the paw gradually slows down. First, his hind legs give out under his weight. Then, the third front leg. After few precious seconds, the struggling leg goes limp and so does the rest of his life. Red mixes with black as a puddle of his blood flows from my faithful follower. It's fast and painful like a dagger slicing through my heart. My breath becomes stuck in my throat. My body trembles as I watch him, waiting for him to move, praying for a sign that he's okay even though it's no use. He's gone. I feel my heart drop far below me like a rock as I stare at his motionless body. A sound rises within me. At first it is like a pained wail. Then, it erupts into a shrill shriek filled with sadness, distress, and hatred mixed into one bloodcurdling scream mixing with wolf howls.
Suddenly, my legs start racing all on their own and I am thrusting my claws at the group of men in the center. It seems to last less than a second before my teeth are around the wooden pole that held the pitchfork the boy held, still dripping with blood. My neck jerks back and forth to loosen the boy's grip on the weapon. Red drops splatter from the movement all over the grass, my white fur, and the men's cloaks. The rest of the trespassers finally recover from surprise and aim their weapons at me. The gray-bearded leader finally speaks in a language I understand. "The demon, my brothers!" Then, he reverts back to his own language and raises his axe, aimed at me. I see the metal glinting in the faint light out of the corner of my eye, but I have no time to react. My teeth pry themselves out of the wood as the blade is coming down on my neck.
A flash of black dashes across my field of vision. The axe is removed from it's poise and I back up further to safety. To the side, the man is lying on the ground with the wolf that attacked on top of him. I see more blood spurting from the man's chest. The wolf's teeth are lodged right where his heart is, gnawing at the vital organ that keeps the man alive. The hounds lets go of his grip and backs off. Shreds of flesh are piled on his chest and the pool of blood grows bigger still. The man is motionless. There is no way he could have lived for a second more.
That one attack sets off the rest of the pack like a delicate and fragile landslide being awakened from it's slumber. My pack attacks the men at the center in waves. Metal meets with teeth and both battle in a fierce war for supremacy of the forest. Jaws clamp over anything foreign to the forest whether it be a weapon or a human limb. Blood is spouting high into the air and landing with a splash in the earth below for the grass to drink. I watch, silently horrified as both human and wolf hit the ground with a thud, dead. Each give out mortified cries of pain, of death, of mourning. I watch the larger one fall to the ground, trying to scramble away. The leader is calling for him to come back as he swings wildly at a group of four wolves elusively circling him, waiting for an opening. The other man escapes into the forest, on the run, before any other wolves take notice. But, the gray-bearded man watches the last of his foot disappear behind the thickets. That is the opening. One wolf pounces and sinks his teeth into the heart of the man. He does not so much as shriek, but groans as his knees hit the ground hard. In a matter of seconds, his heart has stopped.
Most sound has died away. There are little more cries. I scan the ground. Four wolves dead. One man escaped. The other three are dead...
No. The pack circles around one body among the carnage. It is the young man that landed the first blow. He lies still, but his breaths are shallow. Two dead. One escaped. One still holding on to the last shreds of life. My pack makes way for me to approach the man. I take a deep breath and pick up one of the daggers that was carried by a man lying further off yet, dead. I don't pick it up with my teeth, though. I pick it up with my hands.
I crawl on my hands and knees to the side of the man. His eyes wander across the forest roof until he spots me kneeling by his side. He cannot avert his gaze as his mouth hangs agape. His eyes glisten with tears that sparkle in the dawn light. He starts muttering pleas to me. "Please, faerie. Spare me." I swallow hard and hold the knife up to his throat. "Y-you are not the demon that they say you are! You are not evil, faerie!" My own tears splatter onto his cheekbones, my hands are trembling and I shake my head side to side.
"Yes..." My hand gives way and the blade does it's job. "I am."