Unfamiliar Territory

The screams kept me up most of the night. They could not be helped. I had sunken so much into this latest group, into one particular individual; I could not even afford the human anesthetics to keep the child from feeling pain. It would make controlling him harder; it would make his performance sloppy. The only good that could come from it all was that the pain would keep his memory fuzzy for long enough to get the job done. Hopefully.

I rubbed my face.

Listen to yourself.

I rose up from the small cot. It was very dark. It made sense, being underground as we were, but it was still unsettling.

My bones creaked and cracked as they normally did when I first moved after a restless night’s sleep. Didn’t matter what you were. Old was old.

What would Crane have thought about being old? Probably hated it, I would like to think. He hated so many things-many little things- and being old was about the little things. The little steps you had to take to get from one place to another. The little pains and aches throughout your body that there was little to nothing to do about. Those little moments you used to take for granted when you were younger that now you cling on to because they could be your last.

Yes, Crane would have desperately hated being old.

I pulled the string once I made it to the bathroom. I was slightly startled by my reflection when the light came on, like every other time. All of the lines, the spots, the white hairs. Without my glasses, I could not see all the details, but I knew they were there. It was hard not to know my own face, though I try to forget it with all my strength.

I felt for the faucet handles and turned one on when I found it. Hot or cold. It did not matter which. I could no longer feel the difference.

I cupped the water in my hands and, once full, I held it over my head and let the water fall. It ran through my thinning hair, traced down the many lines in my face, and disappeared beneath my shirt into the jungle of gray and white hairs on my chest. It felt good to do this, though I no longer remembered why. Perhaps I have just always liked water.

Afterwards, I grabbed a spare towel from a box and put on a night robe that was in another box. It was still very early and there was no longer anyone to dress for. I took my glasses and trusted walking stick with me but still had to feel my way out of my room by tracing a hand across the dirt walls. It was very dark.

I followed along the tunnel once I left my room. Widow hated the dark. Being that she had to be accustomed to it in order to proceed with her training, it was her biggest obstacle that she ever faced on her path to be a familiar. I would always try to encourage her before a test, but not once did I envy her. Mr. Kid would always fill the dark room with some danger or threat and every time Widow failed he would make it harder for her, for all of us. It would have broken her if not for...

I nearly tripped over a stray root. I could hear my bones and the walking stick creak as I attempted to stay on my two feet. I had to get angry.

“Rotten old goat,” I groaned. “You got what you deserved. Wish I could only do it worse a second time.”

Like a shot of adrenaline, I was back on my feet. Just escape. Just fly away and leave this godforsaken hole in the ground far behind.

I leaned against the wall and slowed my breathing until the anger and the strength subsided, though not before uprooting the root with one swift kick. “And to hell with you as well.”

I continued on with the stick in the dark until I reached the end of the tunnel. The kitchen was just another widened hole. I passed by the large barrels that held the salted meats and over to the deflated looking bag that read Farmer Todd’s Premium Duck Feed.

I had read it thousands of times but I still couldn’t help but scoff. “Premium my fine feathered ass.”

I chuckled to myself a little as I reached down for the dirty bowl that lay beside the bag. Fawn would always laugh at that. She would laugh at almost anything, but it was special those times because it was something I had said. I shook my head to clear the thoughts away. Thinking of her was always painful, but now...

“Now where’s that damn scooper?” I muttered after opening the bag and only finding the grainy feed. I dug a hand inside and grunted when my fingers soon found it. I scooped out the feed and placed it into the bowl before dropping the scooper back into the bag.

With careful and deliberate hands, I planted the dry bowl of feed on the little wooden table in the center of the little room.

“Hmph. Think I hate this place? If Crane were here he wouldn’t let me hear the end of it!”

I could not remember which of the barrels was the one with water in it, so it took me a few opened tops, a few glances into the ones filled with meat, until I eventually found it. I ran a hand across its surface.

Thank god for the dark. It was so easy to see your reflection in still water.

Cupping the water in my hands, I brought it over to the bowl of dried feed and carefully poured it in. With nowhere else to sit, I slowly sat myself down in the dirt, knowing it would probably take getting angry again to stand back up. I mixed the feed and the water together until it was a slushy mess resembling porridge. From there, I scooped the feed into my mouth, one gentle handful at a time.

It was hardest for me to adjust to the new diet when Mr. Kid began to force it on us. Many of the others could still eat meats, vegetables, fruit-even Widow adjusted to her diet of bugs after a few weeks. But all I ever got to eat was duck feed.

“It is one of your Master’s specifications,” he would repeat every time I dared to complain. “Now quit you’re quaking, duckling, before I force feed you.”

That was how it went, every time. Sometimes I would eat it myself, other times Mr. Kid would shove it down my throat with his dirty hands. Every time, it tasted just as bad. I didn’t know how much I could stand of it after awhile. I was planning to run away, despite always being the one who tried to convince us all to stay.

No one was there for me until he...

I filled my mouth with the soft feed; let it sit in my mouth for a moment, and swallowed. I could not taste it. Where did the bad taste go? Where did any of the taste go? It was nothing more than lumpy air to me now.

Fawn would tell me to lighten up. Or, she would have.

I grunted. “Liked it much better when I thought you were dead.”

I left the bowl on the ground and forced myself up. It was painful, incredibly painful, but I was not in the mood to be angry.

A smaller hole had been dug into the bigger hole of the kitchen where there was a dirty pool of water used as makeshift sink. During my painful bout of kneeling and standing up again, I asked myself why I couldn’t have had the time to take more than just the one sink, mirror, and light bulb from my old bathroom.

When I stood back up, I felt the pain continue in my stomach. Something wet began to stain the shirt from the inside. This is why I did not have time.

“I probably do not have much time, as it is,” I said below my breath, tying the bathrobe closed. But there was still time, time enough to fix things before the end.

So I forced myself to continue, past the kitchen, and down another dark tunnel.

What would they think of me now? Would they hate me? Would they be proud of me? No, it did not matter. Since the moment I met Alex, the moment I learned what had become of Fawn. This was what I had to do. No matter how they would have felt, they would feel the same way. Even...

I reached the end of the hall. There was another room dug into the earth, the last room. The fires from the torches on the wall were still lit from last night. I was not sure how I felt about it.

I could see the child, lying on his bed. I could see him breathing. But I could also see the many scars that decorated the naked upper half of his body. I could still see the blood that decorated the carefully wrapped lower half of his body. I could still see the stump of his right knee where the rest of a leg used to be.

I moved over to another barrel of water that was nearby. The child moaned as I went into the room. I did not look back at him. He would be fine. Noise meant he was still alive and it was much more reassuring than the screaming.

I dipped the towel I’d been carrying with me into the water. I was sure the water was no longer cold by this point, but it was better than nothing. After squeezing the excess back into the bucket, I slowly walked over to the child’s side.

Oh, how similar they looked. The same bushy hair, same large nose. He was not smiling and his eyes were closed, but when I first saw the two together- the large smile and the bright brown eyes- it scared me half to death. I had thought I was looking at a ghost.

I brushed aside the long hair in order to retrieve the dry towel that was miraculously still resting on his forehead. It was a moment after placing the wet towel that his eyes flew open. I nearly fell back, letting loose a gasp as I did.

“Mr. Mallard?” the child said, trying to peer at me from the shadows. “Is that you?”

“Yes, Mutt, it is I,” I said, walking back into the light of the fire. I cleared my throat. This was the moment. “I’m afraid I have some...dire news for you.”

“Mr. Mallard, my leg hurts.” He tried to move his head to see, I didn’t stop him. When he saw, the already ghost white skin on his face became nearly transparent.

He looked back to me, familiar brown eyes filled with questions. “Muh- Mr. Mallard?”

I held his look. I kept a calm face. Really, I was crying. I was deep in the jungle. We had gotten so far, lost so much, only to be stopped by a damn trip-mine. He had looked at me much the same way the child did, only both of his legs were gone and there was no hope for him.

“You were bitten by one of Fawn’s children and your leg became infected with a deadly, Knowledge-created, poison. You must understand, Mutt, I did what I had to do in order to save you. If I had not removed the infected area, it would have spread. You would have died.”

The child went to staring back at his leg. His eyes appeared dead. “It itches.”

“The sensations will pass, in time.”

He looked around the small room. I was prepared to answer his questions of where we were, what we were doing here, what was going on, but instead he asked me: “Where are my friends?”

It was earlier than I expected, but I still attempted my practiced sigh. I only ended up coughing when fluid went down into my lungs. I began to explain myself when I was finished with the fit, but the child only continued to watch me.

Just remain calm. This is what needs to happen. “I apologize for being the one to tell you this, but one of our own, Stallion... he has passed.”

“What? Passed?” Mutt quirked his head. “Where did he go?”

I sighed without meaning to. Hold his look. Don’t give in. This is what needs to happen. “He is dead, Mutt. Stallion is dead.”

“What?”

I was about to get angry, about to scream at the stupid boy. Did he really not understand? But then I saw a single tear stream down his face.

“Mu-?”

“What did you say, Mr. Mallard?” he asked me.

A bitter cold settled into my aching bones. He was smiling, but the tears continued to fall. “What did you say?”

“Stallion is dead.”

“No, you didn’t say that.” Mutt sat up straight. Stared me right in the face. The smile was giving away to something else that I wasn’t sure I was prepared for. “No, no, no, you didn’t.”

“Mutt, you must listen to me. Stallion is-.”

“SHUT-UP!” Mutt screamed at me then-so loud I could swear the room shook. I nearly fell backwards again. “Shut-up shut-up shut-up shut-up shut-up shut-up!”

“You are acting childish, dog, you need to face reality-!”

He then screamed. So loud that I nearly went deaf. He slammed his fists against the bed as tears poured down his face. He would not stop screaming.

I watched him silently. This was the very reason it all had to stop.

When the screaming had subsided, the child breathing heavy, I made to speak, but as soon as I took a step towards him he flung himself from the bed and onto the floor.

As quickly as I could, I went to assist him until he shouted again: “Don’t touch me!”

That anger. It was familiar. It sounded just like Foxy. It sounded just like me.

I watched the young boy pull himself up from the ground, at first using his bed for balance, but when he stood up straight, he let it go.

I had no words to say, seeing him standing there on one leg as if he had two.

He looked at me with eyes of hardened earth. “Who killed them?” the child asked me.

It was better than I could have ever hoped. I did not need to try and convince him or force him. He was prepared to kill anyone.

“It was...”

I could see Crane’s long nose- bent and crooked after the Hunter had his way with him. I could see Widow; hardly any of her remained when we found her in that dark cavern. I saw Fawn, abandoning us when we needed her most. Finally, I saw Hound. He would hate what I was doing for sure, but he had to know it was the right thing to do. It was the only thing to do.

“It was Foxy and Kat. After you were bitten, they tried to escape us and Stallion tried to stop them. They killed him without mercy, Mutt, and I was powerless to do anything to stop them. I’m so very-”

“Where are they?”

No hesitation. No doubts. He knew exactly what he wanted.

Just like you, Jonathan.

“I do not know. I was-”

“Then I’ll find them.”

The child tried to move and nearly fell. I managed to hold him off, but he tried to shove me away. “Wait, child, wait. You need to give yourself at least a day to get accustomed to this. Your body may keep this injury from killing you, but you must now learn how to move- to fight- with only one leg.”

“I have to find them!” he shouted, still trying to resist me. “I need to-!”

“You need to get your strength back and recover!” I shouted back, forcing the anger, fueling the strength needed to keep him from fighting me off. “You know how deadly Kat is, and Foxy has improved himself significantly since your injury. If we are to stop them you need to be at your best! Do you understand me?”

“Just let me find them, Mr. Mallard,” the child pleaded with me. “Let me find them!”

“Heel.”

He collapsed in my arms with a depleted moan. I fought back my own desire to fall. It was weak, but always there.

I held on to the anger- I had to remain strong. I carried the child back to his bed.

He was still breathing heavily, glaring at me with wild eyes. “Mr....Mallard...”

“Rest for an hour, Mutt,” I commanded, reaching deep inside to find it. “Afterwards, we will spend the rest of the day fine tuning your movement. Tomorrow morning we will hunt down the killers. You have my word.”

He did not answer. I had to force my own anger back down when I looked into those burning eyes. After he is done with Kat and Foxy, I would have to be quick to finish him. He was already regressing; no doubt more killing will only break him further.

I turned away from the child and proceeded to leave the room. I stopped for a moment when I heard him crying, but I did not look back.

After this, it would be over. The horrible cycle would be over.

I left the room and walked down the dark tunnel.

After the children were dead, the community of Wildwood would come down upon me-hunt me, like before. This time I would make sure there will be nothing left for them to find.

I made it back to my room and lied down on the small cot. Everything was coming to a close. Nice and neat. Like a storybook.

The only loose end, the only thing I could hope to happen, would be that Kat, Foxy, and Giles manage to kill Fawn and end her suffering before the child and I are upon them. If Giles’ reports are accurate, they should be assaulting the asylum soon. It was part of the reason I had the child wait. No, what was I saying? It was the only reason.

The child was already capable of moving, of killing. He always took to becoming a familiar the easiest of them all. Something like a missing lower leg would not be enough to slow him.

I stared up into the endless void.

Would dying be like this? I’ve thought of it so many times. Crane’s eyes fogged over, what else could he have been seeing?

The aches and pains slowly faded away. I breathed slower and slower. The darkness appeared more absolute, somehow.

Was this death?

No, I was only falling asleep.

“You’re only falling asleep, Hound.” I held his hands, covered in blood; I tried so hard to not let him see how scared I was. “You will just fall asleep and wake up somewhere else, somewhere better.”

He looked at me with eyes that could no longer see anything. I wasn’t even sure he could hear me any longer. I had no idea what it was like to lose both your legs in one, violent, instant.

He smiled at me.

Did he hear me? Was he suffering? He was not gripping my hand back. There was no strength left in the hand that I held. It was cold and pale like the moon.

“Just let him catch you,” he whispered.

“Jonathan? What on earth are you saying?”

“Don’t run anymore, Arnold. He will only do to you what he did to Crane, to Widow, to me. Don’t let him have his way. Turn yourself in to Wildwood. Please.”

“Jonathan, you can’t ask me to do that. Do not ask me to do that!” I shouted at him, gripping his hand harder. “This is my fault! It’s my fault for dragging you all with me! I can’t just crawl back, tail between my legs, after all this. How could you even-!”

“Please, Arnold. I don’t want my best friend to die.”

My vision of Jonathan became blurry, but I only held on to his hand tighter. “Curse you. Always so damn selfish. All you care about is what you want. Well ,what about what I want? I don’t want you to die! Do you hear me? I don’t want my best friend to die!”

Of course, he couldn’t hear me anymore. His hand was nothing but an icicle. I held it to my chest and wiped my eyes.

When I looked back at him, his eyes were closed and the smile was gone. I did not take my eyes off his face until the Hunter found me. Even then, the image of it never left me.

It haunted me when I was tortured, beaten, and cursed by the community. I hated how peaceful it looked. I hated him.

They wanted to kill me. The witches. Oh how desperately they wanted to kill me. But Mr. Kid was murdered, most of his familiars were dead, and the witch who started the whole thing, as well as the only other unclaimed familiar, had disappeared into the never-ending woods that the community was named after.

All they had was me. The Sinner. So they tortured me. They beat me. They cursed me. For years on end they did not stop until they broke me.

For the longest time, all I could think of was my hatred for Hound and Crane and Widow. They had it so lucky. In the end, they had escaped.

Then I had my own flock of familiars to train. The first one was Ezekiel. Jonathan’s son.

I am not ashamed to admit to myself that I reveled in making his life a misery. I was harder on him then all of the others combined, but he took it all with a smile on his face. Even when I made his best friend, George and George’s girlfriend, Elizabeth, join. Even when I made the girl he liked, Mary, join. And even when I made him recruit Alex.

No matter what I did to him, he was happy. It made me so bitter, it blinded me. I did not see what his boundless joy was doing to the others.

Not until Alex joined us.

A resilient weed to everything I did to him. Every time I thought I had broken him, he only came back stronger. At first I thought there was something wrong with him, something wrong, perhaps even, with me.

But then he did the impossible, he resisted a command. He had done so with the support of those children. Just as I had done so, so very long ago, with the support of my friends.

The only difference was that I killed Mr. Kid afterwards, and Alex did not kill me.

And it was because of Mutt. Because of the children. Because he and I were not the same person.

The sound of something breaking woke me.

“I suppose it’s been an hour, then,” I grumbled, sitting back up. The child was going to be even more difficult to manage now, but it had to be done.

Nice and neat. Like a storybook.