Beasts of Spirit: Book 1 - Delcorgia

2

The Sloth in the Shade of the Evergreen

A considerable distance south from Mt. Crescence, there lay a valley surrounded on all sides by tall mountains and trees where a large river flowed. If one were to follow it far enough south, they would eventually find, in a large clearing bordered by towering evergreens, a small settlement, isolated from the rest of Delcorgia. This village was still relatively new; its inhabitants had only settled there within the last twenty years. At first, the settlement had struggled greatly. After the people had settled, they discovered that they had situated themselves in the hunting grounds of dangerous predators - animals and bandits alike. They prowled the outskirts of the village, lurking just beyond the treeline and waiting for any opportunity to snatch their prey. As such, any effort to connect to the capital for trade or flee back to civilisation was rendered impossible. The villagers, who had dubbed their home the village of Greenwell, had to become self-sufficient if they were to survive in this hostile environment. Twenty years later, the colony was now flourishing. The villagers in Greenwell had managed to survive - prosper, even - despite relentless attacks, raids and disappearances. The large, fresh-water river that flowed through the village was abundant with fish, and the water itself was clean enough to drink (though if an outsider were to taste it, they would find that it is somewhat saltier than the water they are used to, with a noticeable metallic aftertaste). The surrounding woods were ripe with game, and in recent years Greenwell had yielded plenty with each harvest; the soil they settled upon was arable and very healthy. As well as this, animal attacks and disappearances had dropped sharply; villagers now felt confident to go beyond the confines of the village to hunt and gather resources. Now, a small girl skipped towards the once treacherous forest, humming a tune to herself.

“Polt! Polt? Where are you?” As the young girl approached the narrow stream acting as the border between the village and the wood, she pouted, scanning the area impatiently. Lifting the hem of her yellow dress, she peeked over the stream, stretching out one leg. She hopped across, waving her arms as she landed to stop herself from falling. Once she made it across, she could hear loud snoring from just beyond the tree line and smiled, prancing towards its source.

She began to slow as she neared, tiptoeing towards the tree where the sound was coming from. She slowly peeked around the trunk, holding her hands up, ready to jolt her sleeping friend awake. She jumped around to the other side, her fingers curled to imitate claws.

“Rah!”

But nobody was there. Someone tapped her shoulder from behind.

“Eek!” She jumped back, whirling around. Before her was a staggeringly tall teenage boy, dressed in dirty and tattered clothes, with thick, long, and unwashed hair that reached his ankles. The boy yawned, stretching his arms outwards before rubbing his eye and scratching his nose. When he finished, he raised one hand and waved at her in a single, drowsy motion.

The girl sighed, smiling. Despite his unkempt appearance, being around Polt did not make her uncomfortable. If anything, his presence filled her with energy, which was ironic since he spent the better part of most days asleep. Unlike the people of Greenwell, he would never reprimand her for trying to play with him or get his attention or tell her he was busy and shoo her away. Then again, he never really said much at all. The only times he had ever really communicated were through nods and grunts, or a single word he would croak out on very rare occasions, and maybe the occasional mhm. She didn’t mind, though, because she knew that he always listened to her when she spoke.

“Good morning Polt!” The girl squeaked.

Polt yawned again, his eyes still half-squinted as they continued adjusting to the morning light. The girl in front of him, Mella, was six years his junior. To Polt’s dismay, she was a highly energetic child who would constantly demand his attention. It was thanks to her existence that he had to continually switch between places to nap in and hide, else he’d be doomed to hours upon hours of playtime and watching her attempt hopscotch. However, he could not deny the feeling of warmness she gave him as she came to see him each day, always brimming with a bewildering enthusiasm; she was a constant reminder of why he had chosen to come out here in the first place, to live outside the safety and security of the village; she reminded him what he was protecting.

“I made you something!” Mella pulled something off her wrist and held it up. It looked to be a bit of twine, tied into a circle and painted green. A bracelet, maybe? Polt tilted his head at the girl.

Mella stood on her tip-toes, looking over Polt’s shoulder expectantly.

“Hey, where’s Snore?”

A brief moment of silence passed, then Polt’s thick hair suddenly ruffled. A tiny paw with long black nails emerged from the tangled mess of hair behind Polt’s head. Slowly pulling himself up, Snore the Sloth took his place on Polt’s shoulder, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his paws. Mella smiled widely, giggling.

“Good morning, Snore!” Mella waved. As if in slow motion, Snore slowly raised his hand and waved back at Mella. Snore was unlike any other sloth Mella had read about: he was so small he could fit in the palm of a person’s hand, and he never needed to eat. However, his most notable feature was his eyes, which shimmered brilliantly with all the colours of a rainbow. Mella adored Snore because the shape of his face made it look like he was always smiling, and “he’s just so cute and tiny and adorable and I love him so much!”. Snore was always happy to receive his daily belly scratch from her.

“Do you know what day it is today, Snore?” Mella said, leaning forward on her tiptoes with her hands behind her back. Polt and Snore gazed vacantly at Mella, their heads tilted, as her mischievous smile grew wider. Snore watched Mella as she affectionately took Polt’s hand and pulled the bracelet over his fist. It hung loosely from his wrist, fitting just barely so that it would not simply fall off if he were to lower his arm.

“I had to hide it from Amala while I was making it. It took me forever! But I had to get you something!”

Polt tilted his head again inquisitively at the girl. Mella pursed her lips, confused.

“Well… it’s your birthday, isn’t it?” She asked timidly.

Polt’s face was vacant. “Mm,” he mumbled. Birthdays - that’s right. How long had it been since he had one of those? The right side of his mouth turned up slightly as his memories slowly took form. Mella grinned up at him from ear to ear.

“Happy birthday, Polt!” She sang, crashing into him and throwing her arms around his waist.

Polt looked down at the thin bracelet. Looking closely, he could make out some of the letters that had been painted on, though most of them looked unintelligible.

“It says ‘From Mella’! And there’s a little smiley face on it!” Mella exclaimed with pride. Polt smiled down at the bracelet.

“Hmm,” Polt moaned softly, smiling. He noticed Mella’s face redden in the corner of his eye. He looked back up at her again and cleared his throat.

“Thank -”

- Polt stopped, sensing something nearby, watching them. He positioned himself in front of Mella, carefully observing their surroundings.

“...Polt?”

Polt heard the crunching of leaves just ahead of them, but couldn’t catch a glimpse of whatever it was behind the thick trees and foliage. Polt grunted at Mella, pointing back in the direction of the village.

Mella hesitated, taking a single cautious step. A deep growl echoed from somewhere above her, beneath the canopy of the evergreen forest, and she ran, screaming for help.

Polt closed his eyes, focusing intently on the sounds in the forest. His eyes snapped open again as the sound of crunching leaves from the forest drew nearer. Summoning great focus, he narrowed his eyes, scanning the rows and rows of evergreens surrounding him. He pushed aside the sound of the birds, and the running water from the stream, listening carefully for any sound of movement. He heard Mella suddenly scream from behind him and he pivoted quickly, dashing towards her. She stood, frozen and trembling, staring up at the beast in front of her that blocked her path to the clearing. Standing before her on its hind legs - its form as large as her house and covered in glistening white fur - was a humongous bear. Sighting Polt, the bear unleashed a booming roar, causing Mella to cover her ears and scream. As Polt sped towards them, Snore placed his hand against Polt’s temple and closed his eyes.

Polt was close now, maybe twenty meters away from Mella. The bear dropped to all fours, and raised its paw high into the air, revealing a row of sharp, shining black claws. As the bear’s hand swiped downwards at Mella, Polt’s head began to throb, and his ears hummed as control of his body was surrendered, and a passenger squeezed into his consciousness.

Even though he was still a good distance away when the bear started its attack, Polt arrived just in time to scoop up Mella and zip behind the beast. He approached the narrow stream and tossed Mella across; her arms waved frantically as she seemed to slowly float in the air towards the other side. When Polt turned to face the bear again, it was only now finishing its swipe, not realising its prey had already vanished. Before it even had time to finish turning its head, standing back up on its hind legs and searching for its missing prey, Polt was already upon it. He vaulted over the bear and grabbed it by the thick scruff of its neck as he sailed over its head. The bear was not even offered the opportunity to resist as Polt tightened his grip on the bear’s fur and pulled it down with him as he descended back to the earth. Polt landed on his feet, heaving the bear down with him, and the beast’s head collided against the earth with a quaking boom.

Polt stepped back, panting, and snore removed his paw from Polt’s temple. Polt felt the passenger within him vanish and his senses returned to him in a frenzied rush, like blood returning to sleeping limbs. His head throbbed with each pulse of his heartbeat, and the pain ringing out from each beat caused him to fall to his knees. His breath caught as he looked up, sensing movement. The bear, its head submerged in the loose and wet dirt, shook its body violently as it attempted to free itself. Polt felt Snore’s paw on his temple again and groaned with pain. It felt as though something was curling around his brain, squeezing it tightly.

The bear’s head suddenly shot out of the ground and it shook the dirt off of its face. Its beady and bloodshot eyes fell upon its attacker and it snorted and growled. It launched towards Polt.

Predicting the bear’s movements with ease, Polt effortlessly repositioned himself underneath the beast’s left side, dodging the trajectory of its clawed strike. As the beast neared the ground, Polt bent his knees and braced his legs, taking a deep breath. The bear, unable to follow or react to the sequence of movements Polt had just executed with near superhuman speed, had no means of avoiding what followed. Polt shifted his weight to his left leg, and his right foot shot vertically towards the falling beast, striking its lower abdomen with meteoric force. The strength of the kick was enough to propel the beast backward; its back struck against a nearby tree with a loud crack. The beast roared with pain, scrambling to get back on its feet and defend. Before it could even right itself, it was suddenly struck on the head with great force. Dazed, it looked around, unable to see its enemy through its own blurred vision. The bear turned back towards the depths of the forest and fled, slamming into trees and knocking them down in a blind charge. Polt loosened his fist, his knuckles bruised and bloody.

When he heard somebody's voice calling to him from the other side of the stream, Polt felt incredibly dizzy. His vision became obscured by a haze of green and his brain throbbed; the area before him blended into an unrecognisable blur.

“Polt?”

Polt started swaying, his hands gripping his head. Snore lifted a curtain of Polt’s hair and took shelter beneath it.

“Polt!”

Polt’s legs became weightless, and he crumpled to the ground.

“Polt! Hey! I’m here, stay with me!”

The owner of the voice stopped in front of the unconscious Polt, gasping as they descried the devastation left behind.

Mella sat on a chair beside Polt as he lay asleep in her bed, his long legs dangling over the edges of its tiny frame. Mella could already foresee herself pulling long strands of dirty hair from her mattress at night, but she didn’t mind if it meant Polt was able to recover. Sitting next to her, unimpressed, was her mother Amala. The villagers joked that bandits never attacked Greenwell because of Amala’s uncanny resemblance to a famous war hero who now served in Delcorgia’s royal guard. They would say she had legs so thick with muscle that they rivaled the evergreen trees of the surrounding forest, and arms so large they could split rock. Amala was the only trained carpenter in Greenwell, which meant she would spend everyday chopping and carrying around wood, and singlehandedly overseeing the construction of every homestead in the village. This had not always been the case, however. While Amala could not attest to building an entire settlement by herself, she was now all that remained of Greenwell’s carpenters; the only one that had not been claimed by tragedy in the settlement’s early days.

“What were you doing on the other side of the river?” Amala asked.

Mella shuffled in her seat uncomfortably. Amala leaned closer, uncrossing her arms as she loomed over her daughter.

“Why do you insist on disobeying me? Do you not understand how dangerous he is?” Amala asked.

Mella jumped up from her seat, her eyes glimmering with tears. “You keep saying that but he’s not! He’s nice to me and he plays with me and you don’t play with me and nobody here plays with me and nobody is telling me why everybody is so scared of him!” Mella said, flailing her arms frantically in a series of indecipherable gestures.

With plenty of experience in dealing with Mella’s near-nonsensical outbursts and tantrums, Amala was able to discern the point her daughter was trying to make and contemplated it for a quiet moment. Amala couldn’t help feeling a little jealous, acknowledging that Polt was the only person in the village that Mella was ever excited to see. Now she realised that tearing him away from her, without having to explain why in the first place, might be a gesture more cruel than kind, despite the good intentions underpinning it. Amala also knew that if she withheld the information from her daughter - if she didn’t explain clearly why it was dangerous to be near Polt - Mella would doubtless still go out to visit him behind her back, believing there would be no danger or harm in doing so. At the same time, telling Mella would mean exposing her child to the dark history of Greenwell, something that filled even the adults of the village with intense grief and remorse. Amala battled with these perspectives silently for a while as Mella stood, still huffing from her outcry, until Amala finally came to her conclusion, sighing resolutely: Mella

was not ready to know.

“Mella, you -”

“ - Hellooo?” Amala heard the front door swing open and a man's voice echo through the household.

Gordon? Why the hell is he here?

“Mella? Amala? Is anyone home?” The man called out.

Amala suddenly thought of the boy in Mella’s bed.

Shit! I can’t let him see -

- as she shot up, ready to act, the bedroom door swung open.

“Ah, there you two are! I just wanted to drop off this basket of fruit as a thank you, again, for helping to renovate my -”

Gordon stopped, dropping his fruit basket. Amala stood frozen in place, reaching for a blanket at the foot of the bed. The bed where he was lying.

“Good afternoon, governor Greenwell. I didn’t realise being a man of your stature meant you could stroll through people’s houses as you pleased”, Amala said. Mella shuffled closer to her mother.

Gordon adjusted his glasses. His amiable demeanour dissipated almost as soon as he stepped through the door frame; it was now replaced by a far different attitude.

“What the hell have I stepped into here, Amala? Do you have a good reason for harbouring that… beast here? For putting everybody in my village in danger?” Gordon said.

Amala sighed.

“He saved my daughter Gordon. I couldn’t leave him.”

“He was with Mella? You’re allowing her to see that animal?!”

“Don’t call him that!” Mella cried from behind her mother’s leg.

“Amala, we both know it’s only a matter of time before the royal guard or the essence hunters come and arrest us all for harbouring this monstrosity - or worse, it’ll snap out of whatever trance it’s gotten into and kill us all!”

“Polt would never do that!” Mella shouted.

“You little brat, I’m not talking about Polt!” Gordon pointed to the tiny sloth, curled up and resting on Polt’s chest. “That’s the thing I’m worried about!” Gordon said.

“What?” Mella looked up at her mother, tugging at her fingers. “What does he mean? Is there something wrong with Snore?”

“For the love of… she gave it a name?” Gordon said, squeezing the bridge of his nose.

Amala grimaced at Gordon.

“I’m putting an end to this right now and saving us from a whole heap of trouble.”

Gordon shoved past Amala, causing Mella to stumble. Amala caught and steadied her daughter, glaring at Gordon as he approached Snore. Gordon looked down at the Polt, resting on a bed of his own hair. Gordon sniffed the air and groaned.

“Disgusting. The boy looks and behaves like some kind of wild animal. He really is nothing at all like his father,” Gordon said, shaking his head.

He shifted his gaze to Snore. Looking back at Amala, he gestured towards the tiny Sloth.

“You and I both know how much damage these beasts are responsible for. You’re either naive or just plain stupid to think things would be any different with him.” Gordon looked at the young girl still cowering behind her mother and back to Amala.

“You’re unfit to be her mother.”

Mella winced as her mother’s grip on her wrist tightened. She could feel the rage pouring out of the palm of her mother’s hand as it emitted a fierce heat. Amala envisioned herself throttling Gordon, lifting him high into the air with one hand and smashing his wiry chicken body through the window, laughing at him as he limped back to his cabin with splintered wood and shards of glass jutting out from his body.

She collected herself with a deep breath. The village had been through enough hardships, and an injured governor would only add to their already abundant and exhausting difficulties, she thought to herself.

‘Watch this’, Mella whispered, tugging at her mother’s fingers.

Gordon cautiously moved his trembling hand towards Snore. “I’ll stop you here and now before you have the chance to hurt a single one of my people.” He swallowed, his hand thickening with sweat.

He raised his quivering palm directly above snore, taking a deep breath, and snapped his fingers shut. He shouted victoriously before realising that, oddly, there was nothing in his hand.

“What?” Gordon’s eyes settled on the sleeping sloth, resting lower on Polt’s torso now: over his stomach.

Chalking it up to bad luck, he drew his hand back as if pulling a notched arrow against a taut bowstring. When the Sloth rolled over to make himself comfortable, Gordon reached for the beast again. He clenched his hand around it only to meet the squelch of his sweaty palm. This time, Gordon was certain of it - even though the sloth was asleep, it was moving, dodging his grabs. Amala looked at Mella incredulously as her daughter giggled to herself.

Abandoning caution, Gordon swiped in desperation, catching only an afterimage as the snoozing Sloth rolled around on Polt’s chest and the oblivious boy slept on. Gordon’s neatly combed back hair started to become disheveled as he wrestled with his nimble, incognisant prey, and Amala found herself giggling along with her daughter.

“Enough, you… you little shit!” Gordon clenched his hands together above his head and hurled them downwards towards Polt’s chest. Before his attack could connect with Snore, Gordon was struck in the face and sent sprawling to the ground. Rubbing his cheek, Gordon looked back to see Polt sitting up, frozen in the followthrough of his punch, staring back at him wide-eyed. Amala and Mella stood silently. Gordon stood back up, adjusting his glasses and neatening his hair.

“Gordon, he didn’t” -

“Not another word, Amala.” Gordon looked back towards Polt with a smile that barely veiled his spite. “You just raised your hand to the governor of Greenwell, boy. Do you have anything to say for yourself?” Polt stared back at him silently. Eventually, realising that everyone in the room was waiting for him to respond, Polt cleared his throat.

“Sorry”, he croaked, his voice little more than a hoarse whisper. Gordon shifted his gaze between every person in the room, his eyes settling on them for a few seconds each.

“Well, considering there is no prison in Greenwell, nor am I willing to face the inevitable backlash for motioning to execute a sixteen year old boy, I can unfortunately think of no effective methods of punishment, considering you are already sleeping in the forest with all manner of dangerous beasts. However...” He pointed towards Snore. “If I ever, ever, see that... thing, around here again, I will ensure that you never, ever, step foot anywhere near this village again.” He lowered his hand, glaring at Polt. “Do you understand?”

Polt looked towards Snore who was rubbing his eyes, awakened by the commotion. Snore looked back at Polt, blinking groggily. Polt turned back towards Gordon and offered a single, solemn nod.

“Good.”

Dusting himself off, Gordon began to leave before stopping and turning towards Amala.

“And you see to it that Mella stays away from him, or she’ll be staying at the orphanage while you spend the rest of your days emptying latrines -”

- “Good day, governor Greenwell”, Amala interrupted.

“Asshole.” Amala slapped Mella gently on the back of the head. “Ow.”

Gordon scowled at the young girl and left. They watched him go and waited until they heard the sound of the front door closing after him. Amala turned back to her daughter.

“Who taught you to speak like that, Mella?!” Amala said, grabbing Mella’s ear.

“I… you - ow! You did!” Amala stopped.

Oh, right, Amala thought to herself.

Mella looked back towards Polt, who was still sitting up, scratching the Sloth’s head as it nuzzled against his hand.

“Mella, could you leave us for a minute?” Amala asked.

Mella skipped over to Polt, whispering ‘thank you’ to him and adjusting the bracelet on his wrist before scurrying out of the room. Amala closed the door behind her.

Polt was the first one to break the awkward silence. “Sorry”, he croaked again.

“I’d prefer it if you thanked me. After all, you’re the first man - and the last - that will ever sleep in my daughter’s bed.” Amala said, smiling at him. Polt nodded, smiling back. Amala sat back down on the wooden chair beside the bed.

“Don’t worry about that old goat. I’ve known him for ages; threats are all he’s got. Might as well just be the way he greets people, unless he’s trying to kiss their ass for more votes.” She pulled her chair closer.

“Actually, I should probably be the one thanking you - for saving my daughter.” She paused. “Then again, I suppose she wouldn’t have been there in the first place if it wasn’t for… well, you.” Polt didn’t show any reaction to her prodding. Amala shuffled herself closer and lowered her voice.

“Polt, some of Gordon said… he wasn’t entirely wrong. I caught some of what happened back there, or at least the aftermath of it. To be honest with you, it frightened me. Setting aside how a sixteen-year-old boy is capable of something like that in the first place, I’ve seen what you do to some of the other animals outside the village. What’s left of them, it’s...” Amala stopped, swallowing down nauseating memories of crushed, pummeled and mutilated carcasses of once vicious and colossal beasts.

“I know you’re just trying to protect us, and I’m sorry about what happened to your parents, but this isn’t the way to” - Polt shot Amala a steely glare, shutting her down before she could reach her point. Amala cleared her throat and nodded towards Snore.

“And having him around you doesn’t make me any more comfortable. If I am ever going to feel safe knowing that my daughter is going to continue seeing the both of you, which…” Amala looked back towards the closed door at the rear of the bedroom and back to Polt. “If she’s as stubborn as she usually is, one old man’s raving isn’t going to stop her.”

“Hey!” A tiny voice came from the other side of the bedroom door, followed by a loud gasp before the sound of a light pitter-patter of footsteps could be heard running down the hallway. Polt looked down at Snore.

“I need you to tell me where you found him. I need you to tell me everything about him. I need to know that he’s not going to hurt any of us.” Amala said. “For my daughter’s sake.”

A long period of silence followed as Polt sat, watching Snore doze away on his lap. Amala watched him curiously, wondering if he was even capable of saying any more than one word at a time. She imagined what a complete sentence from him might sound like, envisaging the voice of an old man with a bitter and rough voice earned through a lifetime of alcohol consumption. Then finally, Polt looked back up at her and spoke.

“Sorry.”

Amala smiled. She wasn’t surprised. It wasn’t that he wouldn’t tell her; she knew that. He just couldn’t. Having to dig up memories as terrible as those he experienced would be a horrific thing to ask of anyone. Looking at him now, she thought back to the jovial little boy that used to sprint through the village, giggling and laughing, without a care in the world. He had grown so fast since losing his parents and choosing to live alone out in the forest: his huge and gangly body, disproportionately large for a sixteen-year-old boy, his voice, his hair; it was as though every part of him was rushed to grow and develop out of a necessity to survive. She felt guilty that he had to endure such a difficult childhood, but grateful knowing that it was his actions alone that stopped the villagers from being picked off by animals and marauders. Her gratitude bled back into her guilt, and for the first time since Polt disappeared into the forest on that night years ago, she looked at him as a human, not as a beast. She thought of Mella and how she might have fared in his position, and she was nearly brought to tears.

Polt lay back down, putting his hands behind his head. Amala shifted her gaze to Snore, his eyes drooping, once again on the cusp of sleep. She could tell Polt’s eyes were beginning to sink as well, and she grabbed Polt’s hand and took it in both of hers. He tried to pull it back, but she held it in place, her eyes gazing down at him tenderly with regret and resolve.

“I want you to know, I’m sorry we never did more for you. Never tried to do more. You’ll always have a home with us here if you want it, Polt. Both of you” Amala smiled at Snore. “If that whiny son of a bitch - ahem - if Governor Greenwell has a problem with it, well, I’ll be sure to do my utmost to… convince him otherwise,” Amala said, cracking her knuckles and neck. Polt looked up at her, smiling, and shook his head. Amala understood: thanks, but I’ll be okay. She nodded at him.

“Alright then. You rest here as long as you need. And let me know if you need anything, or… I don’t know. Point at it.” Amala smirked, standing up and walking towards the door. Polt’s chest felt warm, and his face felt tight. Snore looked up at his companion, regarding him with his ever-present smile.

“I’m just going to check on Mella, make sure she’s not getting into any more - woah there!” She cried out as she opened the door and Mella immediately clung to her leg. Polt noticed a scratch on Mella’s shoulder for the first time: a claw mark, most likely given to her by the bear from earlier, he thought. He went cold, and his face turned pale as his jaw shifted and his teeth grated against each other.

“Is he really going to stay with us, mommy? Is he really is he really is he really?”

“Only as long as he wants to, sweet thing. But I’ve told him he’s welcome to come whenever he - Polt?”

Amala turned to see Polt had disappeared from the bed, and the bedroom window had been flung ajar; the wooden-framed window panes bounced off the exterior wall of the homestead with periodic thuds as the cool breeze found its way into the room.

Polt marched through the field of grass with his head downcast and his gaze fixed on the treeline, ignoring the lingering pain that still throbbed in his head. Mella and Amala arrived outside just in time to see him disappear beyond the wood.

“Was that Polt?” They overheard one of the villagers say.

“Again? I hope not. Only thing that boy brings is trouble.”

“Mmhm,” the villager hummed concurringly.

Mella and Amala watched the treeline for a few more minutes.