Deep In the Withers

As the smoke dissipated, it became clear that what was left standing was not a man or even human. With the pinpoints of light from distant stars, he could just make out the slick glistening of something wet. Fixed in a trance of concentration, trying to bring form to the darkness, the glow of green eyes distorted from full spheres to slits peering back at him.

Klyne's legs went stiff and unable to obey the command, “Run!”. He stood there very still in the quiet as the hair on the back of his neck began to bristle, like the hackles of a wolf. His imagination running wild as he wished he was on horseback, or better yet behind the walls of the outpost, or at least had a fire to keep him brave. He had lost track of the glowing eyes, making him scour back and forth in a frenzy to bring forth any shapes in the shadows of the forest. He saw none and heard a screaming silence.

Klyne was supposed to be on an easy mission and had been looking forward to the trip down into the withers. Now he could not believe it had been 11 long weeks out of his domain and finally he was so close. The little black book that he found in his father's treasure room, seemed something that might be handy to have around. He remembered when he picked it up it had the words "little black book" engraved into the front cover. The feel of the book was admittedly addictive and as soft as a rose petal. He frequently found himself running his thumb over the words "little black book. So often it became like a self soothing act when he was agitated. At first, he was the master over this curious object, but with time it became clear he was a passenger of the book's will.

In the beginning, Klyne would make notes in the book, but over time he realized his writings were gone and a fresh blank page appeared instead. This made him think the book must have some magical property. Shortly the book started to write its own commentary on his day's events or would declare something that no one else could have known. Soon the little black book began to give him instruction, go here, get that, find this, speak to that person, all to Kline's benefit. In short, it became his best friend and his keeper of secrets. He was the last to be born and the first to be forgotten in the household. He was glad to have a friend, a safe place to pour his loneliness into even if it was just a book.

Klyne could hear a cricket, a toad, then two crickets as if nothing had happened. Everything felt lighter, and he felt he could breathe again. For all the time he stood still he never caught the glowing eyes again and hoped the ease in the forest meant it had left. He looked down at his hand and realized he was holding his sword with white knuckles showing. He relaxed his grip and took one more look around before he took a step towards where those eyes had been.

He carefully stalked to where the creature was, as to not disturb the forest floor. Looking at the base of the tree, the grass had red stains, but no fur. However, there were deep gouges in the tree about a foot above where he could reach. He vaguely remembered the stories of gribaks. Stories of a giant mindless creature with a lust for killing, that were 9 feet tall, covered in hair with long arms and a mouth full of fangs. He shivered slightly and content that whatever was there was gone, for now.

Klyne continued his trek to the next and last outpost before the withers. He was less than an hour out by his calculations and hopefully, his friend Ransford will already be there awaiting his arrival. If he moved quickly, he could still salvage the night and sleep in comfort. Besides, it was reassuring to be moving in the opposite direction of whatever that thing was.

As he walked, his mind strayed to the black book. It comforted him, soothed him, and consumed him. Also in equal measure a source of anxiety and dread. He sometimes found himself wishing he had never found it, and then worried that the book would know those thoughts as well. As he played out the possibilities, good and bad, as his thumb was mindlessly caressing the words, the little black book.

In the distance, Klyne could see the torches of the outpost, and his anxiety greatly reduced, with the promise of company and 4 walls to surround him. As he got close to the light, he paused and pulled out his little black book, flipping to the last page. The words had not changed, " go deep into the withers to finally get what you need". He was still anxious about the wording and the trip.

This is the first time the book had told him to travel outside his town, but it had never steered him wrong. Faithfully he had pursued the book's counsel and was always rewarded. One time the book led him to an abandoned treasure, and more than 20,000 doleire notes became his that day. With that wealth he could have anything he wanted. Yet the book claimed he would get what he needed. He had tossed around those words for hours and could not fathom what it is he was missing. With a deep sigh, he tucked the book back into his inside vest pocket and gave it a reassuring pat.

Just as he restarted his walk to the outpost, Ransford came bursting out at a full run. Ransford was a big man, standing close to seven feet tall, and if it wasn't for his silly grin squared by his signature braided beard, Klyne could see why he was formidable. Ransford swept the smaller man around the chest spinning him around accompanied by a booming laugh before planting Klyne in front of him.

"Easy!", escaped Klyne's lips as he grasped his head to try to stop the dizziness.

Ransford gave him a firm pat on the shoulder and said,

"Come now! I have been waiting for you for over 2 weeks. Do you know what it is like to try to make friends with a squirrel for company - only to be rejected? What took you so long? I was getting worried."

"Well, if you had come with me in the first place, maybe I would have gotten here sooner.", Klyne almost whined.

Ransford put an arm around Klyne and scooped up his backpack with the other hand.

"Come brother, let's catch up inside and have some squirrel stew, I bet you are hungry." He glanced down at Klyne as a grin quietly split his face.

Klyne sat at a small table that was built into the wall and watched Ransford pull out plates and a small stew spot hung over the hearth. As Ransford started to dole out a serving, he asked,

"So what are we doing out here, Klyne? It's not like the withers has a breathtaking view or anything, so why?

Klyne bowed his head down as he tore a piece of bread off the loaf on the table and deliberately dipped it into his bowl. He had not yet decided if he was going to tell Ransford about the book or not. He had hoped that his friend of 15 years would just go with it, without question.

"Ran, this something that I have to do, but I can't tell you why." He cocked his head sideways, watching how Ran would react.

"That's a lot to ask Klyne, I assume you want me around in case things get dangerous, and you know I would always have your back. How can I assess our danger if I don't know why we are there?" Ransford looked at Klyne square in the eye.

"Can you just trust me? I swear I will tell you what you need to know when we get there." Begged Klyne.

"Fine, but you owe me big and I can't say I won't stop hounding you about it."

'Deal.', Klyne shyly grinned "By the way, this is the worst stew I have ever had the misfortune to try. "

"Ya, that squirrel was not cooperative at any time, so no surprise he would not be tasty either."

In the morning Klyne awoke alone, but could smell some almost burned porridge urging him to get up. He splashed water in his face and wet down his hair, before grabbing a bowl. He emerged from the out post, bowl in hand, to see Ransford loading up his horse and a pack mule.

Ransford turned his eyes on Klyne as he tightened the cinch on the mule and announced,

"Can you guess which one you're riding?", as his eyebrows raised at Klyne.

"Ya, ya, it's still better than walking 'm'lord.", Klyne mocked.

They both descended into the withers single file, and only spoke when need be. With Ran out front he was on high alert, scanning and searching for any threat. While Klyne sat quietly staring at his book.

"Go deep into the withers to finally get what you need"

Nothing had changed and they had been riding for hours. The withers was like a giant dust bowl, that collected sand and skeletons. It seemed that animals crawled in just to die. Kline saw many displaced bones, making it hard to tell from what animal it came from. Yet here he would finally get what he needed. He was just so tired, he decided then he would put the book back where he found it. Just too tired for any more.

As the sun was close to setting, the words in the book changed for the first time in weeks, right in front of Klynes eyes.

"Stop and make a fire."

Klyne called out to Ran,

"Lets setup camp. I am too sore to ride anymore." he chuckled, mostly for himself.

Klyne gathered some deadwood and brush to start a fire, as Ransford hobbled the animals and pulled out dried rations for the evening. Ransford watched Klyne start the fire and listened to the crackle of the wood.

Klyne stared into the dancing flames as in a trance, pulling out shapes and faces.

Ransford watched his friend when he saw something cast a shadow across the flames. He whispered,

"Klyne, I think there is something here, moving behind you."

Ransford slowly pulled out his double-edged sword from a sitting position and smoothly stood up, with Klyne following his lead. They both scanned the area when Klyne caught a familiar iridescent glow. Before he had a chance to warn Ransford, the thing was upon him with blurring speed.

Klyne slashed at the air as he felt what seemed to be a scratch across his midsection. He saw Ransford come from behind and with expert precision his sword had cleaved the thing into two pieces.

Klyne was on his knees holding something warm and wet with his hands at his waist, as he tumbled onto his side. Ransford rushed down and held his head onto his leg.

"Why did we come here?" he said through a lump in his throat.

Klyne let out a breathy answer,

"Because I am so tired."

The gurgle was the last noise he made. He never heard the painful howl Ransford let out.

Ransford buried his friend there deep in the withers. As he laid him gently down, a little black book fell out of his pocket. Ransford flipped through the empty book, caressing the engraved title, then put it in his vest pocket.