Chapter 9: 9. Ferals

Dropped on a bed of straw, Erin groaned. The hut was dark. Ribbons of light pierced through the poorly crafted thatch roofing, and embers glowed weakly beneath a pot.

The big man turned his back to her, grabbed a bowl, and used it to scoop something out of the pot. Crossing his legs, he sat across from Erin and passed the bowl.

“Eat.”

Erin looked at the bowl. It looked like porridge. Her gaze then shifted to the large man and the figures behind him. Resting on a bed of straw, a woman lay with two tiny babies, one of which suckled on her tit.

Eyeing the big man, Erin pulled the bowl toward her bruised lips and cupped it as she gingerly brought it to her mouth. It was a starchy porridge with sweet, tarty, pickled berries. And the moment the food hit her belly, Erin’s stomach rumbled.

The man nodded, and she gulped it down in a hurry.

“You like?”

Erin nodded.

He reached out, took the bowl as she finished, and scooped more from the pot at his side. Then, he nodded and passed it back to her.

Erin gulped it down again without pause for breaths.

“Sorry I hit you. Scared—little ones,” he said, turning to the babies, then back to Erin.

“It’s fine, I guess,” Erin rubbed at her head. “But what do you mean? Are you saying you're scared for the babies?”

“Yes, for little ones. They take them. I not think… sorry.”

“I get it–I think,” Erin groaned, grimacing as she patted her bruised lip. Something about the big feral made her feel bad for him. He seemed genuine. “You speak weird. Not like the other ferals around here.”

“From west. Don’t speak Calé,” He said and bent his brow as he stared into Erin’s eyes, “Trayox,” he added with a nod and extended a hand. “Clanless Igmani. From west.”

Shaking his hand, she replied, “Acolyte Erin of Twines Keep. Daughter of Albert and Maria…” and murderer, she thought. But it wasn’t murder she reminded herself. She had long excepted that she might have to kill people when she became an Acolyte, and almost certainly would if she managed to become an Imperator. But still… doing it for real felt different.

Trayox’s brow twisted as he watched Erin trail off. Her gaze was distant.

“Sorry, my thoughts wandered. So, Trayox is it? Why would anyone want to take your babies?”

He nodded. “Not babies. Just girl. Virgin.”

“What? You mean they want her because she’s a virgin? She’s a baby. Barely a couple of months old!” Erin said, eyeing the tiny babies wrapped up in brown cloth.

“They don’t care. Age not important. Just need virgin girl. Offering for the wargs.”

“Seriously, you ferals really give virgin girls to the wargs?”

“We ferals?” The man shook his head. “Not ferals, as you say. Cultists. Servants of Seven-Headed Wolf God. Coming from north. More every day.”

“That’s who the man on the horse was? A cultist from the north?”

Trayox nodded.

“Why are they coming down here? I don’t remember hearing stories of cultists traveling this far south last winter.”

“They say the wargs leave the mountains.” Trayox shrugged. “Now, the clans leave—no one to stop cultists. More come.”

“Wait, you mean that because the clans have headed south, there’s no one to stop the cultists from taking over?”

Trayox nodded again.

“And now that they’re taking over, they can force you to give virgin girls to them?”

“Yes.”

“That’s disgusting. What about the rest of the ferals? The ones living around here? Do they just do what the cultists ask them?”

“They scared. But many leave. Not safe here. Go south to clans. But clan protection not free, either.”

“What about the ones that don’t, though? There must be hundreds of ferals living around here.”

“Pay tribute. Give virgins.”

“That’s… that’s horrible. They give their own children away,” Erin held her mouth as if about to gag.

“Some do. Most don’t have virgin. If they stay. They help cultists for protection. Find girls.”

“That’s… gross,” Erin crinkled her nose. “So what now? How will you keep your daughter safe?”

“Go south. Cultists will be back. Must work for clan.”

“South? To where the clans are gathering?”

Trayox nodded.

“That’s far, you know? Like weeks across the snow. And with winter so close. It’s going to get cold—way too cold. What about your babies?”

“I know. But no choice. If cultist return, he kill us both,” Trayox said, pointing to his wife. “Then he take boy and girl.”

“But-but… there has to be other options,” Erin slowly shook her head, looking down at the bowl in her hands. “I’m sorry… for you know,” Erin mumbled.

“No. You save daughter. Me sorry for hitting. Thank you. You good person,” he added, pointing at Erin.

Good, useless person who can’t even help, Erin gritted her teeth.

***Imperator***

Imagine Dad seeing me now; Mark thought as he pushed through the forest growth.

He felt a little guilty. Neither of his parents had entered his thoughts much since arriving, but he'd been busy.

When was the last time we even spoke?

It was, at most, half his fault; after all, they were the ones who decided to move to Vermont. Who the hell retires from southern California to Vermont, anyway? Aren't old people supposed to like the warm? He remembered a conversation with his mom about how beautiful the leaves were. Leaves. It almost made him laugh—the irony of it. Mark looked up at the skeletal trees. Sure, the bare oaks and birch were dotted by the occasional pine and other evergreens, but their growth barely constituted leaves.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

You’d hate this place, Mom. One more thing they could disagree with.

Even though Mark missed his creature comforts, he couldn’t help but feel relieved that he was no longer paying downtown San Francisco rent. And he had things to do. Things that might kill him if he failed, but still—they were important—and it made him feel alive.

This was who he was, and having things to do was why he had found himself where he had—part of a three-man team trying desperately to be the next big thing. He had always sought out a challenge. The difference was he felt like it meant something now. People’s lives relied on him. Not just another stupid app that did something nobody ever asked for.

First, I’m going to survive this winter. Then, we’re doing something about those creature comforts. And a shower. No, a freaking bath. Wait… they might have hot springs in this world. Why didn’t I think about that earlier? I’mma make a spa out here.

A smile giddily curled his lips as Mark pushed back a pine branch, revealing the spot Erald had told them about—two sets of tracks led from beneath the tree. His eyes settled on the tracks leading away from the fort and pushed through the branches.

The tracks passed through dense foliage, and soon, the trees thinned where feral homes dotted the forest. Unfortunately, tracks lined the snow in all directions here, and Mark stared around aimlessly.

He crunched forward, hoping to find some sign of Erin, when he spotted hoof marks. Only two horses were in the fort, and he was pretty sure nobody rode them through this area.

I’m guessing that’s the mounted feral Erald told Mira about.

Mark glanced over the other tracks momentarily. Erald had told them that Erin didn't follow the one on horseback, but he had no idea where else to go.

“Damn it,” he muttered, pivoting through the snow. “At least the horse tracks are something to go on.” Erin, stay safe for me, okay? I’m doing my best.

The horse tracks led Mark away for several minutes before he stumbled toward a tree and leaned against it. Shooting lightning bolts was great, but the suit got hot quickly—especially when crunching around in the freaking snow.

Pulling on his collar, he tried letting some cool air in. He could feel his undergarments growing moist.

“Where the bloody hell is she,” he breathed. “Or this stupid feral. Why couldn’t they make it easy for me?” Mark grinned, reminded of the challenge.

To his right—several dozen meters away, he heard a scream and swung toward it. He saw blurred figures through the trees and ran toward them.

Panting as he pressed against a tree, Mark spotted two ferals pulling a young girl through the woods. Against every step, she kicked and thrashed, screaming out. He didn’t understand what she said, but at a guess, he would have gone for “help!”

He raised his palm and pointed it at the ferals in a moment of poor judgment. What are you thinking, idiot? Mark lowered his hand and followed after them. A couple of weeks in a primitive world, and you have already forgotten how lightning works? Mark cussed himself. He couldn’t believe he had been seconds away from charring all three.

He followed them for several minutes through dense, hilly woodlands, climbing up and down mounds of snow.

A clearing broke the trees—a horseman sat mounted at the clearing’s end—trees at his back. He wore a wolf pelt, but his arms were bare, save bracelets and tattoos. A short sword hung sheathed at his side, and a bow hung from his saddle.

That’s no feral. Even I can tell that much. Those poor bastards call a sharp piece of metal a dagger. Mark eyed that man’s saddle. Its workmanship was on par with the couple they had within the fort. Not only that, but the short sword's bronze handle and the metal jewelry he wore were not the kinds of items he'd seen the ferals with. Iron was rare in the frontier, and worked iron was even rarer. The horseman’s items were smithed by someone who knew what they were doing.

Mark raised his hand. He could probably take the one on horseback out, he figured. But he then glanced back at the other two dragging the girl. How would they react? Some hero he would be if they slit her throat.

Come on, what are you going to do? I can’t just let them take her.

Mark tapped his fingers across the tree he took cover beside as the ferals approached the one on horseback.

One feral pushed the girl while the other walked ahead, extending his arms as he approached the rider. Suddenly, the girl spun, breaking the feral’s weak grip and running.

Now!

Mark turned his palm on the feral who chased the girl. Thunder crackled, and lightning sparked across the snowy landscape in a flash, slamming into the feral with a deafening, echoing pop. Feral’s furs burned, and his skin blackened as he fell smoking.

Mark's gaze rose as he heard the horse's neigh. The rider kicked his heels and sent his horse galloping into the trees.

Shit!

Mark aimed for the rider, but he was already disappearing into the dense line of trees. Through the corner of his eye, he spotted the second feral giving chase to the girl and turned his aim on it, sending out another crackling blast a second later that blasted the man back several feet. He didn’t get back up.

He looked back toward the rider, but he was long gone. Barely a blur lost to the foliage.

Mark’s gaze returned to the girl frantically running through the woods.

Chasing after the girl wasn’t the wisest decision. He didn’t want to scare her. She had no doubt been through enough. But who were the ferals that had seemingly kidnapped the girl, and why?

Sighing, Mark took chase, making sure to remain hidden from afar.

Cutting through the trees, he followed her to a grouping of straw hovels barely a hundred yards from the fort.

The girl’s sobs brought ferals from the nearby homes out. By their doors, they stood and watched her. A weatherbeaten, gray-haired man appeared as she approached one of the huts. Her arms rose, and she cried out as she spotted him, but the man angrily barked something that slowed her run to a crawl as she dropped her arms.

What? Mark moved closer, pushing through the trees to get a better look.

The man was waving her away, and as she stepped closer, he drew a dagger from his belt.

Seriously? What the hell is going on here?

The girl said something. Her voice sounded scared and broken. She raised her hands defensively and backstepped.

The man walked toward her, holding the dagger threateningly. He pointed back toward the hut, shouting something as he continued toward her.

The girl began to shake her head, tears tracing her cheeks. She turned and began to run through the snow. The man watched for a second and took chase.

Not again. Mark raised his hand as the man closed on the now exhausted girl. Going around killing ferals was the last thing he needed to be doing. But he couldn’t just leave her to die.

The flash sparked across the forest floor, eliciting gasps from nearby ferals. It hit the man with a roaring clap that brought down a dusting of snow.

The girl stumbled as she ran, panting and turned. Her sobs burst into a flood of tears as she began to wail. Her cries grew louder as she sat in the snow, looking at the man’s smoldering corpse. Staggering to her feet, she walked toward him and dropped to her knees. She tried to touch him and recoiled at the heat, so she sat sobbing at his side.

More ferals continued to gather around. A few spotted Mark watching the girl, and their eyes glued to him in a mixture of fear and curiosity.

What have I done? He didn’t need anyone to explain it. Her tears said it all. That man had been important to her.

A woman stepped forth from the hut, followed by two other girls. One looked maybe four or five, and the other barely a day over sixteen, but she held her protruding belly like an expecting mother.

The woman rushed to the girl beside the steaming corpse. She was marked by gray knotted hair and deep creases along her forehead. As she reached them, she dropped to her knees and crawled. Through her tears, she began to shout something and crawled up to the girl and pushed her.

The girl didn’t resist. Instead, she shuffled back as the woman continued to scream and point at the old man’s body.

“What is going on here?” Mark said as he walked toward them.

“Murderer,” the woman sneered with dirty, gritted teeth. Her wild eyes stared into Mark’s soul as she hovered over the corpse.

“What do you mean, you crazy woman? He was attacking her. What on earth is going on here?” Mark snapped, pointing at the girl.

“It’s the price. The wolf needs flesh,” she began to rock and laugh. “Wolf needs flesh. Virgin flesh.”

The surrounding ferals moved closer, and Mark turned to find them surrounded.

“They need flesh, they do. Virgin flesh,” feral from the crowd said, eyes locked on the girl.

“Yeah, flesh for the cultists. Virgin flesh.”

“Back, the lot of you,” Mark hissed, raising his palms at the ferals, sending them recoiling back. “Stay close, girl.”

The girl looked up at Mark, still crying, and then around at the ferals. The crowd looked determined but fearful of Mark’s power.

“This is madness,” Mark shouted. “She’s safe with me, you understand,” he continued, spinning around and making his hands crackle with power as he pointed his palms across the crowd.