Chapter 2
This world was a unique one. Full of wondrous beasts, benevolent and otherwise.
Mistveil had grown reliant on the surrounding vegetation over the years.
Occasionally, they would receive a small shipment of fish from one of the sea-side villages on hushed offers.
Though, that was usually reserved for festivities or dried for the harsher seasons.
If the High Priest found out, surely the men that managed the shipment would disappear.
For a while now, the chieftain had declared that all the women and altar maidens must forage while the men travel to other villages for trade and barter.
It was always the same expectation; change out of your robes, go out into the wilderness, collect what you can, and come back with enough to feed yourself and another.
Rarely did that happen. Especially given that the chieftain made everyone combine their labors into a pile to divide mouthfuls to others compared to the banquet he kept for himself.
The men came back to the same issue yet somehow seemed to sustain themselves.
Fortunately, Griselda always came back with enough items to provide for herself and a few others.
Even if it meant breaking the barriers and boundaries placed by the village, she would often hide food away in secret pouches for a few of the hungry children or weak elderly.
She despised having to do this. It felt like it had been years since this was deemed necessary.
But she would do whatever was required to keep the guards from breathing down her neck.
Especially if it meant coming home with arms full of plump, delicious, overly desired fruit to get the chieftain off her back as well.
Unfortunately, these past months have been frivolous and uneventful in terms of a celebration or even ceremony.
Not much had been able to be harvested or traded.
None of the coming-of-age villagers stuck around long enough to plan a festival, typically being taken by the High Priest, sent to another village, or even the city to learn a different trade.
Mistveil was already limited on supplies as it was.
Successful supply shipments were few and far between, almost to the point where they were having to trade and barter with the hidden tribes of the old races that wandered the land.
Races that they were told stories of as children.
Ones that would kidnap them in the middle of the night and take them back to their encampments just to boil and suck the marrow from their bones.
Though, the knowledge of such trades was supposed to be purely secretive, and she wasn’t supposed to know such a thing was occurring nor which races they were in communications with.
The benefits of eavesdropping while tending to the altar, which had steadily become her sole duty to tend to as it felt more and more of the chosen ones had been disappearing.
Whenever the High Priest came to visit, he always handpicked a few of the maidens to turn their lives to the altar and keep it pristine.
Its only purpose was to provide a place for all their hard-earned profits to waste away and spoil.
Forbid his holiness show up unannounced and the altar look like shit and desolate.
She got her ass handed to her once for leaving a soot smear.
Guaranteed that wouldn’t happen again, despite not believing in whatever the altar stood for.
Every so often their chieftain would spill blood of whatever animal was caught on it.
Something he said along the lines of ‘to maintain the kingdom’s peace’.
The High Priest had fed everyone the idea that if enough sacrifices occurred then the land would become well again.
Griselda often wondered if those sacrifices included the human variety with how many maidens were taken from their village.
How little truth actually sat behind the words of the High Priest?
The rotting disease that suffocates the land had done so for many seasons now.
It’s been steadily getting worse, and recently started effecting most of the forest with its fruit and vegetable bearing life such as the tree she pried the fruit from.
Rumor spread from the main city outside the forest that it’s being labeled as The Strangle.
Does he truly think spilling blood will solve such a problem?
Her eyebrows crinkled together at mention of the city.
Guards have been showing up more than normal.
Clad in disgusting rusty armor, they stand post outside Mistveil and constantly antagonize everyone that tries to cross in or out.
The High Priest deemed it necessary for their safety though, so no one fought back against it.
It always struck her as odd for him to employ people of such…
nature. Though, they were just as eerie as he himself.
Griselda had tried to stand up to a guard before, testing that theory to see if they were truly as bad as the whispers of the elders in the shadows of the late night central fires declared.
Reaching up to touch the palm sized scar under her jaw, memories vividly flooded back of when she challenged a younger guard as a child.
One who tried to take her basket of fruit during a harmless self adventure.
The guard had towered over and shoved her down, holding a spear to her throat as he stomped every single piece to mush while she weakly fought back.
He swore slicing her jaw wasn’t on purpose.
All the chieftain did was shake his head when she told him, bleeding and crying.
Irrelevant anger flared in her as she fought back the memory.
It had been two decades since that incident, yet it still sparked frustration in her.
Not like it wasn’t the first time she had been treated differently.
No use becoming belligerent over something that won’t change.
Her fingers mindlessly scratched at the faded scar. Disgust toward the guards gnawed at her regardless of their intention.
Night birds whistled and hoo’d around as her focus came back to reality. Everything felt eerily still for some reason but was also peaceful.
A thundering boom exploded from her right flank, ripping her away from the train of thought and forcing her ears to perk up. All creatures hushed in the vicinity. Griselda spun around on her uninjured heel, clutching the strap of the basket with both hands. Her eyes wide, frantically scanning.
The sun had fully set during her trance, leaving everything to bathe in the rising full moon’s low light. Undergrowth was denser in this section of the forest. The Strangle hadn’t fully touched this area, though evidence started on the edges of the leaves.
A bush briefly shook. Her eyes trained intensely on the area, waiting to see what danger would pop out. The leaves stilled for a moment. Griselda released the breath she was holding and took a few more short gasps before letting her shoulders relax a little.
Right as she attempted to turn back around, the bush resumed aggressively shaking.
Dark leaves and sticks splayed from within, puffing out onto the sparse grass below.
Unease prickled the base of her neck as chills pimpled down her arms and legs.
Her sage eyes locked on the location as she steadily backed away from the trembling bush.
Night was not a good time to find out what lurked in the woods, despite her daytime confidence.
She’d heard horror stories from the older ones of what happens when you stay out past sunset as of late.
Some never return. Others appear days later missing limbs.
Or worse. Granted, none of the people in the stories she heard were wearing a blessed pendant but she began to doubt the power of the supposed blessing in that moment.
A squeal shrilled from a few feet away before sharply cutting off. Dark liquid sprayed from under the brush and painted the grass with a sickening splatter. She couldn’t believe her eyes, her stomach churning in response. Biting her tongue, Griselda turned and ran.
Well, limped. Her ankle screamed in pain as it threatened to give out. A strange noise followed suit. In her desperate haze, it almost sounded like a grown man keeping pace.
Something dark flickered through the undergrowth directly beside her, flashing midway up the trees, suddenly darting face height, then ducking behind the scattered bushes. Griselda’s breath sawed in and out, her legs scurrying as fast as she could.
Absolute dread ran through her pulsing veins and fueled her flight response. She dived to the left, dodging a lingering tree limb and hustled off her traveled path.
Don’t be a guard. Fuck, don’t be a guard!
Her thoughts raced in tandem with her pulse. While there were harmful creatures out here, there’s truly nothing worse than a guard drunk out of his mind with a hunger for something she could provide him. Or rather, something he would take.
More crashing reverberated behind her. A crack thundered through the air as a rotted tree snapped.
The sounds of the forest all clashed in an abundant cacophony.
Frantically scanning the growth in front of her, Griselda veered the direction most likely to lose whoever was chasing her. She glanced over her shoulder.
She swore on her soul that eyes met hers.
Glinting, vibrant yellow eyes.
Big and sharp.
Predatory.
That’s not a guard.
She ducked another branch, twigs and leaves scratched and slapped against her face and arms as she rushed to get a safe distance. Rips filled the air as her tunic caught on the edge of a thorn bush.