The Boy
It was a cold and dark night twenty-six years ago in Valarys. The full moon was out and the only thing heard throughout the land was the howling of winds and wolves. Upon the steps of a monastery the sons and daughters of Herde walked in hooded robes. They had finished the days work, of foraging the forests for food and firewood. They stopped at the large wooden doors of their home when a noise cut the night’s howling. Resting on their doorstep, wrapped in a bundle of foxskins, was a baby.
The children of Herde were usually brought into the family this way. The children that were turned away from the chance at having a mother and father, but spared the cold embrace of the night, were given a life to follow the teachings and worship the word, of Herde. The wars in the land had many wind up calling the monastery home. Adulterers with no cares for consequences bore many children for the monks to raise their own. No one knew which story this boy had. Barely a page in a book and already lost. If this boy had a story it was gone now. Replaced with a manuscript to follow, and a name: Foren.
Now there were other places in the world where Herde was worshipped, though deep within the mountains of Valarys so far away from fields to grow you’d think Herde could not see this place. The area had been under tough times. More and more in the nearest of cities, still miles away, the common folk were getting sick. What would start as a cold began to manifest as a cursed disease. As time would wear on those who had befallen the illness would slow. Their blood would run cold,their bones would shake, and their skin would freeze.
He was raised under the guidance of the Monks of Ramhorn. A devoted set of followers who worshiped the god Herde. But while others in Telledor worshiped Herde to gain blessings on their crops, those that worshiped Herde in this cold land did so out of fear. Their beliefs were true, but they felt that Herde had let the illness fall on Valarys as punishment for the wickedness that had corrupted its people. So they cut themselves off, from any corruption in the land. They never ventured out, and lived very conservatively to protect themselves.
The Stranger
Some years passed and Foren learned the ways of life at the monastery. When he could talk he learned to pray and when he could walk he learned to kneel. For the most part he was overlooked. Another anonymous son of Herde who would grow up to be forgotten by the rest of the world. This is the way it would have stayed, had it not been for one night.
Like all other nights in the mountains of Valarys it was cold. When Foren was nine a stranger showed up on the doorstep. He hammered the doors until his hands bled. A number of the older monks gathered to meet the stranger but were greeted with hostility. He was a plaguewalker, driven mad seeking a cure. He told them that the curse led him here, that his cure was near. The brothers restrained the man and attempted to ease his suffering. The rest of the monastery was told to stay away from his room. For days he cried out in pain. The man’s sweat would freeze in front of fire, his lips cracked from frostbite, he had little time left.
Foren was delivering water to the monks throughout the monastery. The door to the stranger’s door had been left open while the monks tended to him. Foren came in and offered them a drink. The man who had been laying on the bed rolled his head over and caught glimpse of Foren. His eyes bulged and he shot up. Immediately he grabbed Foren by the arm causing him to drop the water to the ground.
“MY WOLF IN SHEEPSKIN! I HAVE FOUND YOU. RELEASE ME FROM THIS CURSE!” Shouted the man. He affixed his grip to Foren’s throat with one hand, and grabbed a shard of the water vase Foren had dropped. The brothers pleaded for him to release the boy, that his illness was stirring his rage. The stranger payed no heed, and motioned for them to stay back.
“Please! I only meant to give you water!” Foren choked and cried.
The stranger looked down at Foren with anger in his eyes. His fingers cracked as he gripped the shard tighter in his hand and brought it to Foren’s back. A slow slice peeled through his shoulder. Foren winced and let out a shriek.
The man lowered himself to Foren’s head. “Nearly ten years I’ve lived through this freezing hell. I’ve searched the world for release and it’s come to this. I am sorry boy, but you are as damned as I.”
“Please, I-” gasped Foren for air.
Shaking and shivering worse than before it seemed that he was using up all his remaining strength in this attack. He raised the shard now dripping with Foren’s blood to his lips and stuck out the tip of his tongue.
The droplets fell and slid down the stranger’s open maw. As each one dropped the stranger loosened his grip on Foren. He stopped shaking and let the boy go. The knife slid out from his hand and hit the ground. Everyone watched as the man looked down. It was as if he was a different person now. The cold that consumed him before had melted away. Without looking back he stepped past the men who had been pleading. As he walked by they rushed to Foren. Stopping the flow of blood.
The stranger left the room and walked through the crowd which had gathered outside it. Everyone gave the man his due space, for fear that he might suddenly attack one of them instead. He walked right out to the door, as if by instinct. He opened the large wooden doors by their iron handles. The cold air came rushing in.
“You can’t go out there like that! You’ll freeze!” Shouted a child from the monastery.
The stranger only looked back for a moment and said, “But it’s so warm..” As he walked off into the snow.
