Harvest 3, 855
The screams didn’t sound human at first, more like Yuravi’s pigs. Buu and Aru sat in silence as the squealing continued, exchanging looks as they listened intently to the animal panic.
“He must have gotten hungry,” Aru said when the pigs finally quieted, picking up a small mirror and leaning in to examine Buu’s eyes. Buu opened them wider, keeping his eyes on the mirror, familiar with the test.
“The dog? Do you think he would risk it? The pigs are pretty hu—” Buu stopped short as the screams returned in force, unmistakably human.
Instinctive dread pulled Buu to his feet, Aru rising beside him in the same moment. Pulse pounding through ground teeth, heart like a lead weight in his chest, Buu made his way to the door. The room spun as the shouts of alarm and those horrible, dying cries assaulted Buu’s ears. He ignored the sour taste growing in his mouth and the ache at the back of his throat, resting a trembling hand on the door.
“Where are you going?” Aru’s voice shook. “It’s safer here.”
Buu didn’t look back at her, afraid that if he saw the comfortable, familiar room, he wouldn’t be able to leave it. Head pounding, he tried to think clearly. Images of his uncle swinging his axe with easy strength swam through his head. Old lady Fira weaving wool into clothes beside the fire. Yuravi staring out across his pigs, sun catching on his lopsided grin. The thoughts blurred together, incoherent collages of his little, peaceful life.
“I need to check on everybody. I want to make sure they’re okay.”
“That’s admirable,” Aru’s hand landed softly on his shoulder. “But you’re sick, and hurt, and you won’t be much use out there. Whatever’s happening, you must let the soldiers handle it.”
Buu pulled away, stumbling through the door in the same motion. Over his shoulder he called, “What if it’s the soldiers that are happening?”
It took everything in Buu not to break into a run. His body tingled with the need to hurry and find his uncle, but if he didn’t pace himself, he wouldn’t make it anywhere. Buu fought for every movement, limbs dragging, head spinning as he turned towards the church at the village center. Anaya, please let them be okay.
Men and woman in Thaven burgundy ran everywhere, calling confusion and alarm. Some glanced at him as they ran past, but no one stopped. Buu heard shouts for the general, questions, and one repeated answer: ‘the grimm is on a rampage.’
Stone-faced soldiers ran towards the screaming, weapons ready and shining in the moonlight. Others broke and scattered, pale expressions round with terror. Buu plodded through them all, jumping at every shadow but not veering from his course.
The chapel sat in the dirt square that made the village’s center. All of Red Birch’s dances and weddings played out in that square; their markets and baptisms, village meetings, funerals and every other hallmark of village life. Now it played host to the one and only massacre in the village’s history.
The wolfdog — or the grimm, Buu supposed — stalked through the center of the square. Soldiers lined one side, shields up, swords and spears prickling from the defensive wall as arrows flew freely overtop. The grimm didn’t acknowledge their shields, wading through armour and men alike, a red spray marking its passage.
A leg landed between Buu and the chapel with a meaty slap, painting the dirt crimson. Buu’s gorge rose, darkness pushing at the edges of his vision as he stared at the limb. A stray arrow thudded into the wall beside Buu, bringing him back to himself. He didn’t know how long he had stared, but the last of the soldiers called the retreat, breaking into a disorderly scatter of fleeing troops.
The grimm didn’t follow them, licking his chops and sniffing the air, lips pulled back in an oddly human expression of dissatisfaction. The grimm turned in a circle, seeming to admire the corpses piled around him, before setting his sights on the squat, silent chapel.
Buu’s mouth went dry as the grimm took the first step towards the hidden villagers. He had seen what the monster could do and shivered at the thought of it anywhere near his uncle. Knowing he would think himself out of it if he hesitated, Buu ran forward.
His legs buckled, the day of exhaustion and pain having already drained his meagre reserves of energy. Buu shouted as he stumbled, catching himself before he could pitch over. He slumped to one knee, meeting the grimm’s gaze as the wolfdog looked over at the sound.
“Don’t! Not them!” Buu pleaded, as loud as he could.
The grimm understood, Buu could see that in the set of the monster’s glowing eyes and the cruelty of its growing smile as it turned back to the chapel. Buu stared around the square, searching for help, for an adult, but finding only carnage.
A sob tore itself from Buu’s chest, ragged and harsh. He pictured his uncle Kavir, strong, reliable, gruff uncle Kavir, standing in front of the other villagers — forever the protector — torn apart by this animal. Kind old lady Fira. Eccentric Yuravi. Everyone he had ever cared about, laid out in their own blood for the apparent pleasure of this creature.
Buu couldn’t fight; the blood of warriors stained the square in pools around him as a stark reminder of the futility of that path. But he had killed a man. A general, no less. Perhaps he had other ways to deter the beast from his kin.
Buu flexed his hands, his mind grabbing hold of the closest corpses. Grinding his teeth, he felt something inside his chest click into place, strength and energy flowing into him from the connection. Buu rose to his feet at the same instant the bodies began twitching, slowly sitting up in a grisly, clumsy puppetry.
Buu stared daggers at the grimm. Gasping in a deep, clear breath, as he raised his arms, hauling the dead to their feet through his invisible connection as naturally as his uncle could heft an axe. The grimm whipped around to face him, its wide-eyed stare sweeping over the standing corpses.
The monster’s nose twitched furiously. Buu raised his furrowed brow a notch as the grimm whimpered — not a scared sound, but a sad, desperate noise. His thoughts felt cold and sluggish despite the newly found vigour coursing through his bones, and it took him a moment to gather his focus again as the grim yipped, bowling into one of the dead.
The grimm did not flow through the bodies like he had when they lived. Teeth and claw still devastated the flesh, tearing and rending until only a pair of red stumps rose out of the boots, still upright and swaying slightly. Buu blinked numbly at the carnage — part of his mind pushing him to use the remaining corpses, the other part just staring at something that used to be a person.
The grimm stood panting over the red mess, jaws dripping. It snarled and snapped at the air, body tense and trembling for reasons Buu could only guess at. Drawing himself up, Buu cleared his throat, doing his best to be brave.
“That’s enough,” Buu gestured to the other bodies, waiting at his fingertips, swaying in a non-existent breeze. “They didn’t deserve this.”
He squinted at the grimm, trying to decide if the animal could understand the words. The animal stared back, strange eyes boring into him. As they held each other’s gazes, the bodies began to slump back over, tumbling one by one into the dirt. Buu felt his connection to each closing, his hold loosened by time and the fade of adrenaline.
Finally, the grimm seemed to make up his mind. It shook itself, giving the chapel a thoughtful look before turning down a street, trotting away towards the woods. The last body landed with a thud at the same moment Buu did, the world fading into darkness as running footsteps reached his ears.
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