Harvest 5, 855
Buu flinched as another distant scream punctuated the night. They grew fewer and further between as the fleeing Thavens either escaped, or the grimm found them and whittled their numbers. Buu shuddered and tried not to think about what the beast would hunt when he ran out of soldiers.
Abandoning Red Birch had seemed sensible at the time. The villagers had emerged from the chapel when the sounds of slaughter fell silent, finding their guards scattered or dead and Buu under the care of a frazzled Doctor Dyan. The soldiers had taken what food the villagers had stored for winter, and the anticipation of hunger and angry spirits made leaving a relatively simple decision.
Buu had woken to the slow swaying of his uncle’s gait, the musk and woodchip smell of his only living family thick in his nose. When he stirred, his uncle pulled him close to his chest in one mighty squeeze before settling Buu on the ground.
“How are you feeling?” Uncle Kavir asked, handing Buu a waterskin.
Buu took the skin and drank greedily, his throat as dry as kindling. The other villagers kept on marching, filing past Buu and his uncle in clusters of scared faces. They stared past Buu and into the Aching Wood, eyes scanning for any sign of the grimm, or the soldiers. A twitch rippled through their numbers at every creak or moan from the trees that gave the forest its name.
“M’kay,” Buu murmured, handing back the waterskin and wiping his mouth on his sleeve. He took stock of himself: Headache? No. Fever? No. Dizziness, nausea, aches? No, no, and yes. “How is everyone else?”
“We’re okay. A couple of people tried to fight — they didn’t make it — but mostly people are just hungry and afraid. Can you walk?” Uncle Kavir stood, offering a hand to Buu and hefting him to his feet. “We need to put as much distance between us and that Thaven monster as we can before nightfall.”
“Grimm — they called it a grimm,” Buu said, taking a few tentative steps. His bruises throbbed, but he gave his uncle the thumbs up. He wouldn’t get far, but he could carry himself for a while. “Where are we going?”
“Scarred Lake,” his uncle explained as they rejoined the march, one protective hand on Buu’s shoulder. “Rumour has it that the lake has been kind to them lately — with any luck they will have enough food to hold over a few extra mouths for the hard season.”
They hiked in silence, making their way to the middle of the pack. His uncle glanced at Buu every few minutes with an old, worried look, as familiar as Buu’s favourite boots.
“Really uncle, I’m feeling okay. A little sore, but healthy,” Buu offered after yet another of these looks. His uncle started to reply, a line creased between his eyes, when a startled yelp came from behind them.
The yelp grew into shouts and screams even as Buu turned to the sound. The rearmost villagers dove to the sides of the path, throwing their arms over their heads protectively. Like a wave, the others saw the grimm sauntering up the path and ran, scattering into the trees.
The monster grinned as it made its way between the fleeing villagers, ignoring them entirely. Buu held his ground — even a perfectly healthy person couldn’t outrun the grimm — what chance did he have? The beast walked right up to him, making a bored scan of his uncle, sweating but steady at his side.
The grimm sniffed Buu, staring at him thoughtfully for a few moments, then turned and left as quickly as he had come. The great black creature didn’t retrace his steps, however, instead stepping directly through one of the cowering villagers. A surprised shout punched its way out of Buu as he watched the animal’s long legs disappear and reappear on either side of the villager’s torso. He couldn’t be sure, but Buu thought he saw the monster smirk.
Once the grimm returned to the forest, the villagers slowly came back together, shooting Buu nervous glances as they resumed their trek. Whispered conversations and hissed arguments travelled up and down the column, somehow always skipping Buu and his uncle to resume on the far side. Uncle Kavir placed a protective hand on Buu’s shoulder as they walked, his mouth set in a tight line.
Buu patted his uncle’s hand, smiling to reassure him. He didn’t blame anyone for gossiping. If he could, he would be giving himself the side-eye too. Anyone with sense — himself included — must be wondering if Buu attracted the grimm, putting them all in danger, or if his odd affinity with the monster was all that kept them from being hunted like the soldiers.
They settled into a makeshift camp for the night, huddling together and lighting several small fires to keep the Harvest chill at bay. Buu collapsed against a log, leaning his head on old lady Fira’s shoulder, grateful that someone else felt the hike as deeply as he did. Buu tumbled into sleep immediately, unaware of the old lady’s comforting words or soft stroking of his hair.
Unaware too, of the grimm, stalking their campfires in long lazy circles, blazing eyes intent on the sleeping boy.
By the third and final day of their march, the grimm’s presence had grown familiar. The further they moved from Red Birch Village, the fewer soldiers it had to hunt and the closer it stayed to the villagers. The grimm ranged the woods around them, flickering through trees and appearing unexpectedly from one side or the other.
After it picked off Guan Mu, no one ventured away from the group, bunching around Buu in a suffocating clump. No one left to get firewood and people answered nature’s call on the path, not daring to venture out for privacy. When the grimm came to check on Buu, once or twice each day, the people that had clung to him for safety a moment before leaped away from him as if they’d been burnt.
“Are you sure you don’t know why the beast’s taken an interest in you, boy?” Mei asked him after one visit, eyes narrowed to suspicious slits.
“He’s already said he doesn’t know anything,” uncle Kavir replied, stepping in front of Buu, his stance thrumming with challenge.
“Easy, Kavir.” Mei raised her hands, taking a half step away. “He’s young. Maybe the boy overlooked something, or forgot. He’s got to know why this monster follows him.”
His uncle regarded Buu over his shoulder, sizing him up with a steady gaze. His uncle could intimidate a grizzly bear if he wanted. Solid as a tree stump and just as stubborn, Uncle Kavir had a way of taking up more room than anybody else, without actually being any bigger.
“Well Buu, is there anything you may have missed? Anything at all that might have caught this thing’s attention?”
The general’s glazed, dead eyes glared from Buu’s imagination, the jerking, uneven steps the body had taken as it stumbled towards the woods replaying in his mind. He could almost feel the pounding, gory rush of the general’s heart as it stopped between his clutching fingers.
Buu cleared his throat before he dared speak, voice threatening to catch. “No. I don’t know why.”
“There. See? The boy doesn’t know anything.”
Mei let the issue drop, though she met Buu’s eyes as his uncle and defender turned away. Mistrust sat over her like a thundercloud and Buu wondered what she saw in him that his uncle couldn’t. A killer? A monster, just like the one stalking them now? A sick nine-year-old boy? She’d be correct in any case.
Buu shuddered as he remembered the fallen soldiers, torn apart by the grimm, rising to face it once more. He could still feel the invisible pressure against his fingertips, like strings extending from him to them. The rush of power, of wellness, gushing up from inside him and lending him strength.
But he could see their faces too. Contorted or scratched, locked in fear — anything but peaceful. They had families somewhere, or friends. Someone loved them, and he had used their bodies like tools. He really should feel worse about that, he knew. He couldn’t find the guilt in himself — he still had a surplus of shame about disappointing his uncle — maybe there was none left over?
Anaya, the lady in light, frowned on disrespecting dead bodies. It brought nothing but disgrace and angry spirits to the offender’s door. Following old reflexes, Buu raised his hand to his heart, curling his fingers into the correct position for prayer. While his body asked forgiveness, his mind remained elsewhere.
He couldn’t do it again. Even if he received absolution every day, he would never have access to enough dead to keep himself well each day. Not unless he made them himself and the thought made him want to puke. When his uncle next checked in on him, Buu could only offer a queasy smile.