31 Days ::Original:: In the Footsteps of a Phantom
Title: Following Phantoms
Day/Theme: Oct. 2, 2012 "treading through the crimson leaves"
Series: Original
Rating: T
Summary: Her father lost to the woods she once believed he conquered, Stella follows in his footsteps as a deliverer, delivering goods and messages for a high price, risking her life in exchange for money and a chance to go beyond the city's walls. The forest is filled with monsters straight from her favourite bedtime stories, and Stella rarely feels fear completing what is traditionally a job meant for men... until she is attacked by one of the forest's most lethal predators.
More than once during her childhood, Stella's father had told her of his adventures through the wilderness that existed beyond the city gates.
“The path once lead to the capital,” Gregory Turner had explained over a supper of duck and potatoes. Steam was rising off of the hot food, warming the cold dining room. Stella's brother had leaned forward as though he was paying attention, and she kicked him under the table when she noticed him warming his hands with the gravy dish. Father's voice had been hard when he reprimanded them, his throat raw from breathing in the freezing air on his journey home. “Stella! Carter!”
“Where does it lead to now, Father?” She hadn't been able to resist asking after a few moments of silence.
“And why don't you take a horse?” her brother added hastily. He had been begging their parents for a mare for weeks.
“It tapers off a few miles into the forest. The trees grow closer together the farther you travel, and the path becomes rocky and uneven. Even if a horse was equipped to deal with the terrain, beasts of burden only serve to attract the attention of unwanted predators.” His eyes had grown dark, flashing dangerously in a knowing way as he looked at his daughter. She was no longer allowed to ask after the frightful creatures that her father encountered, not since she had pestered him after he had returned with scars running down the right half of his once handsome body. Stella bit her tongue and sighed in relief when he continued. “A horse would do me no good.”
Her mother sat the last of the dishes before her father. It was a celebratory meal, meant to celebrate his return from another of his expeditions. Carter hadn't understood these meals but she had thought she did. Father could leave one day to never return, or so he had told her when she asked to travel with him. Whatever he did, it was important and dangerous. He was brave; he should feel proud, she thought as he began to regale tales of the other cities beyond the woods.
Stella grunted as she rolled away from the cat that fell down from the trees towards her. Looking into its large black eyes as it hissed at her only a few feet away, she understood what she had once interpreted as pride in her father to be something completely different: relief.
The seventeen year old cursed herself for not paying better attention to the trees. Each season invited out a number of foul beasts, but autumn was particularly well-known for allowing the worst of the creatures out. The changing colours of the leaves this deep in the woods provided the perfect camouflage for monsters that had adapted to the woods, capturing unwary travellers with its striking beauty. There was too much colour, too much detail meant to distract people like Stella. The leaves had only begun to fall two days earlier, she knew because she had been trying to get out of the woods before the transition began; summer monsters would be retiring while the ones that prowled through the autumn would be either waking up or beginning to leave their nests and grow into adults. In other words, the threats she usually faced during her deliveries had been doubled.
“You're an early riser, huh?” she spoke to it calmly, inviting it to make the first move. She hoped on a basic level to distract it with a soft voice. The cat appraised her from across her camp while she edged away from it. Its muscular build, full coat filled with patches the same colours as the crimson leaves, and sharp protruding canines told her that this was a far cry from a kitten leaving its den for the first time. This was a creature who understood hunger, and knew that a lone traveller as ill-equipped to deal with its hunting prowess as Stella was would be too good to pass up.
Her mind raced as she backed slowly away from it, acutely aware of the bark of an oak that rested against her back. Maples, her father had called the cats, for the trees were their usual hiding places. They remained in the branches above, coming down only when prey appeared below it. Their fur gave them excellent colour, with a paler red on their belly and bright patches along their sides and backs they blended in perfectly with the Fall leaves. They could move from tree to tree, as they were extremely light and sure-footed. They sometimes had extra toes on their front paws. The cat before her flexed its paws, revealing long black claws in each of its toes that sunk into the earth. One of these beasts had given her father his scars.
It snarled, and for the first time since she had taken up the late Gregory Turner's position as wood runner, she understood just how lucky he had been to walk away with his life, and why he was so celebrated for living until the age of thirty-one.
Her mind raced, looking for a known weakness that she could use to get the upper hand. They hated rain. Their whiskers were very sensitive. They were hoarders; despite their place in the trees, they often kept nests in dens that were low and well protected and filled them with items of no apparent value and possible meals. They had poor vision in the dark, but their sense of smell more than compensated for the weakness. Their noses were sensitive.
Bullets would be effective, if only the creature weren't standing over her only gun. As if sensing her idea, it stepped over the six barrel and growled a warning.
Cats liked to play with their food, sometimes for hours before they got down to the actual killing part. And sometimes afterwards too. She pictured her corpse, her limbs hanging at odd angles while the lovely creature before her tossed her into the air like a rag doll and tore into her tanned skin, biting easily through her leather coat and knitted sweater. She silently said a prayer to her father; Gregory had been strong, and his daughter believed that she was as well.
She lunged for her canteen, unscrewed the lid and waited until the cat began to prowl towards her again, its tail twitching in anticipation. Finally, when it was almost close enough to touch her, she threw the ice cold water into its face and rolled to the side, lifting her gun up and firing one bullet into its front legs. “Stop shaking,” she whispered to herself as she aimed for its head. It turned and snarled at her again as she levelled her gun at it, dripping blood from its fresh wound. Her finger itched to pull the trigger, but she only had two bullets left, and she didn't want to chance being without one for the rest of the trip home. She hoped it would back off now that it was injured. She had respect for the creatures who lived here. They had captivated her attention when she was a child, had drawn her into the woods after her father once he had disappeared.
The cat crouched, its muscles coiled. Her breath was visible in the November air, 'proof that I'm alive,' she told herself.
A high whistle pierced the air. The cat relaxed, but she didn't lower the gun.
“Please wait,” a voice commanded from behind her.
She ignored the impulse to turn around and kept her gun in front of her. “Why would I do that?”
“Because that is my cat.”
She laughed, a hint of hysteria in her voice. “No one controls these beasts. Who are you?”
“Who are you?” he challenged, not at all put off by her.
“A traveller! Now answer my question”
“Also a traveller.”
“Why should I believe you can control that thing?”
She saw hands, bare and so pale they were almost luminescent, reach around her and gently pry the firearms away from her, silvery scars running down his right forearm. “Watch,” he whispered in her ear. He was not warm, though he was solid enough to keep her steady.
He whistled again, and this time the creature jumped back into the tree to lick its wounds. “You must forgive her,” he murmured from behind her. “I sent her to catch dinner over an hour ago. I was expecting a few honey hares, maybe a deer. There are so very few humans in this part of the forest.”
The way he said 'humans' made her shudder. “What are you doing out here in the woods? Why does she listen to you?” She asked again.
“Always so persistent,” he muttered. “So curious.”
“What?”
“I made a contract with her,” he admitted quietly. “You grew up to be so beautiful.”
She felt him ruffle her hair, and then he was gone, just as suddenly as he had appeared. Leaving behind the scent of
oranges and foreign spices, the same odour that had once permeated her father's skin.
She gathered her belongings and left, leaving behind the phantom of the man she had been imitating her entire life. Though she knew it was crazy, she couldn't help but wonder. Had that been pride in his voice?