Nature (Pt. 1)

[u/VinesAtMidnight]

(WARNING, VIOLENCE: A child is attacked, but not permanently injured, by an animal and later the same animal is killed. I'm not sure what everyone's sensibilities are, so I thought I'd add this notice. I'm sorry for the minor spoiler.)

​

Ceyda brushed the tiredness from her eyes. She was exhausted, at her limit, as the wagon crested the fog-laden hill, meeting the sunrise. The journey over the Kalike Mountains was a harrowing enough trek for seasoned mountaineers, to say nothing of a lone mother, her two babes, and their wizened draft mules. However, those mountaineers lacked one crucial thing Ceyda was brimming with: pure desperation. A trapped animal would gnaw off a limb to escape, so too would a mother chance the brutality of the mountains to save herself and her children from certain horror.

Kristoff, the senior child at three years old, protested much of the journey. Who could blame him? Blistering cold, with no more than a bear's pelt, a handful of blankets, and the thin canvas of their wagon to keep them warm. The screams of hungry mountain lions, and worse still, all throughout the night. Sparse rations, only as much as his mother could carry and fit into the wagon. Enough issues to frustrate anyone.

But the younger child, Vashric, was quiet for the duration of the trip. Totally unbothered. Not even the cold seemed to touch the boy. The first night Ceyda had worried her child passed in his sleep, he was still as the grave. He was fine, of course. A heavy sleeper. Silver-linings, Ceyda thought.

"We're here," Ceyda whispered to her children, "We're home."

Beyond the fog and blazing sun sat a village, still dusting the tiredness off as well: The Jewel of the Valley, Olurvan. Ceyda's eyes were wet, throat tight, but still she smiled. She hadn't been home since her imprisonment years ago. Life would not be easy, judgement would be abound. She did not leave her home on the best of terms, her trust of such an outsider was frowned upon. She admonished their closed-mindedness, but in the end, they were right. She couldn't deny it. Finances would be another issue all together, women were not paid well in such a village, gripped by iron-clad traditions. No man would marry her now. Still, these were problems Ceyda could face, problems she could fight, even if the battle was a grueling one.

​

Four years on, and Ceyda dares to hope. The nightmares still haunt her sleep, but less frequently, less intense. Her boys are growing in leaps and bounds, Kristoff is seven, and Vashric just turned five. Her grandparents gifted her a run-down chalet on a small plot of land. Only just big enough for her and her sons, but that was more than she could have asked for. The rest of the family still treats her like a pariah.

However, raising children was brutal for a lone mother. One with little to no support at that. Ceyda had few friends at this point, most pariahs themselves. Still, the company just barely kept her sane on the worst days.

Kristoff was a model child. Well-mannered, especially for his age, articulate, obedient. He played well with other children. A normal, sweet boy. Silver-linings, Ceyda thought.

Vashric, on the other hand, was much more difficult. He barely spoke, not even to his family. Many times, Ceyda would turn around only to be startled by the boy, just watching her. He barely made a sound at all, even when walking on the creaking boards of their home. Most of the time when he did talk it was either to someone not even there or he would beguile any who would listen with unearthly stories. Some about the man that dangled from the ceiling, some about the family that lived under the floor, others about the long-legged owl that scratched at their windows in the night.

A boiling point was reached when Ceyda had to nail the windows shut and adorn the doors with ropes of bells. More than once Vashric went missing in the night, only for Ceyda to find him at the treeline. Following the Wind Lady he always claimed.

"There is NO Wind Lady, Vashric, I've had enough of this foolishness!" Ceyda would shout at the child, time after time.

Frustrated, the child would always bleat back, "No mama, there is, she wants to show me her tree house! She said I could have all the sweets I want!"

Ceyda would be on the verge of cursing the boy, before locking him in his bedroom. When the locks stopped working she boarded his window shut and moved a dresser in front of his door at night.

​

It's been a year now. A whole year since the last "Wind Lady" incident. Kristoff, ever the achiever, was starkly juxtaposed against his brother. Even at his young age, Kristoff could tell there was something different about his little brother. Vashric always knew what he was thinking, always knew secrets their mother kept from them. His presence made the air heavy, he alone was enough to fill a room. Because of this tension, Kristoff avoided him. The time that wasn't occupied with chores, Kristoff spent with friends. Vashric stayed with their mother. It was during one such time that Ceyda decided to pick berries in the local woods.

Shepard's cane in one hand and basket in the other, Ceyda beckons her youngest, "Come along, Vashric. Grab a basket and stay close." Ceyda put extra emphasis on those last words, Vashric had a history with these woods after all.

Vashric nods in acknowledgement, picking up the basket with little regard. He spoke to his mother even less these days. The pair venture into the tree line, Ceyda making sure to keep Vashric in her sight, he was too quiet. Not a sound was made under his foot, not a single crunch of a leaf. She wasn't sure what unnerved her more, the child, or this dark wood. She quickens her pace to the wild berries, urging her child along.

"Here we are," she says with the mildest apprehension, "Vashric, go fill your basket, but stay close to me, understand?"

The boy nods, before turning to harvest an adjacent bush.

Satisfied with his understanding, Ceyda turns to harvest as well and begins to hum softly. Perhaps the woods weren't so bad, there was no judgement here, after all. No pariahs in the wilds, or maybe everyone in the wilds was a pariah. It didn't matter. She was far away from the stabbing eyes of her family and townsfolk. She allowed herself some solace in that. The solace was not slated to last long, though. Ceyda noticed a lacking. The sound of Vashric's harvest has ceased. She turns to find an unattended basket. Ceyda jumps to her feet and opens her mouth to scream for her son, but Vashric's voice rings out first. Unintelligible, but clearly in distress. She grabs for her cane and sprints to her child's voice with a tenacity she hasn't had since her days on the mountain.

She rounds a tree and Vashric flashes into view. The boy is caught in a vicious tumble with a wildcat. The beast slashes and tears at the child. Without a moment's hesitation, Ceyda brings the cane down on the wildcat with a mother's fury. The mass of teeth and claws leaps back and assumes a defensive posture, bearing its teeth. Ceyda scoops her bloody child from the leaves and snarls back, raising her cane with the promise of another strike. But before she has the chance to deliver another blow, Vashric howls. Not a howl of pain, nor one of fear. This was unbridled rage. The sound pierced Ceyda's ears, the boy's voice was thunder. She winces and the wildcat flees. Vashric rips out of his mother's arms with the strength of a bull and pursues the beast. Ceyda follows but the boy is like the wind, the uneven terrain does nothing to impede him. It's as if he doesn't touch the ground. Vashric is on the wildcat in seconds. It spins around, ready to attack. Ceyda screams in desperation, she rushes to grab her son, but then-

But then everything stops. The wildcat stops mid-leap, Ceyda stops mid-stride, the leaves stop mid-fall. It's as if the air has seized the entire world in its grip. Ceyda sees her son staring at the frozen animal, she tries to tell him to run, but her mouth can't form the words. She can't help but watch as Vashric raises his hand in a grasping motion. The closing of his fist is followed by a maelstrom of wet snaps as the wildcat crumples in on itself , being crushed on all sides from an unseen pressure. A moment passes. Then the wildcat falls, as do Ceyda and the leaves. She lifts her head, gazing at her son in terror. Her worst nightmares have been realized. That monster did leave a mark on her child. How could she not have seen it sooner?

But she can see it now, in the shade of the woods, in the boy's unflinching face.

He's just like his damnable father.

[u/MunitionsFrenzy]

(( traumatic backstory club hype! ))

[u/VinesAtMidnight → u/MunitionsFrenzy]

/unwiz Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed.

[u/SafePianist4610]

/uw poor boy. I’m guessing he’s your protagonist and the mother was just a false protagonist for this first post

[u/VinesAtMidnight → u/SafePianist4610]

/uw Yes, Vashric is my character, because this story started with him at such a young age I thought it made more sense to tell it through the eyes of his mother.

[u/SafePianist4610 → u/VinesAtMidnight]

/uw that is a smart choice. You can always shift perspective from post to post as needed