Chapter 4 (Patreon)

Losse couldn’t sleep. "That’s unfair!" she thought, twitching her tail nervously. She wanted to rush after her father to the Lake Valley but she knew he wouldn’t accept her help, and besides, what could she do? In the evening, she tried to calm herself down with tea from the night grass, a housecleaning, a hot bath, and finally a good old book. Sitting comfortably in a rocking chair, she flipped through pages until a skillfully made illustration caught her attention. The picture featured a girl with a wealth of chestnut curls. The heroine clung to a tall, broad-shouldered man with bold sideburns. The couple’s pose seemed to be telling of passion and plenty of sexual chemistry between them. Losse sighed heavily and laid back her ears.

Sadly for her, she didn’t know how the lovers had met. Because the obscene book containing the ribald love story (Love Tricks and Aire’s Other Adventures) was the second volume of the novel. Probably somewhere in the world, the first and maybe even the third volume existed. But it didn’t seem possible to find such a treasure in Maylud. The creak of the rocking chair sounded in time with the ticking of an old dwarf clock hanging beneath the ceiling. Both arrows slowly approached twelve. A moth circled around the lamp on top of the drawer chest. The shadow of its tiny gray wings on the wall resembled the dance of some monster for a moment. Losse grimaced and carelessly waved her hand to drive the insect away. She was about to close the book and wash up before getting to bed when her ears twitched sharply and turned towards the front door.

Losse listened. From the forest came the distant murmur of voices. The girl frowned and put the book aside. In this area, visitors were rare, especially at this time of night.

She took several cautious steps, left the house and shivered in the night chill. Someone was approaching the lonely house at the foot of Memorial Hill: Lights of lanterns started to dance among the trees.

“Maybe the hunters have returned?” Losse thought. However, she quickly dismissed the idea. It is unlikely that hunters would roam through the forest making noise and waving lanterns. After thinking for a while, the girl quietly closed the door and, taking twenty steps away from the house, hid behind one of the wild juniper bushes.

As soon as the night guests arrived at the house, their ardor was tamped down, and harsh calls were replaced by obscure whispers.

In the dim light of portable lanterns, Losse identified several familiar faces. They were Maylud’s residents. The fat man lagging behind the crowd resembled the shoemaker Phepps. Looking at the couple standing close to the bush, one could guess that they were twin brothers Yarliс and Verlix, well-known jokers and sons of a local brewer. Shaman Elster led the crowd. According to Losse, he was an extremely unpleasant but incredibly curious individual.

The shaman hissed something and nodded towards the house. One of the townspeople, shifting the lantern to his left hand, approached the door and knocked hesitantly. Then he knocked even louder. The crowd was quiet, cocking up their ears. Losse held her breath. Finally, Elster pushed the knocker away, unceremoniously opened the unlocked door and came inside. The others followed him.

For a while,  the sound of floorboards creaking under many feet came from the house. Then, footsteps traveled to the attic. Then voices were heard. Someone opened the window and shouted:

“She is not here! Find her!”

The people standing outside shook their heads, looking around.

“It’s time to skedaddle,” Losse thought. Intuition told her that meeting Maylud’s inhabitants under such circumstances would not end well. Her heart pounded in her chest so intensely that her ribs seemed to begin shaking. Carefully, trying to keep sight of everyone in the crowd, the girl attempted to get out of behind the bush. With great effort, she managed not to break a single branch. She was about to get to her feet and run into the thicket but suddenly felt someone behind her.

Someone stepped on Losse's tail with all his might, and she reflexively yelled in pain. Following her cry, a loud and skillful whistle flooded the area.

“He-e-re! I've found her!” Cried Yarlic and leaned all his weight on the girl.

The smell of a sweaty shirt and stinking cranberry beer enveloped Losse. With difficulty, she freed her hand. Screaming loudly, she scratched and beat the man who had fallen on her. Yarlic grabbed her wrist, groaned and twisted her arm sharply behind her back. The girl heard fabric tear. The Kettu’s eyes were filled with tears. For several moments, the guy seemed not to dare to do something and just roughly pressed Losse against the grass. Her tail hit the ground and heavy breathing broke from her parted lips.

“There, there. Calm down. You can't escape, baby," he said. The tone of his voice had something of a mischievous guy and at the same time the butcher lifting his knife above the sheep.

Finally, Yarlic, without relaxing his iron grip, stood up and lifted his captive. Losse jerked, trying to free herself, and froze. The crowd gathered around her. There was nowhere to run.

Elster came up to Yarliс and patted the youngster on the shoulder approvingly. Then he turned to the girl.

"Child, don't be afraid. You are destined to save us all".

There was a buzz of approval in the crowd. People seemed relieved.

"What are you doing?! Are you out of your mind?" Losse snapped at them.

They didn't answer her. Without thinking twice, she sank her teeth into Yarlic's hand. The boy squealed and loosened his grip. The Kettu took advantage of her captor's temporary weakness and, poking his soft spot with her knee several times, freed her hands. She was ready to shoot her way out if necessary. But suddenly she saw a glass bottle shining in the light of many lanterns right in front of her face and felt a strange unbearably bitter smell. The smell made her knees buckle, and a dense fog quickly filled her head. The villains' lanterns blinked and turned into distant stars. Her body went limp.

“We will explain everything to you, our savior,” the shaman’s hoarse voice came from afar. “But a bit later, when you calm down.” Elster hid the bottle with potion in numerous folds of his cloak.

“Well? What are you staring at?“ He growled. “Drag her to the Glade of Ancients!”

The crowd receded. In the empty forest house among the white birches, the clock struck midnight.