Brewer King 03 (Patreon)

The cold creeped into his bones and San could not stop shaking. He trudged forward, staggering and nearly stumbling in his haste to make it to the castle. The exertion should have warmed him, but he could barely stop shaking from the cold.

He moved through long abandoned fields, the stalks of some kind of grain brushing against him and being crushed underfoot. The cleared area around the castle were fields, he realized. He didn’t see any tractors or farm machinery, but he did noticed thatched buildings standing among the fields. They did not appear to be in the best of shape, with sagging roofs and one partially collapsed.

He had to chuckle. He was brought to some strange world filled with invisible wolf rams and now it turned out the place was on par with the Dark Ages. Would he be burned as some kind of witch if they saw the gear he was carrying?

San didn’t care. He needed shelter, from the cold and from the persistent monster.

He looked up at the castle. It wasn’t really a castle, he realized. It was a motte and bailey style fortification. The keep upon the motte, a large mound of stone and earth was made of stone and wood. It was a rectangular block of a building, but in the center rose a long spire that was topped with an onion dome. He saw no guards, no people, no lights or anything that showed the keep was occupied.

The bailey, or the small village at its base, was surrounded by a twenty foot wooden wall. As with the keep, San saw no one manning the walls or any sounds of activity within the village.

He would have stopped right there and turned around, but the scent of smoke wafted toward him. He shivered even more at the thought of some place warm. The sun was beginning to set now, the cleared and open space of the fields around the keep were growing darker. Soon twilight would descend and he would be both out in the open and without a place to warm up.

There wasn’t much of a choice in the matter. San shivered in the mylar blanket and trudged forward. There had to be someone in the village and if there was, hopefully they’d be kind enough to share their fire.

He approached the bailey, there was a fairly large ditch that began at the base of the wooden wall. In the near dark, San couldn’t see the bottom of the ditch and that sent a shiver down his spine. A well worn road led to the entrance of the village, a wooden bridge led into the open gates of the village.

San stopped again, trying to peer into the village proper. He couldn’t see anything but the darkened shapes of buildings and the lighter shade of the well trod road. The wooden bridge looked to be sturdy but without any guard rails along the side. No, it wasn’t a bridge. It had been a drawbridge at one time, as San noted the thick iron bands that held the remains of rotting ropes.

He looked up at the walls once more. They were still empty, but he could almost feel a presence watching him.

Squashing his nerves, San marched across the bridge and through the open gates. He saw that they were thick wooden planks backed with metal bands, heavy duty. Why were they open then?

The oncoming night didn’t illuminate much of the village as he entered. He could make out buildings, but like the structures out in the field, many were half collapsed, their thatched roofs caved in or walls crumbling.

He wanted to call out, but he kept his mouth shut. The village was abandoned for a reason. Either disease or something terrible occurring. People did not just leave what looked to be a resource rich environment for no reason. Disease, drought, or war were some of the reasons to ditch a place. San looked behind him and shuddered, there were also monsters in this world.

The scent of smoke lured him onward. San followed his nose as he stumbled through the village. The dark gaping holes in the huts could hold anything, monsters, demons, witches, and whatever haunted the deep dark forests of fairy tales.

He saw light. It came from the seams of a door in a hut along the main thoroughfare. San increased his pace and was soon standing before it, he could hear the crackle fo fire and smell the woodsmoke.

Banging on a stranger’s door in the middle of the night was a sure way to get a gun drawn on you, but maybe there weren’t guns in this world. A sword? San was willing to take the risk. He banged his fist against the wooden door.

“Hello? I need help!” he cried. His voice sounded shrill in his ears and his teeth began to chatter.  “Help!”

The door creaked open under his barrage. San stopped and saw that there was no door knob or anything, just a leather cord that secured the door.

The room was dark. San stopped at the threshold. Hadn’t he seen light? He had smelled woodsmoke. Yet as he looked into the room, it was dark and not much warmer than the air outside.

“What the hell?” San muttered.

“Ha’katavo?” a voice said.

San nearly screamed as he saw a figure within the hut. The shape of a man was standing near the door, his eyes glinting in the dying light.

“Ha’katavo?” the man said.

“I don’t know what that means,” San said.

Of course being transported to another world wouldn’t mean that the locals spoke English or even Punjabi or the little Spanish he knew. It was a different world, therefore different languages.

“I need help,” San stuttered, his teeth would not stop chattering. “I need help.”

The man stepped forward and San saw more of him. He was short, about five and a half feet, his skin was creased and worn, and a thin gray beard haloed his face. He was dressed in an ornate robe, thick beads around his neck and heavy bracelets on his wrists. He looked San up and down.

“Ko kivana takov?” the man asked.

“I’m freezing to death here, buddy,” San said. He wanted to push pass the man and enter the building. What was the point though, there was no fire in the room that promised him relief. He decided to leave and find an abandoned hut.

Light began to fill the room, San blinked and saw that the light was coming from the man’s hand. San stared, mesmerized as the man lifted his hand and laid his index finger on San’s forehead.

Warmth blossomed in his head, it spread down his neck, and settled within his stomach. It was a hot ball in his midsection for a moment, before spreading out across his chest and down his arms and legs. San gasped as the cold that was rattling his bones began to dissipate. It wasn’t gone, but the dangerous bite seemed to have vanished.

San shuddered, leaning against the doorframe of the hut. He took in long breaths, his head dizzy and his legs weak.

“You should build a fire,” the old man said. “It is cold and this old man wishes to feel the warmth in his bones.”

“You speak English?” he asked.

“A trader’s trick,” the man said. “Many Tongues.”

San blinked in bemusement as the man turned and entered the hut. The door was left ajar so San followed the man in. The hut wasn’t any warmer than the exterior, San felt himself begin to shiver once more. The deathly bite of hypothermia seemed to have been blunted, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t occur again.

The hut was a single room, nearly sixteen feet by sixteen feet. In the center was a fire pit, surrounded by brick and with a cast iron pot lying in old cold ashes. San looked to the man to see he had seated himself on the floor and watched him.

It appeared he was waiting for him. A pile of firewood sat next to the door on the interior and San stepped toward it. He took a moment to close and secure the door shut, plunging the room into more darkness. He took off the mylar blanket and his pack, dumping them by the door and grabbed the firewood.

It was dry and covered in a fine layer of dust. San looked to the man again and saw he was still watching. There was a small pile of tinder and kindling by the firewood, San took them and knelt by the fire pit. He brushed away the rusted cast iron pot and removed the ashes.

He was beginning to shake again, from the cold and from the unblinking eyes of the old man. What was he? Who was he? What had he done that took away the intense cold that San had been feeling.  Why wouldn’t he make a fire himself? In fact, where was the fire that he had smelled and the light he had seen?

The questions jumbled in his mind, his fingers were fumbling as he tried to strike the Bic lighter. It sparked and finally a small flame was produced. Nerves shook his hand as he ignited the tinder and blew on it.

The wood was very dry and immediately caught fire. The blessed warmth began radiating as San built up the fire. He wanted to toss all the wood into it, but stopped himself. He stripped off his gloves and warmed his hands. The skin ached with the warmth, both painful and welcomed.

“Ah, it is good to feel the warmth again,” the old man said.

“What are you?” San asked. “Was that magic? Is that how we’re talking? Is that how you removed the cold from me?”

“Inquisitive mind,” the old man said.

In the light of the fire, San could make out more of the man’s features. His face was narrow, his nose long, and he had high and sharp cheekbones. The loose hair on his head had a reddish cast to it, but was streaked with gray. The eyes gleamed in the firelight, intelligent and melancholy.

“A fire burns in all mankind,” the man said. “But there are times when it goes out or when the fire is stolen.” The man stared at the fire, his eyes focused entirely upon the flames. “Then all there is only cold. Such cold.”

San didn’t say anything, waiting for the man to continue.

The eyes snapped onto San.

“Rest, child. The night is cold and dangers lurk in the darkness. You made this fire and have warmed an old man’s bones. You are welcomed in my home. Rest.”

San was going to refuse, to demand questions about what this place was, but as the man spoke he could feel his eyes growing heavy. He had already been exhausted, from the sleepless night, from the trek, from swimming across the freezing river. The sudden exhaustion was overwhelming.

The old man was right, he needed his rest. The monster wouldn’t follow him here. He was safe.

His eyes closed and there was darkness.

***

San awoke to the sun streaming in through a window. He could feel the warm light on his skin. He stared at the wooden crossbeams of the hut, the old wood, stained dark with countless years of woodsmoke. He hadn’t noticed it the night before, but now it was clear as day.

He lay on a small mound of straw and the furs of some animal. It wasn’t a proper bed, but San realized he felt completely rested. It was as if a great burdened had been lifted off his shoulders. He sat up, rubbing his hands against the stubble that was forming on his cheeks and chin.

There was noise coming from outside of the hut, the sound of people. San scanned the room, looking for his benefactor, but the old man was nowhere to be seen. He didn’t know what to do for a moment, should he leave? Should he wait for the old man?

Instead he rose to his feet and set aside the blanket of cloth and fur that he had been wrapped in. The hut was warm, the fire he had built was still burning, hot and cheery. San crouched before the fire and warmed his hands over it.

He listened to the noise outside. It was the noise of people going about their business, the cries of animals, the shouts, laughter, and talking of people. San decided to see what was happening.

The door creaked as he exited and as if he’d flipped a switch the world suddenly went silent. San stepped out of the hut, ducking the low entrance, and stood there. People who had been going about their day stopped; every pair of eye upon him.

San was paralyzed, not knowing what to do once more. He tried smiling. The people watched him, as if waiting for something.

“Hi,” San said. “I’m San. Uh… nice to meet you.”

An arm snaked around his own. San nearly flinched and pulled back as the limb was suddenly very cold. He looked down to see a reddish haired woman holding onto him. She looked up at him, a smile on her face.

“Oh, you’re so warm,” she said, her smile widening.

It was as if whatever held the people back was broken, they all stepped forward, smiles on their faces. He was hugged and his hand shaken. The people he didn’t know suddenly pulled him forward, peppering him with questions and laughing as if he were a comedian.

San felt dizzy; the world was spinning. The people took him down the streets, to a large building filled with more people. The doors of a hall opened up, revealing a feast laid out upon low tables. More people were gathered and cheered as he arrived. They, like the other townspeople, began peppering him with questions, not even waiting for him to answer before asking another.

Children scurried by, their laughing haunting among the chorus of adult voices. San felt hands touching him, people commenting on how warm he was. He was confused, everything didn’t make sense.

He sat before a low table, a cushion under him and the people surrounding him. The feast was laid out before him, great slabs of meat on the table, dripping with juices and the fat still sizzling.

“Eat. Eat. Eat,” the words pounded in his ears.

A thick slab of meat was place before him on a wooden plate. A knife set beside it. San looked at the meat, his stomach suddenly gurgling with hunger. How long had it been since he had last eaten anything. He was so hungry now. He reached for the meat. Then the smell hit him.

It was a foul and rotten odor. The stench of death, of meat gone bad. San gagged and pulled away from the table. He tried to move, but the hands of the people around him grabbed him. They clung onto him, telling him he needed to eat.

San struggled but the hands were iron hard and so cold. He felt his skin prickling at the cold, even through his shirts and jacket. His skin ached and he began shivering.

“Let me go!” he cried, but the hands only grew tighter.

San jerked and fought.

Then an intense pain exploded in his leg. San screamed.

And opened his eyes.

***

He jerked awake in terror to find that he was lying before the fire pit in the hut. The air was smokey and cold, the door he had secured closed was swinging open. San gasped and sat up, only to freeze as a pair of wet yellow eyes glared at him.

The monster had arrived.

Pain was throbbing in his leg. He looked down to see the claws of the monster laying on his leg, the pant legs had been ripped and a small wound was visible. The monster looked at him and then the eyes flickered to the door.

There was another noise in the night. A wheezing, the sound of some sick creature trying to breath. San stared at the open door. He could hear it, the crunch of snow, the thumping of something heavy moving. Coming to the door.

The monster removed its foot off his leg and continued staring at the door. It began to snarl, but made no noise. The monster then moved back, putting the fire between it and the noise.

What would scare the monster?

San didn’t know and he didn’t want to find out. He jerked toward the open door and slammed it shut. He used the leather cord to secure it and then skidded back toward the fire. He grabbed more wood and tossed it upon the fire, the heat surging and sparking.

He fumbled in his pockets and pulled out the revolver, holding it in shaking hands as the noise grew louder outside of the door.

“It’s so cold,” a voice said. A child’s voice.

“Let us share your fire,” another said.

San shuddered. They were voices, but they didn’t sound human, they didn’t sound real. It was as if something were imitating a human voice.

“Open the door, we are so cold,” another said.

He heard a thump on the door. It sounded wet and sickly. The air grew colder and the smell of rotting meat filled the air. San gagged. The smell was everywhere, it clawed at him.

“I just want to be warm,” another voice cried.

“Open the door.”

San was beginning to shake violently. The cold, it was so damn cold again. The fire beside him seemed to do nothing to hold it back. San shuddered and grabbed another log to toss on the fire. It did nothing.

“Open the door.”

There was no pleading in the voices now. There was no asking. They were demanding.

“Open the door.” The voice turned harsher, deeper, full of malice.

The door shook as something struck it. San stared at it, the door was barely worth the name. It was made of thin planks of wood, woven together with reeds, on leather hinges. A thin cord was all that held it in place. It wasn’t a defense.

He kept the revolver trained on the door, the fear and adrenaline churned through his veins as whatever lurked outside continued to bang on the door.

The monster with him began to emit a low growl. San had almost forgotten the creature was with him. He glanced at it to see the monster was in the far end of the hut, crouched low, its eyes locked on the door.

The thin door shattered and San let out a yelp of fear. He froze again, seeing a fleshy appendage enter the hut, it was splotched with purples and greens, the color of bruises and rot. The smell was awful and San gagged again as it assaulted him.

A mouth, full of sharp teeth opened on the appendage, it made a wet sucking sound, saliva and liquids dribbling from the misshapen orifice. San stared as he watched what looked to be a face trying to push its way out of the appendage, a human woman’s face stretching the skin.

“The fire is so warm,” it said.

That was enough for San. He raised the pistol and fired. The bullet hit he human face, it erupted in blood and bone, a thick black sludge that covered the threshold. A hideous scream of pain sounded from outside of the hut and the appendage snapped back in a flash. San’s ears rang from the shot and he moved further away from the open door, colliding with a wall of matted fur.

The monster and San eyed one another and then they both stared out the black hole that led outside. There was the sound of stomping; the voices, high pitched, began wailing. They screamed and moaned, calling for help, calling for him to warm them, to share his fire with them, to join them.

San clenched his mouth shut, he wanted to close his eyes, cover his ears, but the monster lurked out there. It screamed and raged, thrashing and slamming into buildings.

The cries did not stop. Not until the sun began to rise.

The fire continued to burn, San tossing everything that could burn into it. The monster stayed motionless the entire night, occasionally flickering into invisibility, and crouched low, ready to run or attack.

San held onto the revolver and stared out the door as the darkness slowly lifted and finally the screaming stopped.

He decided to get the hell out of the village.