Chương 20: Chapter Nineteen: A Plague of Stink

Cyrus was slumped atop a mossy log, its rotten and damp flesh seeping into his bottom. But he paid it no heed. He was sweaty, filthy, and completely spent of energy. Miserably chewing on a couple of wild dandelions, he numbly stared out at the horizon. The bitter, earthy greens were the only things that he had consumed ever since Aithon had gone to sleep. When Aithon had worked his bizarre and miraculous magic to bring Cyrus back, his hunger and thirst had also apparently been erased alongside his wounds.

But by now, those basic human needs were clawing their way back. And not just slowly. They returned with vengeance, as if demanding revenge for every moment they had been denied. He felt dizzy, his mouth burning and his stomach clutching at his organs in agony. And still, he hadn't managed to catch a single rabbit. The walking technique worked —there was no doubt about that. The act of mimicking a wolf by shedding his sandals and spreading himself out onto the ground could minimize the noise he made significantly.

Using it, he could glide through the dark forest while being completely unheard of. He could approach the hares closer than ever before. Yet, every single time he got within striking range, the hare vanished. Cyrus didn't know how, but whenever he jumped forward, the hare reacted with such ungodly speed. Before he would even be on top of the beast, it would be gone, bounding through the brush and leaving him crashing into the dirt, utterly humiliated.

He spat out the stringy, bitter remains of the dandelion stem onto the dark soil. His bare feet were cold and caked with dried mud, and his fingers trembled from his lack of energy. Something had to change. Sure, the stealth of a wolf got him close, but he was still missing something. But what? Cyrus shook out his mane of soiled, oily hair. By now, the forest was covered with inky darkness. He could barely make out his own hand in front of him. Hunting now was impossible. He needed rest.

Groaning, Cyrus slid off the wet log onto the bed of fallen pine needles below. The earth was freezing, and he wished so desperately for a fire, but he lacked the knowledge and supplies to start one. Instead, he did his best to keep his bodily warmth. He curled into a tight ball, tucking his bare feet beneath his tunic. What am I missing? he thought, his teeth begging to chatter at the chill. Why is it still faster than me? How does a wolf actually make the kill?

Though the endless question barged his mind, Cyrus finally succumbed to his exhaustion, slipping into the gentle warmth of Lord Hypnos. ❦ ❦ ❦ Something smelled wrong in the air. Cyrus groaned, his noise twitching. He gingerly twitched open his eyes, but there was no point. The darkness was too suffocating. He couldn't see anything. His skin prickled as the stench continuously packed the air, growing even stronger. It smelled wet, bitter, and nauseatingly musky. It also carried the unmistakable odor of… Fur.

His eyes widened into the gloom. Cyrus's heart thrashed inside his head, his muscles tensing instinctually, wild primal thoughts invading his barely conscious mind. He remained frozen until a wet, raspy snort drifted over, merely a few paces away from his head. Before reason could prevail, before his mind could understand it, impulse took over his limbs. Cyrus threw himself sideways just as a deafening squeal pierced the wilds. A shadow pounced forward, its form massive and thick.

It squealed again, its titanic limbs ruining the ground where Cyrus had just laid. Saplings burst, roots unearthed, and Cyrus was sent tumbling across the freezing earth. His instincts had been fast, but he had still been much too slow. His left leg was hit with a blunt force, sending his thigh seizing with paralyzing pain. He scrambled backward, gasping in terror. It was a wild boar! In the pitch black, he couldn't discern its outline, but the ominous thud of heavy hooves told Cyrus everything.

He clutched the ground, dragging himself forward. The beast roared, churning up the forest floor as it advanced towards Cyrus. Terror struck and dug into his chest. He was defenseless. No weapon, no Aithon. Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. What was he to do? SNORT. The beast's hooves gouged into the dirt, charging directly toward Cyrus. Desperate, Cyrus struck his hands onto the dirt, searching frantically for anything.

Then, his fingers bumped into a stone wedged into the roots of a tree. With a cry, he hurled the rock blindly, his mind buzzing blindly with fear, at the approaching noise. THACK. In the stifling darkness, Cyrus couldn't see a thing. He had no idea if the stone had struck flesh or snapped somewhere else, but he did hear a change in the momentum of the thundering beast. The booming cadence of hooves stuttered, followed by a startled grunt. The boar barreled past.

Though it missed hitting Cyrus completely, it still clipped him on the side, sending him sprawling into a bush of thorns. Pain. Utter pain that flashed white in his eyes. Yet he paid no mind to the sharp thorns; in his bleary mind, only one thing mattered. He had bought himself some time. Scrambling onto all fours, Cyrus launched himself through the blackness, fumbling blindly until his raw palms slapped against the solid trunk of a pine.

Fueled by panic, he dragged himself upward, the energy tensing his muscles numbing the agony of his injuries. He dug his bare toes into the resin-slick bark, finding leverage. A second later, the pine tree shuddered, sending rains of needles down, pelting his skin. Below, the boar squealed with fury, slamming its massive snout into the bark over and over again. Clinging desperately to the sap-sticky branch, Cyrus squeezed his eyes shut. Oh gods…

Time seemed to not move, as if the Titan Chronos was staring amusingly down at Cyrus's plight, mocking him. The boar didn't leave. Instead, it paced beneath him. The snorts and grunts became the only sound around, until the boar occasionally slammed its bulk against the trunk—sending Cyrus's limbs seizing with pain. His fingers screamed in protest as he clung to the branch. Cyrus's body throbbed. He didn't know how long he could last up here. Just leave, he begged silently.

He could barely keep himself from whimpering aloud. Please just leave. Finally, the moon crept out, casting the barest of silver light through the canopy of towering trees. Below, Cyrus could just make out the beast's hulking shape. Why me, he lamented. It took nearly an hour. Then the boar finally huffed one time—clearly irritated at the loss of its prey—and lumbered off. Cyrus remained motionless long after the boar vanished, paralyzed by the lingering fear that the beast might still be waiting for him below.

But the exhaustion finally claimed his limbs, sending him sliding clumsily down the trunk of the pine tree. His stiff hands pried themselves from the bark, and he crumpled into a heap on the forest floor. He shivered violently, the cold moonlight glaring down at him impassively. Slowly, Cyrus dragged himself into a sitting position. Then, gingerly, he peeled back his shredded tunic. He blanched at the terrible gash coating his thigh. It was angry and raw, oozing dark blood.

It was terribly bruised as well, mottled and purple. He stared down at his mangled body. A sop escaped from his trembling lips. Cyrus shoved a fist into his mouth to muffle the sound, but it was useless. He curled into a tight ball, his shoulders heaving. Hot tears burst through his grimy cheeks, his chest burning and tightening. Then the weeping slowed, until it faded away into silence. Cyrus sighed, pushing back the lump lodged in his throat. He couldn't cry. He had no right to. This was what he deserved.

Straightening up onto his trembling legs, he forced his mind to silence the thoughts of the fear of death. His father, mother, brother, and sister had probably been scared of death too, when the armed men had come to take them. Violently, he turned his head away from the dark thoughts. The despair infecting his mind vanished. He had things that he had to do. He needed food. He needed to survive. And he needed to catch a hare. Dropping back into the walking stance of a wolf, he prepared himself to start his hunt.

But as he took a deep breath to steel his nerves, he stiffened as his lungs were filled with that terrible stench. The musky wet smell of fur. It was unmistakable, even with the creature long gone. Cyrus frowned. If I can still smell that from all the way over here… Slowly, he glanced down at himself. He was terribly soiled, slathered with multiple days worth of oil, dirt, blood, and grime. By the gods. Cyrus had been moving through the forest, thinking so confidently that he'd been so quiet.

The humiliation of the realization made his cheeks burn. He was like a plague of stink to these beasts. The hare… It could smell him approaching! ❦ ❦ ❦ It took Cyrus multiple hours of painstaking work to design and carry out his plan, but he refused to give up. First, he dragged himself toward a small river, where the soil was damp and soft. He ripped off his stiff tunic coated with filth, standing void of any clothes, and plunged his hands into the thick black mud.

Even as his wounded thigh cried out, Cyrus slathered the freezing silt over all of his exposed skin. He only stopped once he was completely coated in the earth, having masked his human scent. Next, he crawled carefully through the forest, tearing up handfuls of strong-smelling vegetation. He roughly rubbed the fragrant leaves furiously across his arms and shoulders, mashing the green juices onto him. Many of them burned, his skins popping with poisonous blisters, but he persevered.

Finally, he needed a way to strike. Remembering his crushing failures with bare hands and heavy logs, Cyrus scoured the ground until he found a palm-sized stone. After finding another stone—a heavy one from the river, he struck the edge of the smaller stone until its edges sheared off, leaving him with a makeshift blade. By the time Cyrus finished his preparations, the night had slowly excused itself, the sky slowly glowing gold with Eos's return. After taking a deep breath in order to steel his nerves.

Cyrus began to prowl forward silently on his bare feet. Completely slathered in mud and reeking of the local vegetation, he carefully prepared the rough stone blade in his hands. It was time to properly hunt a hare.