Therion Chapter 4 - Beast of Falan's Veil

 

Ben Holland gripped the wheel of his old pickup, the engine’s rumble the only sound cutting through the stillness of the countryside.  Sunrise painted the sky in cotton-candy swirls of pink and purple, and the coffee was still steaming. There were lots of nice homes dotting the landscape, as well as abandoned homes and buildings that were beyond repair. Nevertheless, it was a much more peaceful setting than Fairchannel, where he had moved from. That place was a concrete jungle. It wasn’t a typical inner city; it was a post-war zone. Swiss cheese, skyrises, and bomb-pitted streets were the norm, despite its name. The government had not begun reconstruction as it had in the cities to the west, such as Cira.

He took another swig of coffee. The heat spread through his chest and settled low in his stomach, a familiar burn that chased away the morning chill.

I suppose I oughta call Em.

He pressed the button on the steering wheel, “call Emma.” It was definitely old tech. There were no flying cars around here. Classic vehicles were no longer a vanity but a necessity around these parts. Stillmerites, or the people of Stillmere, were experts at resurrecting old tough trucks like this one and at keeping roads passable.

“Hello Ben,’ she answered. ‘Feeling okay?”

“Hey, Baby. Yeah, I'm doing well. I slept great last night. How's work?”

“Works fine, she answered. I can’t stop thinking about you.”

“Oh, that’s sweet. Why would you waste your time like that?” He jested.

“Na, she said. I can’t stop thinking about why you just left without saying a single word. And why would you leave when you aren’t cleared for duty? You promised.”

“Whoa whoa, wait right there. I didn’t promise anything. You talked, and I listened. If I had talked to you about it before I left, you would have talked me right out of it, and Hon, this is something I need to do. I feel great, I’m healed up, so this is the window of time that I can’t afford to miss out on. I need to get back to the woods. I feel at home in the forest. It’s been a long time.”

There was silence on the other end, just silence and breathing.

“Emma, you gonna say anything?”

A long sigh escaped her mouth. “I guess I’m here.”

“So, you know I’m right, right?”

“No, I don’t know that. I think you're dumb, to be frank.”

“Well, you aren’t Frank; he’s back at the station. You’re Emma – my loving and adoring and extremely hot wife.”

“Now you’re right.” She laughed

“Of course I am, baby. I’ll be safe. This isn’t like being on the job. It’s just a little hiking trip, and I’ll be back in a few days. It’ll be like I never left.”

“Ok, well, be safe and make sure you keep your phone on you all the time – please?”

“I promise I'll keep it on all day, and I’ll charge it at night. Sound good?”

“Sounds good. Call me when you can.”

I will, Em, I love you with all my heart and liver.”

“I love you too, see ya soon.” He could hear the grin in her voice.

He hung up the phone and plugged it back into the charger for a little extra life. He savored the rural countryside, letting the steady hum of the tires melt the tension away. Sparse fields soon melded into thick forest. Finally, he saw it. A faded brown sign with barely visible words, “Riverpine Preserve,” hung crooked at the shoulder of the road.

The late morning sunshine evaporated under heavy gray clouds as the road narrowed. The thick forest grew impossibly denser. Ben shuddered as an ominous feeling filled the small cab of the truck.

“We’re good, Ben. You’re used to this.” He reassured himself.

It was about time for the road to turn to dirt, then eventually vanish into the desolation. As a kid, he’d lived for the moment the pavement ended, and the wild began. The woods offered what home never could—safety in the shadows, a world where the trees whispered secrets and anything felt possible. He dreaded that moment, but at the same time, he couldn’t wait for it to happen. All his gear was neatly packed in a 30-pound backpack. He was ready for this trip.

The truck dropped off the edge of the concrete, and the sound of grinding gravel filled his ears. He drove on, thinking about furry cryptids, nomads, and deranged hillbillies. Too much Tony Merkel before the trip. So, he centered his mind on campfires, fresh trout, and loons calling in the night. Yes, he was feeling a lot better, and fresh air would be the final thing to get him feeling 100 percent.

Ben smiled as he saw the magic of the northland begin to manifest. First, the small ditches on either side of the road disappeared and gave way to rocky uprisings. They grew taller and more harrowing as he lumbered along.

The elevator “ping” of his fully charged cell phone reminded him it was still there, but now it chirped like a sparrow, searching for a signal.

“Promises, promises. No need to leave that on now.”

He powered it off and tossed it down on the empty passenger seat, pursing his lips and looking at the high cliffs surrounding him.

His automatic headlights flashed on as he climbed through the canyon trail, wondering when it would become impassable.

I don’t wanna climb a mountain looking for a proper campsite.

Raindrops dotted the windshield as cold air began to numb his feet. “Don’t do this. Please!” He beseeched the atmosphere for good weather.

The hum of the gravel road now grew quiet. The ride of the truck grew smoother, and the rough trail now became a road once again. Finally, there were ditches and lush green forest all around, and to Ben’s amazement, he drove into a town.

He rolled past weathered houses interspersed here and there, eclipsed by massive Eastern Hemlocks. It seemed the town was built within the forest. It was inert and dull, like a campground in the off-season. Smells of s’mores, the laughter of children were sadly absent. No life. Holding one hand over his brow, Ben strained to see the limits of this village, and he found it. In the distance was the light of a clearing or the edge of something.

The old truck squealed to a stop. “Have to pay some attention to those brakes,” he said to himself. He grabbed his map and headed to the tailgate. He studied it over and over, scratching his head. He already knew this like the back of his hand…

“None of this makes sense, unless. That’s it. Unless I was right, they faked the satellite images.”

He traced his finger along the line until the road was excised from the map. Continuing an imaginary line an hour or so north, he finally calculated a good approximation of where this place was.

“Smack dab in the middle of the wilderness,” he jested. “I’m somewhere in the middle of nowhere.”

Stepping back from the truck, he noticed the ground. This gravel wasn’t normal rock from around here. It was glass-smooth stone as black as ink. It looked almost volcanic.

“Gggggrrowlll,” his belly was telling him it was time to eat.

It appeared he was in a parking lot of what was hopefully a local shop. “Maybe there’s still some food in there, or a cooler full of Mountain Dew.”

Opening the door, he entered the store, but it wasn’t. It wasn’t a convenience store, a hardware store, it wasn’t a store at all, and there wasn’t a 20-ounce to be found.

This was more like a shadowy museum of oddities. On the dusty shelves, there were jars of human teeth and hair. There were containers of rat tails and bat wings.

On other shelves, there were strange totems that felt real in a sinister way, like they themselves watched him meander around the building.

“Hello?”

“Anyone here?”

The cold and empty feeling weighed too heavily on him. All he wanted to do was leave. A bit of daylight shone through a screen door in a back room. Quickly starting toward it, he shot his hands up in the air, nearly falling over.

“In Jesus’ name, get outta here,” he shouted as a black shadow, in the shape of a man, stepped across his path.

He ran out the back door and around the corner. Leaning against the building, he laughed at himself for the reaction. He hadn’t said those words since he was a kid and couldn’t believe he regurgitated them now. He was a policeman – a detective. He knew better.

He composed himself and strolled around the area, coming finally to the edge, to the clearing. He stood on the edge of a circular ridge. The land below him was a sparsely vegetated field. Charred rock, maybe once molten but now long cooled, dotted the landscape.

The sound of an oncoming crowd perked his attention. Dropping to the ground, he lay on his belly under the cover of a honeysuckle bush covered in fresh spring leaves, setting his gaze on the thoroughfare below him.

At first glance, it seemed to be some bizarre parade.

“They in costumes?”

The crowd was copious, must be the whole town, he thought to himself. There were all forms of people – men, women, old, and young. He saw clowns, or rather jesters, dancing about, mocking. They were mocking something at the center of the commotion.

Ben squinted through a small pair of binoculars he kept in his jacket and was startled by what he saw.

There, in the middle of the crowd, was – what appeared to be – a beast. It stood chest, head, and shoulders above the rest. Bulging muscle rippled under auburn fur. It was held at bay with a strong steel shackle around its thick neck, hardly visible under a lion-like mane that flowed downward to its loins, both front and back. Four chains jutted outward, and on their ends were each a nearly identical strongman. They held the beast in its place. Taskmasters prodded it along with long spears.

At the last of this wicked procession was an old man. He wore old, tattered jeans held up with a wide belt, and a chain hung from his waist. He had no shirt and sported a black top hat, concealing dark, black-lined eyes. The man was focused, looking forward but mostly down in concentration. His lips moved quickly as if he were mumbling or chanting.

Ben was in utter shock and dread, but also saddened by what he saw. Though this thing was a beast – a werewolf even, it was at the people’s behest, at their mercy, and they looked none too merciful. His mind racing, he had no idea what to do next. The feeling was unfamiliar, unwelcome.

As he lay peering down at this circus of horrors, a single ray of sunlight burned through the darkened clouds and fell onto the glass lens of his binoculars, shattering into an explosion of a thousand bright rays, giving away his location amongst the muted shades of the town.

Ben could see their faces pale as they gazed toward him, halting the procession. As the shifty-eyed crowd clambered about confusedly, the beast made its move.

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