Therion Chapter 9 - Spirit of our Brothers

 

Tom and Ben gathered their belongings and blew out the candles. Ben followed Tom toward the light of the rising sun filtering through the old house.

“Wait just a minute,” Tom turned down a wide corridor, and the two entered another room.

Ben smiled, recognizing the room from Tom’s story. They gathered food from the pantry and topped off their water bottles. Tom stood at the table and set down Louie’s stone necklace.

“So, what’s the plan?”

Ben looked at the stones, not seeing any magical stirrings or flickers of light. Nevertheless, he was confident that he and Tom would be able to do something for the lost and hurting of Falon’s Veil.

“You are going to go back and find Louie – he must already be working a plan of his own. You need to locate all of the children. I know it’s gonna be hard, but you cannot get caught.

I am going back to Heather, and we are going to set up a shipment of ‘donors’. In three days, we will travel through your town, and the pack will intercept us. We’ll take out the pack and bring the children home.”

Tom looked Ben in the eye as the stones began to glow softly. He hung them around his neck and said, “Agreed”.

The necklace now shone brilliantly, and the two left the safety and shelter of the house.

The morning dawned crisp and luminous. Sunlight spilled over the emerald canopy, bathing the forest in a gentle golden glow. The duo pressed westward, energized by renewed purpose. Soon, they would part ways: Tom veering north, Ben skirting the road in search of a cell signal—and a ride home.

 Ben surveyed his cracked phone, remembering his promise to his beloved Emma to keep his phone with him at all times. At least he didn’t break his promise, but the phone may be in need of repair. It isn’t wet, so it oughta work. He slid the cell phone back into his pocket and immediately felt a change in the atmosphere. It was familiar but enough to make them both halt in their tracks.

The echo of a hooting owl drifted from one side. Tom jerked his head in the opposite direction just in time to glimpse something slip behind a tree. A mournful reply from another owl rang out above, sending chills through both men. Nausea swept over them at the sight ahead.

A hairy man, easily eight feet tall, blocked the way ahead. He was thin with tight, pronounced muscles. He had old, kind eyes. Ben reached instinctively for his pistol, but it had been lost.

Other ape-like creatures emerged from the forest behind the first. He seemed to be their elder. They did not seem or act violently, but were observant of every movement Ben and Tom made. Body language seemed to be their modus operandi.

Nevertheless, he spoke – as much in their minds as out loud. “This land belongs to all but those who seek to harm it.”

It set its eyes on Tom. “You shall go no farther.”

Ben looked at his friend, who was now breathing heavy, almost panting. “Give us safe passage out. We mean you or the forest no harm; we are helpers,” implored Ben.

The hairy man’s voice was deep and labored as if he were a hundred years old. He looked at Ben with softened eyes.

“Yes, child, I’ll allow passage for you. I know of your duty. But your companion is infested with the spirit of our enemy.”

As he spoke, a shadowy figure came into being, standing just behind the elder. It was massive and hulking. Its thick muscle twitched under black fur, reminding Ben of a 2,000-pound Shire horse he had once seen.

“He may pass, but what is in him may not,” spoke the elder.

Tom was down on one knee now, his hunched back widening, tearing through his shirt as if it were merely paper. “I – don’t – want the – wolf,” he hollered. But the wolf wanted him, and it was shredding through his body, readying for the attack, for the feast.

“Ah, yes,” spoke the elder. “Let it leave you, my child.”

The wolf tore out with fire and fury, burning in its yellow eyes, and raged, leaping at the hairy man, but in one lightning-fast move, the elder caught the werewolf by its throat.

Ben looked on in amazement. He could see the individual muscles pushing and rippling beneath the elder's gray skin. The werewolf kicked and tore at its opponent. Its teeth snapped at the air, but it dangled helplessly, unable to fight, unable to breathe. Ben simply watched as the life was strangled out of his friend. What do I do, do I run like before? But something told him to stay this time.

The hairy man tilted his head at the struggling wolf hanging at the end of his arm, and began to speak, “Adonai, my redeemer, remove the man from this beast. Let the beast, that was once our brother, come before you for judgment. Amen.”

As the elder finished the prayer, it began to shake the werewolf. Once, then twice, but nothing happened. It shook the werewolf a third, then a hard fourth, and POP, Tom fell to the ground, a tired and weary man.

The werewolf was nothing more than a limp pelt. The big creature balled it up in its massive hands and encapsulated it in what appeared to be a ball of light. It spread wide its fingers, and all watched as the light rose through the trees, vanishing into the sky.

Ben was speechless at the sight of what he had just witnessed. The elder knelt in front of Tom and gently helped him to his feet. Holding out a long arm to Ben, he gathered the two men in front of him.

“We are the Sa’be. We will help you if you wish.”

He looked back and forth at the men, speaking like a grandfather, gentle and wise. Tom returned his gaze, full of shame yet grateful. A burden bigger than life had been removed from him, but he knew now he was completely without strength before the pack, helpless in the midst of Falon’s Veil.

Ben watched a small smile begin to dance on the elder's lips as he turned toward his people among the trees. Two centurions of the Sa’be tribe stepped forward. Tom and they faced each other knowingly, then vanished into the shadows of the north wood.

The elder looked back at Ben with another big grin. “This one likes words. Bruce, will you go with him?”

“Of course, grandfather,” answered a young Sa’be. This one was not a colossal beast like the others who went with Tom, but was more like the elder, lean, and lanky.

Ben looked up and into the eyes of his new friend. “My name is Ben.”

The young Sa’be took a deep breath and placed an open hand on his chest, “My name,’ he took his first two fingers of the same hand and tapped them on the first two fingers of his other hand, ‘is – BRRUUUCCE,” he spoke with a deep guttural drawl with his hand outstretched. “Now, we talk, in here,” he said, tapping his head.

“Ok, that’s fine, Bruce,” said Ben. “I have to get back to my truck, to my town.”

“Mmm, yes,” Bruce chittered. “I take you back to town with sweet smells.”

“Yeah, Heather, the place with fields of flowers.”

“You get on.” Bruce dropped to one knee.

Ben looked at him, confused.

“My back, climb onto my back.”

“Ah, got it.”

Bruce was a completely massive creature, bigger than Goliath himself, and there were much larger Sa’be. This was a tribe of titans. As he latched on, he noticed the soft warmth of Bruce’s fur. He didn’t smell foul as the stereotypical Bigfoot did. Bruce’s scent was of moss and cedar, and – something else, something pleasant.

“Honeysuckle,” Bruce interrupted Ben’s thoughts. Ben shook his head.

“We bed down near patches of honeysuckle, now let’s go.”

Ben held on tight as Bruce dropped to all fours and ran like something he’d never seen. The forest flashed by in blurs of greens, blues, and blacks. The Sa’be jumped easily twenty feet into the air and pushed off a tree, catapulting another twenty or so feet higher, which led to a third leap, and now, in seconds, they were hidden in the forest canopy. They moved silently with the trees' sway, gently propelled by the lofty winds.

Ben’s body stretched as centrifugal force pushed him this way and that. His muscles tensed as he held on, but in this moment, he was ten years old and wanted to be nowhere else.

Soon his ride was over, and they descended to the ground at the forest’s edge. Ben looked over the fields of Heather and beyond that, his small rivertown.

“Bruce, I wish you could come with me. It sure would make things easier to explain.”

“I will be near – we will be waiting for you when you come back.”

Ben began to walk away, then stopped. “Someone carried me out of the forest that day, when I was taken captive. I was hurt, but someone saved me.”

Bruce’s face lit up, and he half pant-hooted, which ended in a laugh.

He spoke aloud, “You – are – welcome,” then left Ben alone with his little town and a big mission at hand.

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