The Snake In The Grass E-Book

Julie Grande Lund

• Herausgeber: Books on Demand
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 431

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

There are few people who has Aske's trust, and most of them have long since died. Whoever is left are very far away, so far off into the horizon he has not seen them in at least a century. And he's believed for a long time now that this is how his life will be until his own end. An end he will face in his garden, of old age and not from some upstart who thinks themselves some grand hunter of legend. This mountain has been his home for a century now, and no matter who comes, he will not be chased off. He has fought battles for longer than any little human alive today has, well, lived. Not even the villagers who have been Aske's neighbors during his entire time there have his trust, but he will coexist peacefully as long as they keep their promise. It is his garden, his home, and he will protect it until his very end. He needs no one's help to do that, so who does this little outsider, who so politely offers his name as he trespasses onto Aske's grounds think he is? Bragi is unfailingly polite no matter what Aske does or say, all smiles and eager curiosity. Aske wants to toss him head first off of the mountain.

Leseprobe

Table of Contents

Foreword

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY - ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY - TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY - THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY - FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY - FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY - SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY - SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY - EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY - NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY - ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY - TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY - THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY - FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY - FIVE

CHAPTER THIRTY - SIX

CHAPTER THIRTY - SEVEN

CHAPTER THIRTY - EIGHT

CHAPTER THIRTY - NINE

CHAPTER FORTY

CHAPTER FORTY - ONE

CHAPTER FORTY - TWO

CHAPTER FORTY - THREE

CHAPTER FORTY - FOUR

CHAPTER FORTY - FIVE

Foreword

I dedicate this book to the people who supported me on this journey, through every and all my ups and downs.

I’d like to say a special thanks to my parents, my sister, and her partner and all of my friends, one of which read one of my works out loud in an overly dramatic manner in order to cheer me up (you know who you are). You all kept on cheering me on every day. Thank you so much for celebrating with me every time I passed a milestone while writing this, I am incredibly grateful for that.

You all truly took one for the team!

CHAPTER ONE

First, there was the Goddess. She had surrounded herself with the stars and suns, moons and light and darkness all by her lonesome. At some point, the comfort of the voiceless creations in the vast space no longer gave her any reprieve from her loneliness, and so she plucked out one of her eyes and pulled out a bone from her left wrist. From them she fashioned beings such as herself. They became her children, the two very first gods’, her first creations, and she was very proud of them. While they did help her overcome her loneliness, she had felt pride in creating something, fashioning something from her mind with the help of her powers, and she fell for the temptation of creating something new again.

And that is how the world came to be. Her Children watched on as the Goddess chose one star as the center of her new creation. Then she drew together little pieces of dying stars. She gave them a new purpose as their light faded from existence. Together they were all bound together as a shell around the star at the center. All firmly stitched together into creating a world in which the Goddess could do much more. This world became her canvas. In it she encouraged her Children to explore their own powers, for she herself knew not what they were capable of. She created the world, their canvas, and then guided their hands while creating life.

Only the Goddess herself could create life. Sentient beings with minds of their own, that is. The other two gods were able to fashion much of everything else in the world. The Goddess may have created all the creatures of the world, but the two gods brought about the colours of the world. They fashioned the roaring rivers, silent creeks, bountiful fields. They formed the rocks of the ground into mountains reaching toward the sky. They planted seeds which grew into great forests and blooms in all manner of colours.

And while the gods created this hospitable world, the Goddess cut off more pieces of herself. She plucked out her second eye and created creatures later known as Cyclops. They were immortal in much the same way as herself and her first children, but not quite. Immortal in one way but bound by other laws than she and the gods. They had to feed to sustain their bodies, and the Goddess created animals to help them farm the lands. Then she moved on to experimenting with creations. Together with the other two, all kinds of animals found their homes in the forests, the mountains, the sky, beneath the ground, the fields, in the water.

Then came the faeries and spirits, who tended to the lands alongside the cyclopes. They then began the process of fashioning creatures who would be known as trolls and goblins, dragons, harpies, and unicorns. Then animals with the ability to speak, shapeshifters and humans and many more. But the more they created, the more they drew from the Goddess, there was no changing the fact that the creatures they made were weaker, lesser with each creation. Watching their creations be taken by death and decay, become one with the world they had created and fading from existence upon their passing hurt the Goddess. After only a few millennia after they found themselves satisfied with their work, they all retreated back to the vast space around their creation. They watched from afar as time passed, and the world changed.

And for a while, it seemed that the world they had created was a peaceful one, as all creatures coexisted, gave and received from each other, and kept on offering prayers and gratitude to the Goddess and her children. Everyone had been created by a piece of the Goddess, and so they were all a part of her, and this was the one thing that linked them all together.

Until it no longer did.

The more beings the Goddess made, the shorter their lifespan became. By the time she made humans, her creation’s lifespans were so short it seemed like their lives passed in the blink of an eye. The cyclopes never aged, spirits and faeries had a different concept of time than others, and the rest could live for several centuries. At some point they would succumb to time and old age, however, and fall to rest as well. Humans were the beings with the shortest lifespan, and perhaps that is where the problem started. Because it did not take long after the Goddess disappeared that the humans started forgetting. Unlike a cyclops whose life was unending, alongside their memories staying true, humanity’s memory was everchanging over the centuries. Whereas their memories and stories started out with all of creation being made from the Goddess and all of them being her creatures, it slowly started to twist into something else, something darker. Something cruel. No longer were they all creations by the Goddess, given a home on this world by her first Children, but rather twisted creatures who occupied the world she had given humanity, failures she wanted exorcised from her lands. Many creatures died out rather quickly, being no match for the sudden aggression from beings they once trusted and got along with, but most hid away before they were caught.

Now, that is not to say that all of humanity shared the belief that the world belonged to them and them only. While the part that believed the first truth did their best to spread peace, they were quickly overrun and called heretics and traitors to the Goddess by the others. And then suddenly, for several centuries, close to a millennia, there were three factions within humanity. One believed in and fought for peace with all creatures. Another believed that the world was theirs and theirs alone. The final group wanted nothing to do with either faction, and avoided them both as best they could, content to simply exist and live their lives.

There were some creations that fought back, like the cyclopes. They were far too mighty for humans to fight, trolls as well, and goblins were so many in number there was no end to them. There were those who tried to fight back, and succeeded, and those who failed. There were those who never got the chance to fight back, and there were those who realized that they stood no chance and hid from the moment aggression was turned on them.

There was even those who did not understand the sudden rejection, the hatred they had not done anything to deserve being directed at them. They tried to reason and understand, but gained nothing out of it, and decided to hide away anywhere they could.

Those were the shapeshifters, the ones who were the closest to humans in appearance, though that was also where the comparison ended. While humanity possessed magic of a kind, shapeshifters were more proficient at the art, more in tune with it, and their lifespan was much longer. Yet, while the shapeshifters were more powerful than humans, they were fewer in number, and thus whatever battle that could have been fought would have ended before it even began. The shapeshifters went into hiding as best as they could once they realized that any peace they wanted to broker would not be well-received. The humans taught their descendants to hate and hunt shapeshifters as monsters being a stain upon the Goddess’ world. The shapeshifters taught their young to never trust and keep out of the way of any human they might encounter.

And as humans’ memory of the Goddess, her children and their will became twisted, the shapeshifters lost faith in the Goddess and the gods’, for they allowed all of this to happen, and did nothing to stop it. Never once did they put an effort into coming back. Not once did they declare that this was wrong, and so some of the shapeshifters began believing that this was the desired result that the three wanted.

For what kind of all-knowing, all-seeing, all-loving being that created all that they know, could be kind, good, and still allow such heinous atrocities to happen in their name? Who would want to believe in gods that cruel?

But there is hope, there is always hope. No matter how long one has to wait for it, good things do happen, even amidst all the pain, sorrow and horror. And when one thinks they are trapped in an endless cycle of lies and grief and fear, one must remember; there will always be someone to reach out their hand, a show of support, a promise of aid, proof of love.

And that is what makes it worth it.

CHAPTER TWO

There is a specific mountain in this world. This is where a village has been carved into the lowest part of the mountainside. It is a rather secluded village, far out into the outskirts. It is so far away that even the lords of the land sometimes forgets it exists. At the very least until the taxes are to be collected, and then the cycle repeats. In this specific mountain though, there lies a serpent. A humongous beast with the ability to speak the human language.

Or so the rumors say.

Of course, the rumors of the giant beast are ones spread by bandits mostly. And, truly, how much can you trust the words of thieves, rapist, liars and murderers? The villagers themselves have never once asked for any aid in liberating themselves of such a beast. If there is an animal like that so close to their homes, they would have requested aid in ridding themselves of it by now, would they not? It is only logical that they would, considering that serpents are rather dangerous creatures.

If there truly is a monstrous serpent in the mountain, which is highly unlikely, then it must be left well enough alone. If it isn’t causing any trouble for anyone to complain about, that is.

Well, mostly alone.

“Andor!” It is supposed to be a shout, it can certainly be interpreted as one, but it sounds more like an annoyed, loud hiss than a yell. A scaly tail wraps around a young boy dangling off a rather frail-looking branch of an apple tree. The branch is rather high off the ground. Had the boy fallen, he would have hurt himself. The boy laughs loudly as he’s brought down to safety, running his hands over the sun-warmed scales wrapped around him. Long and humongous. Black as the darkest night with a red underbelly and bright yellow eyes. The serpent is an intimidating creature to most people who lay their eyes on the beast.

“I’ve told you several times, don’t climb too high up into my apple trees!” The boy, Andor, simply stares up into the slitted eyes of the serpent. Then he grins, lips stretching wide at the annoyance he is able to translate from the thin pupils and hissing breaths leaving the beast.

“You’ll always bring me down to safety, snake!” Andor yells excitedly. The creature hisses in what is clear annoyance, tongue swiping the air in front of them. They lean closer, pupils thinning even more, if that is at all possible. A clear sign that the serpent themselves does not find this as amusing as the child does.

“Should just let you fall and hit your head, it would serve you right,” the serpent mutters. Well, as much as a serpent is capable of muttering. Their forked tongue draws out the “s” like a hiss, making them appear much more intimidating than they mean to.

It doesn’t make any difference to the child in the serpent’s grasp. He grins wider, even as the snake coils tighter around the little body in a warning gesture, as if they are about to constrict him. An action which the boy will most definitively ignore later. Then the serpent lets the boy go. Andor, once free, runs over to his group of friends who are sniggering in the background. They huddle together, throwing the beast glances every now and again as they whisper quietly enough for the serpent not to pick up on. If such beasts had eyelids, the serpent would have narrowed their eyes in suspicion. The group of youngsters are plotting something, no doubt about it. It will most likely end in another headache for the serpent. It always does. It is an old game for them now. Thankfully, Andor’s father, Gunvald, makes himself known before they can execute whatever trick they were planning. He climbs the hill up to the serpent’s home with a sack thrown over his shoulder, calling on his son.

“Andor! It is time to come home!” The children slouch their backs, lower lips jutting out in sour pouts. The serpent, on the other hand, sighs in relief at the other human’s well-timed appearance.

“But dad!” Andor whines, loud, and voice so high in pitch that the serpent winces and ducks their head, hissing in warning again. Gunvald though, used to this kind of pitch from his son, levels the group with a stern look and they give up. They know that there is no winning this. Sullenly, they turn to head back down to the village. Signy though, ever so defiant as the lone girl in the group glares first, reaches into one of the many berry-bushes. She grabs a fistful of them and crushes them against her face, ending up smearing more berries across her face than eating them, which just ends up with a color that unfortunately can be easily misunderstood. Or that might be her intention. At this point, the serpent has begun to give up on understanding her intentions. The serpent and Gunvald watches them stomp down the path, before the adult turns towards the serpent.

“They weren’t too much trouble, I hope?” Gunvald asks with a humor laced voice as he carefully drops the sack onto the ground in front of the beast.

“No more than usual.” The man chuckles nervously at the answer. He is not afraid of the serpent. It has never once been a threat to the villagers for the century it has lived in the mountain. Still, it is a bit unsettling to stand in front of a predator who can swallow you whole. Caution comes with age, even he had been as fearless as his own child when he was their age.

“Ah, well, children, you know,” he says, as if that should explain everything as he wipes his hands on his shirt. The serpent flicks their tongue out.

“Indeed. I am used to it.” It makes the days go by faster for the serpent, that much is true. And it is nice with company every now and then. While they do complain about being bothered by the children, they enjoy the company. All the complaining is just for show, it is just how they are. And children are fascinating, a great way of escaping solitude with the way they come up with the most fascinating games and stories. Their minds have yet to understand the limitations of the world.

“Right,” Gunvald clears his throat, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “I’d best get back too., wouldn’t want to offend the wife by not showing up for supper. Off I go, Master Snake.” He waves a hand and turns around, following the path downwards again, whistling happily all the way.

“Off you go,” the serpent echoes quietly. They watch the man disappear down the path before they bite into the sack. They bring it back towards the cave that has been their home for the last century. They hiss as they move past the mouth of the cave and the vines and bushes that frame it shivers and moves to block the entrance. The moment the greenery has blocked the entrance so no one can see or enter, the serpent begins to change.

They coil together, before their tail splits in two and grows feet. A lean upper body emerging from the scales, red and black scales melting into sun-kissed skin. Their head grows rounder, copper hair falling past their shoulders and down their back. Ears grow out of their skull, a nose taking the place of the snout. And the eye sockets narrowing from their big roundness from earlier. The beast melts away and a tall, lanky redhead stands in the abode, the sack in his hands. And there he stands for several moments, jaw working.

“It’s Aske.” The words are but a whisper, near on inaudible, but a vine reaches out and tugs on the man’s hair in comfort. It pulls back as he waves it off. He’s been here for a century, yet not a single human has ever used his name despite him giving them leave to do so. Several times. In an effort to not go mad, or even reaching the point of forgetting what his own name is, he mutters it to himself a few times each day. All simply to remember, just to remember that he is a person. It is not quite the same as someone else using it, saying it out loud. Yet he has long since accepted that as long as he stays here and plays the part of the monster serpent in the mountains, this is the only way he will ever hear it. As long as they only see him as an animal, that is. He can’t show them what he truly is, however. Shapeshifters aren’t safe amongst humans. The safest option for him is to just be a monster that grasps human speech. Centuries of memories has taught him that, centuries of pain, grief and loss has taught him that.

Maybe he should go find Saga. Go find his last remaining sibling and just, be beside someone who knows him. She is half a world away, though, according to their latest Dreams. She always was better at blending in with the humans, which is one of the reasons she dared to move closer to human civilization. Aske had not been willing to do so, and they had parted ways, which had put a strain on their relationship. It explains the walls in the Dreams, how she hides something from him. But… if she had come with him, if she had been here, maybe he would have been able to find the courage. The courage to walk amongst the humans, the courage to believe he could blend in. Maybe he would still feel like he is her brother, like they are still family.

He scoffs at himself. How utterly pathetic is he, living for centuries and still not trusting himself to be able to blend in? For not finding the courage to do anything but hide behind a lie, a façade, just to live?

Still, all that aside, it is not so bad here at this mountain. The villagers believe that as long as they’re not hostile towards him, he’ll be a non-hostile monster-serpent to them. Like that, they’ll continue to bring him supplies. It is not so bad, it could be much worse. He could be actively hunted like an actual animal instead of living rather peacefully here on this mountainside. His mountain. He heads further into his home and drops onto his sleeping furs, eating the food Gunvald had brought with him. He focuses on feeding himself rather than being swarmed by the dark thoughts which always return with a vengeance whenever he is alone.

But it’s hard to not feel lonely, when he is hiding like this, lying. Children come and play and cause a ruckus and liven things up. The adults come around with food and some pleasantries in exchange for the herbs or flowers or fruits that the shapeshifter grows in his garden. There is nothing more to it, though. No one he feels close to.

Not a single companion, not a single friend. No one that don’t run the risk of disappearing in front of him like they never existed if he isn’t careful. Slipping through his fingers like water.

He sits there in melancholy for a long while after finishing the food, eyes hazy, before he pulls himself back and shakes his head. One must do what one has to do to survive, and Aske is fond of living. So, what if he is lonely? This is a poor mountain village. Or rather, it used to be a poor mountain village with all the bandits that came through. But that was before Aske settled down here, and Aske isn’t good with humans at the best of times. No matter how lonely he is, it is safer for him to keep to himself and trust no one, no matter how empty he feels with his way of life.

“Bandits,” he murmurs, laying down and crossing his arms behind his head. It’s been quite some time since any group came by lately. The numbers have been dwindling ever since he settled down here, but he’ll have to prepare for the possibility that someone will come by soon. It is a tiny village which is periodically forgotten by their lords, after all. A defenseless village is always a sweet target, no matter the outlandish rumors surrounding it.

As the evening grows late, Aske finds himself unable to fight off sleep as it comes for him. Spending an entire day with children and entertaining them is, while enjoyable and never boring, also very taxing. Tomorrow will be no different, he will need all the energy he can muster. Aske sleeps well that night, and the next, and the night after that too. The hot summer air keeps his cold-blooded body warm, even in the cool mountains. There are no Dreams, and he makes none of his own, doesn’t reach out to her, doesn’t quite dare. The days pass by in a peaceful manner, even amongst the terror of the children running around his garden and making a mess he will have to clean up. But, of course, on that one day where Aske is all by himself, lounging on sun-warmed rocks and dozing in the sun is when it happens.

There’s a faint trembling in the ground he only noticed because half his body is stretching across it. To confirm his suspicions, he moves to lay his head onto the ground as well. With an annoyed hiss of an exhale, he slithers down the path towards the village. The vibration in the ground grows ever stronger the closer he gets to the village. It grows to the point it is no longer simple vibrations. He can hear the actual sounds of thundering hooves.

The oncoming group force their way into the village, which doesn’t take too much effort. The villagers just hurry out of the way and group together in the square. They watch the intruders shout, sneer, laugh and waving their swords and axes and causing a right ruckus. The bandits must have expected to see the villagers run and scream. Expected a widespread panic and the people begging for their lives and mercy as any man, woman or child would in such a situation. They realize rather quick that the people of this village are just staring at them, expressions conveying quite clearly that they are not impressed with this juvenile display. They stop their movements and wait, staring back at the people, just as dumbfounded. Gunvald takes this as his moment to get a clearer understanding of the situation. Not that it is all that hard to understand what is going on, but best to be on the safe side.

He takes a few steps forward, pipe in hand as he looks the bandits up and down. The bandits themselves finds it rather surprising to see someone who is not afraid when a group of armed men storm into a defenseless village. It is not what is common, after all.

“Might I inquire why you gentlemen have come here?” Gunvald is unfailingly polite. Though one can tell from one glance that this group is far from what anyone would ever describe as gentlemanly. Actually, this kind of group is truly what would make your heart race like a hummingbird in your chest. Fear either make you stand completely still or run screaming, to have you trample down others in an attempt at getting away to safety. They are not used to polite questions about their reasons for coming. Even so, the man who appears to be the chief of the group answers. He is a scraggly looking man with an amused smile stretching his thin lips wide.

“Your riches and your women.” Gunvald turns his head to look at the people gathered behind him, pursing his lips and sighing, as if rather put out by this entire ordeal.

“Ah, a group of bandits.” As if it isn’t already quite obvious, and the villagers nod their heads sagely, chattering to each other as if this is a normal occurrence. “Well, riches we have got very little of, I’m afraid, and as for our womenfolk, that is a hard no from every one of us. I am sure it is quite the norm wherever you go. Now, we would all greatly appreciate it if you went on your merry way.” There is a series of agreeable murmurs in the crowd behind him, and the bandits burst out laughing at the audacity.

“You’re a real jester, old man.”

“Old?” Gunvald looks highly offended by the remark and his face twists in annoyance, the most so far since the group had ridden into their home.

“But you don’t get a say in this. We’re not leaving empty-handed, and what, pray tell, can you do to stop us?” He looks to his men who all shout and raise their weapons in a show of intimidation. All the while the villagers are silent for a few moments as they do this. Then the air is filled with the shouts of children, doing their very best to be louder than the bandits. A few words get through the booming laughter of the bandits and catch their attention.

“The snake will teach you all a lesson!” It is Andor who breaks through the ruckus, and it causes the bandits to pause. He stands in front of his group of friends, arms spread wide and a defiant look on his young face, eyes narrowed with as much righteous anger as a ten-year-old can produce.

“The snake will chase you all away!” The bandits begin murmuring amongst each other, confused, and more than a little bit amused by the boy’s courage.

“Snake?”

“There’s a rumor,” the bandit chief chuckles smugly as he moves his horse forward to tower over Gunvald and Andor. Gunvald moves to stand in front of his son as the bandit moved ever closer on his steed.

“Of a giant snake lurking in the mountains, but it isn’t real. Monster snakes don’t exist no more! Especially not here, where it ain’t so warm!” He raises his voice, challenges anyone to refute him, but frowns when the children behind Gunvald grins widely as any happy child can, and points behind him. The villagers cover their mouths to muffle their mirth as they take a few steps back, and then;

Then there is a loud hissing sound behind the bandits.

The chief turns around in his seat. The sight makes him pale and lose all his bravado. He has never once encountered such a creature for as long as he has been raiding and plundering. The enormous black and red serpent towers over all of them, staring unblinkingly. The beast hovers unmoving for several long, painful seconds in which the bandits’ hearts beat so loud in their ears that any other noise is drowned out.

Then the beast opens their jaws wide, showing off four long fangs, as long and thick as the bandit chief’s arm, if not longer. And then, then the beast lunge.

CHAPTER THREE

Aske has never found the task of scaring off groups of rag-tag bandits particularly difficult whenever he changes his shape into that of a serpent. Most humans do panic when a beast several times their size appear and hovers over them. Aske only needs to open his jaws as wide as he can, and they’ll scatter, and this time is no different. To be fair, the horrified horses do help when they try to toss off their riders and run away. Some of the men run after the horses, trying to recapture them, mount them anew. Some raise their weapons and try to wound the beast, but the scales are old, thick and hard. The beast writhes and slithers about in such a manner they don’t get a clear hit in. As such they only end up managing to numb their own hands while doing so, if they ever get any contact. Despite his massive size, the serpent is quick.

Aske lashes out and sends them flying. They will most likely be scared out of their minds for a very long time. Bruised and hurting for a while as well. The shapeshifter has no intention of taking any of their lives, though. He’s just going to impart a very important message.

Get out and do not return.

He snaps after them, manages to snag one of the bandits by his shoddy leather armour and tosses the man high into the air. He watches him scream and flail before he crashes into someone with enough courage to charge towards Aske. He lashes out with his tail again, sending several falling over as he wraps it around one and hoists him up in the air. The bandit flails and screams when Aske dangles him above him, opening his jaw wide again. For all intents and purposes he acts as if he is about to swallow him whole. Aske swipes his tongue out menacingly, before he throws this one away too. They smell atrocious, he won’t have them near his mouth like this again, he might just hurl.

The bandits quickly realize that there is nothing they can do against this beast, as their weapons have little to no effect at all. And so they give up and call a retreat while they can. They limp their escape as Aske follows, hissing loudly yet again to drive the point in. Just loud enough to make sure that they keep the hurried pace all the way out of the territory. He finally stops at the edge of the village, watching them hobble down the paths and disappearing, before he returns to the villagers. They are all chatting amongst themselves happily and applauding him for the splendid display of terror when he comes back into sight.

There’s a sting somewhere, Aske feels, insistent and burning. He must have moved in the wrong direction upon someone attacking him for that to have happened. With every movement he feels whatever it is digging deeper beneath his scales. Twisting, burrowing deeper, doing more damage to the vulnerable flesh beneath. The children cheer and chatters with much excitement amongst themselves. Their next game will be a somewhat proper re-enactment of this very situation. They will be the mighty warriors chasing bandits away. The serpent must be a part of it by any means necessary when they have fleshed out the rules properly.

“Splendid, Master Snake, thank you for the timely rescue!” Gunvald calls out as he claps his hands enthusiastically. He glances back over his shoulder to get nods of agreement from his fellow villagers.

“Very well done indeed. You do have a habit of arriving just in time!” Not that there have been any bandit attacks for years now. For Andor and his friends, this is the very first attack they have ever witnessed.

“It’s nothing,” Aske answers before hissing in pain and moving over to the human, who graces the serpent with a worried look.

“What’s the matter?”

“There’s something between my scales. Pull it out.” He lowers himself down, hears the horrified gasps of the humans around and sees Gunvald’s queasy expression as he reaches over. The man grabs hold of whatever it is that is causing Aske discomfort. The shapeshifter is grateful for the man’s careful movements as he does his best to minimize the pain of pulling out what turns out to be a dagger lodged between some of his scales. Not a single one of the villagers recall the serpent ever having been injured for as long as they’ve lived. The unprecedented situation worries them all a great deal, as anything unusual usually worries people.

“Thanks.” Aske then turns and slithers away, wanting to get back to the comforts of his cave. He’s feeling exhausted. All he wants is to burrow beneath his worn furs and sleep.

“Oh, um, you, er, don’t you need any help with that?” Gunvald calls after him, already looking around for the village doctor while holding the dagger as far away from him as he is able. The serpent merely hisses, saying it is not necessary. Aske knows that it will be a hassle to reach the wounded area on his own. Yet it is also not the first time that he’s tended to a wound on his own body. He’d rather struggle a bit than let a human put their hands on him when he’s vulnerable ever again. As he slithers up the path, he curses himself for having been so careless. A century of peace can make one soft and Aske hates to admit that he celebrated his victory too early, lay down his defences too fast. He literally offered up his soft underbelly. An infant’s mistake.

After this heroic act, Aske believes he very much deserves a long nap. He’s going to need it, allow his body the rest it needs to recuperate. The moment he is past the greenery framing the cave, the vines begin covering the mouth of it. He shifts back once most of the sunlight is blocked out, searches for the wound, finds it right beneath his right shoulder blade. A tricky spot, but he manages to bind it securely and pulls his tunic back on before he flops down onto his furs. He falls asleep, but it is not a peaceful rest. The wound throbs, plagues him even while unconscious. Hours later he jolts awake by the sensation of his blood feeling like liquid fire, and his foggy mind pieces together the puzzle.

He snarls to himself, wrenching his shirt off with weak hands. His body is heavy, he’s burning both on the inside and outside, and he struggles to breathe, it feels like someone has dropped a boulder on his chest.

‘Poison!’ His mind supplies. The dagger had been coated in poison, and Aske hadn’t considered that possibility because poison is not usually much part of a bandit’s trade. It does not change the fact that he has poison in his veins, which is not good. Aske is no healer. He can turn into a serpent and a half-snake, a hybrid between a humanoid and beastly appearance. He can conjure fire and control greenery, but healing is a skill in which he is sorely lacking. And this fever haze that has taken root in his head won’t leave him any more capable of healing than he was before.

“Fuck!” Now, Aske has never come across a poison or venom that his body has not been able to resist thanks to his nature and experimenting while young. Yet it always slows down the healing process to some varying degree. He has a sneaking suspicion that he’ll be taking a long while to recover from this, and it will be far from pleasant.

“From such a shallow wound, how laughable!” It is infuriating, but what he truly fears are not the pain and discomfort which he will be experiencing during his recovery. He fears that someone from the village will come looking for him. They will most likely become suspicious of his prolonged absence. He prays to anyone who’ll hear him that no one comes. A hundred years of peace will not be ruined by one measly poisoned dagger. He won’t let that happen. His life may be lonely, but it is as safe as can be, and he will not be chased off. He mutters a spell, glancing towards the cave opening. The greenery shifts, completely blocking out any light.

No one will enter before he is ready for it, and with that done, he allows himself to fall unconscious again.

Aske is quite fortunate that the villagers are hesitant to come close to a wounded animal, much less sending their children to play with one. Yet, they are indeed worried about his well-being. The cave has stayed sealed since the day of the bandit attack. They are wondering if everything will be alright, because in the long memory of the village itself, the serpent has never been wounded. The village doctor wants to go up, even though she knows very little of how to treat a monster serpent. At the same time lies the problem of their ancestors’ old promise to never enter the serpent’s home without being invited. A promise the serpent had insisted on upon their arrival. Gunvald uses this argument, and they all agree to wait.

Two more days pass, and Gunvald stand with three others and the doctor, discussing the situation yet again. Though with much more frustration and vigour this time.

“I’m willing to brave the cave, to ensure that he is alright!” the doctor insist, but Gunvald frowns, hesitant.

“We swore an oath-“

“Our ancestors swore an oath!” She’s worried and frustrated, and Gunvald can understand because he is equally as frustrated. The difference is that he, as the village chief, must be the one to make the final decision.

“They swore an oath that none of the people born and living in this village shall ever intrude upon his home without invitation! We broke it once, and we’re lucky he didn’t find out then. I will not risk a repeat with a different outcome! We will not break it again, and that is my decision!” Their heated discussion has caught the attention of a lone traveller. A traveller so inconspicuous no one took much notice of him when he entered the village days prior. This man, broad shouldered but soft around the middle, has been in the village for two days, resting in a proper bed for the first time in weeks. While he’d love nothing more than to mind his own business and regain his strength so he can journey on, his curiosity won’t allow it. So, he heads over, clearing his throat in a bid at getting the arguing group’s attention.

“Excuse me?” They turn towards him and he clears his throat again, a nervous habit.

“Right, my name is Bragi, and I’m a healer, as in, I use healing magics. If someone needs healing, I might be able to help?” The group turn away and talk quietly amongst themselves. They keep shooting him looks that tells him that they’re not sure if they can trust him or not, which is fair. He is an outsider, after all. Rural little villages out in the far reaches of a territory are always a bit closed off to strangers. He offers them a second option.

“Or you can explain to me what kind of wound or ailment it is and maybe I can help by figuring out how to treat if? If that makes you more comfortable?” This seems to ease their worries, if only a little, but they’re all startled when a group of children burst forward. All four of them look stricken and shouting out before the adults can do or say anything.

“It’s the snake!” Andor exclaims, and Bragi blinks, not sure if he’s hearing correctly.

“The snake- it’s real? The monster snake of the mountain actually exists?” His eyes nearly bug out of his skull as his mind wraps around this revelation.

“Yes.” Gunvald fixes the children with a stern look, harsh enough that they look away in shame. He had not wanted any strangers to know that their guardian is wounded and unable to come to their aid or defend himself until he is well again. Unfortunately, what has been done is done, there is no undoing that.

“We recently suffered a bandit attack, and Master Snake became injured in the skirmish. We haven’t seen him since.” The words force themselves through gritted teeth, and Gunvald does not look away from the children as he speaks. They take a few hesitant steps back, shoulders up to their ears as they wring their hands behind their backs. They are used to receiving a scolding for their tricks and pranks, but this is something completely different. None of the adults are looking at them with forgiving eyes this time.

“Oh!” Bragi gasps. To learn that not only is the beast from the rumours real, but it is also the protector of the little mountain village, is a lot.

“If we bring you to him, will you heal him?” He blinks, as Gunvald turns to him, a steely glint in his eyes, watching. As if waiting for the traveller to retract his offer now that he knows that it is a beast and not a human that requires aid.

“Well, I, er, I offered, didn’t I?” Bragi stammers, before clearing his throat yet again and straightening up properly.

“I had indeed thought it to be a person, but my offer still stands. If I can help, I will.” Gunvald scrutinizes him for many moments, before he nods. Broad shouldered he may be, but the rest of him is soft, his hazel eyes bright and honest, and though his ash-brown hair and beard seem a little unkept and scraggly and streaked with grey, his appearance can be blamed on travelling and age. He appears to be a rather respectable man, all in all. The sword at his hip makes the man a bit uneasy, but still, when travelling it is sometimes necessary to carry a weapon. Gunvald, in his well-hidden desperation, decides to trust this man. And if he is wrong, the responsibility will rest solely on his shoulders.

“Right then. I will lead you to his home and entrust him in your care.” The group he had been standing with starts to argue, but he holds up a hand to silence them. They quiet down, though they don’t look at all happy about it. They stare after the two as Gunvald leads Bragi away, first to gather whatever he might need to help, and then they are off.

Bragi admits to himself, as they walk up the steep path, that he worries that he’s being led like a lamb to a slaughter. It would hardly be the first time, he remembers one time when he was younger, much more naïve- no, best not to dwell on that now. All he got out of that experience is that he now always has his sword within reach when he travels.

They reach the top, and the brunet is in awe at the greenery he sees. Large apple trees the healer is sure shouldn’t be able to grow so high up and the soft green grass. The many different berry bushes and several types of herbs growing, bountifully. Not to mention all the colourful flowers. It is simply amazing. Then there is a green-covered part of the mountain wall, indented slightly inwards, obviously covering the entrance to a cave.

The serpent’s den.

“Master Snake dwells in there. I can’t go any further, because he doesn’t want us in there, and I’d rather not violate his privacy any more than what I am already doing by sending you in there.” Gunvald hesitates before he adds; “If you should be put in danger because we asked this of you, turn and run.” Bragi blinks.

“Pardon?”

“Master Snake has never once harmed any of us, but he is hurt, and might act just like any other wounded animal. So, if you find yourself in any danger, please run and forget we asked any aid of you.” Bragi nods, thankful for the out should it come down to it. He watches Gunvald disappear down the path, before heading for the wall of vines. He wonders how he should proceed from here, how to get inside because the wall of vines appear pretty solid, impenetrable. He reaches out for it, searching for a weakness, an opening. It is such a lovely covering, he’d rather not have to cut it, especially since it appears to have been meticulously grown and cared for.

“Now, how do I- oh!” The moment he touches it, it parts and opens the way for him, as if they are all connected to one sentient mind.

“Why, thank you?” He ventures inside and finds that there are plants and flowers inside as well, with a spring big enough for a person to bathe in should they wish. There are a few cracks in the mountain roof to bring about enough light that he can see once the vines covers the opening behind him again. It is rather lovely, the man thinks as he looks around, trying to locate the beast.

He never comes across any serpent. He does, however, find a pale, feverish man with long red hair in a tangled mess of undone braids, his long, scrawny, shivering form curled up onto a bed of furs. He is suffering a dark and festering wound beneath his shoulder blade, visible beneath a loose mess of bandages.

“Oh dear.”

CHAPTER FOUR

If Aske ever were to be asked what it feels like being poisoned and unconscious, he’d liken it to a hellish nightmare like no other. His mind is his own prison while the rest of him is on fire. The absolute worst part is beneath his shoulder blade, where the knife had dug in. It is concentrated, his skin is melting off his bones, leaving him bare and vulnerable. Even trapped deep within his subconscious as he is, Aske knows his situation is worse than he first thought it to be. His body isn’t fighting the poison, at least not as quick or as well as it should. And then there is that nagging fear that he will be found, and have his life be ended. Brought to an end without him being able to defend himself, like a defenceless child.

But then, sometime later, Aske isn’t sure how long, there is a cool feeling near the wound. It is gone as sudden as it appears and Aske wants to weep, because as fleeting as it was, it had brought some relief. His body is not fighting, it is succumbing, and it is terrifying and all he wants is that cool relief again. He just wants that slight touch of comfort again. Nothing is more terrifying than being aware of every single part of your body and in how much pain you’re in, but unable to do anything but feel it.

But then the sensation returns, feels that cooling relief return, on his forehead this time, trailing down his cheek. It is not something he imagined, even if it disappears again. He didn’t imagine it. And perhaps that is his descent into madness, but he will take it, anything to get out of this endless spiral of fire and heat and agony.

And it returns, again and again, and this time it stays. Aske welcomes it. The wound throbs less and the fire, while still there, isn’t as painful as it has been for who knows how long. It gives him something else to focus on, and he latches onto it, hoping and praying in his fever-addled mind that it won’t disappear again. It’s almost enough to shatter him into so many tiny pieces, to know that there might be relief at the end of it all. The sensation stays, clears his mind, brings him enough strength at some point to claw himself back to consciousness.

His eyes flutter open, and he finds himself on his stomach, which isn’t right. He hadn’t laid down on his stomach. He blinks his eyes several times, the crust making it hard but the haze clears. Aske realizes several things at once; his throat is dry, like someone poured sand into his mouth while he slept. It hurts as well, like someone forced him to swallow needles in his sleep. He is in desperate need of water. His shoulder is still throbbing in agony and his entire body is stiff and heavy, but it is not as bad as before.

There’s also a sword by his bedding which he’s never seen before, and he is not alone in his cave. The sword is proof enough that someone has intruded into his home, but he can hear something being crushed and ground into dust. With a flick of his serpent tongue, he catches a whiff of the strong smell of herbs. Alongside the scent of an unknown person. He turns his head, moving as quietly as he is able, and sees the back of a person he has never seen before. Broad shouldered, and clothes worn from travelling, two things that are never a good mix for his kind.