The Blyther

Eldon delivered a powerful strike with his ax, cleaving the last log in two. Retreating a step, he swung it over his shoulder. His biceps were on fire. His blistered hands burned beneath thick leather gloves, and he dragged his forearm across his brow, breathing heavily against the stillness of the woods.

Finally. The endless weeks of chopping and hauling firewood were over.

“Done, done, and done!” Will’s voice broke the quiet as he trotted across the clearing. He flipped his hood back to reveal a boyish, wind-chapped face. “Thanks for finishing the pile, Eldon. It would have taken me an hour to do what you can in minutes.” His breath fogged the chilly Autumn air as he knelt to collect the remainder of the logs. After stacking them into the canvas carrier, he called out to Nash. “That’s the last of it!”

Nash lounged in the driver’s seat of the wagon with his left leg encased in a cast below the knee. “Well, it’s about damned time.” Sitting up, he removed the pipe from his mouth and cast a wary glance at the sky, where ominous dark clouds were gathering on the horizon. “Let’s load it up and go. We’re gonna be cutting it close with that storm, and I’m not in the mood to catch my death today.”

“We’d have already been back if you’d gotten off your ass and helped,” Eldon grumbled.

Nash scoffed, a wry smile playing on his lips. “I’m the driver, ain’t I? Coulda quit on you both last week when I busted my ankle, but I didn’t. Remember that when you’re counting your money.”

Eldon shook his head. “Yes, we’re so grateful for your loyalty. I’m sure it has nothing to do with you not wanting to miss a single day’s pay.” Turning to Will, he muttered under his breath, “No matter how useless he is. He should be giving us half his earnings.”

“At least,” Will whispered with a snort.

“I know ya’ll are talking about me,” Nash called.

“You’re correct,” Will replied.

Ax in hand, Eldon grabbed the other wood carrier, and both men brought their final loads to the wagon. His arms felt stiff and exhausted as he heaved the last of the firewood into the back. Then he tossed his ax and gloves into the pile and crawled in. Will claimed his usual spot in the passenger seat, stretching out with a satisfied groan as if he’d done all the hard labor himself.

Looking over his shoulder, he gave Eldon a lighthearted wave. “Comfy?”

Eldon just rolled his eyes as he settled among the rough-hewn logs. “Just go.”

With a swift crack of the reigns, Nash urged the two draft horses into motion and the wagon jolted forward. The mountain air had grown damp with impending rain, the kind that chilled deep into the bone. Eldon felt his strained muscles finally starting to cool. He rolled down the sleeves of his sweat-ridden tunic, gazing out at the white-capped mountains as the wagon bounced along the winding dirt roads.

In a matter of weeks, blankets of snow would smother every inch of the woods surrounding them. Ponds would freeze over. Bare branches would become encased in ice, shimmering like crystal in the winter sun. Beautiful to look at, but harsh and unforgiving for three long months.

Eldon couldn’t help but feel bitter around this time of year. Every winter, millions of residents in the ruling capitol rested comfortably with their energy-powered lighting and centrally heated homes, while the outliers practically lived in the dark ages. Thousands of struggling villages in the northern territories relied on firewood and animal fat to keep warm during the hostile winter season. Those who didn’t work together didn’t survive for long.

He grabbed the weathered buckskin jacket beside him and shrugged it on, bracing himself as the wagon took a hard left. A break in the trees revealed a dusty grey sky, with the darkest clouds—thick with storm—encroaching from the west. Far off in the distance, thunder rumbled. Then came a deep and unmistakable call, one that sounded somewhere between a roar and a howl. Another followed, riding eerily on the wind. Then another.

Nash scanned the tree line, giving the reigns another crack to spur the horses onward. He spat over his shoulder. “Great. They’d better not be hunting us when Eldon doesn’t have his gun.”

“It’s just a warning call,” Eldon assured, his breath fogging the air. He was the only one who could differentiate the cries of mutated timber wolves, more commonly known as “timbers.” Their voices started resonating throughout the wilderness during the colder months. It was a chilling chorus that seemed to echo from the very heart of the wild. “They’re communicating with the pack. The storm’s got them spooked.”

“Since when are those beasts afraid of anything?” Will asked, his freckled nose and pale cheeks flushing a bright red from the cold. “Except for you, Eldon. How many you kill last winter? Twenty or something?”

“Twenty-five.”

“Shit. Maybe you’ll take out thirty this year.”

“We’ll see.”

Eldon took no pleasure in being a timber slaughterer, though he’d grown used to it over the years. When winter’s icy fingers grasped the land, food sources became scarce, driving the hybrid wolves closer to human settlements. It was the harsh law of nature. Survival. Eldon’s role was crucial: ensuring the prey remained safe and the predators were kept away from the village.

Sixty-five years ago, after an attempted uprising in the northern territories, the ruling capitol of Dominus had created the timbers to patrol the mountains surrounding its borders. It wasn’t long before their growing packs had driven out most natural of the predators. Even the bears had migrated elsewhere to avoid them.

When the men reached the outskirts of the village, which sat nestled in a rich green valley surrounded by pines, the first droplets of rain began to fall. The road guided the wagon past several houses made of wood and stone, all with thatched roofs and smoking chimneys. Plain wooden fences defined the borders of each property, keeping their gardens and livestock contained. In the heart of the village, elevated wooden walkways lined the array of businesses, where a handful of people still scurried about despite the impending weather.

Nash pulled up beside the old flour mill, with its shuttered windows, stationary wheel, and moss-covered shingles. Someday, the villagers planned to convert it into a sawmill to meet the demands of the expanding populace. Until then, the woodchopping would continue to be done by hand.

Log by log, Eldon and his comrades unloaded the wagon, stacking the final batch neatly inside the mill until they could barely squeeze through the door. Come spring, they’d place it outside to season for next winter.

“You boys have outdone yourselves this year.”

They all turned at Widow Cohen’s brash voice. Hands plunked on voluptuous hips, the fiery-haired woman approached with her usual flirtatious gait. A florescent streak of lightning split the sky behind her. A loud clap of thunder, about three miles off, followed suit.

“I’m so glad you made it back before the storm,” she said with a glance toward the ominous sky. Then, she leaned into the doorframe, and her generous breasts nearly spilled out of her sweater as she admired their haul. “My, we sure are set for a while, aren’t we? One more log and this building might very well burst. I’ve never seen it this full.” The heavy door creaked on its hinges as she shut it with aclick. She smiled, turning to face them. “I’m assuming you boys are all done for the season.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Nash was quick to reply. “Today was our last run.”

“I can’t imagine the sheer muscle it takes to provide all this. Thank you so much for taking good care of us.”

Will shrugged his bony shoulders. “It wasn’t nothing, ma’am. We all do our part around here.”

“Indeed, we do.” She cocked her head, her sultry gaze sweeping over Eldon. “Some of us more than others.”

Eldon felt Nash whack his shin with his crutch. It took everything not to deck him. It was no secret Widow Cohen never let her bed go cold for long, and it was also no secret she’d favored Eldon since the day he’d moved to Taurstrand six years ago. She’d sewn him scarves, baked him fresh pastries, and had even answered the door in her negligée once when he came to fix her roof.

But his interest in human company died a long time ago.

“You dear things, don’t you all look just exhausted,” she went on, placing a hand on Nash’s shoulder. “Why don’t you three come to my place for a nice warm cup of coffee and a sit by the fire? It’s the least I can do to show my gratitude for how much you help this community.”

Nash’s lips parted in a lopsided grin that drew attention to the crow’s feet at his temples. “Wouldn’t dream of saying no to you, Mrs. Cohen.” He rearranged himself on his crutches, obviously no longer caring about catching his death in the storm. “I can’t imagine any better company to pass the time with.”

Will, always the eager apprentice, fumbled for words as if he’d never been offered hospitality in his life. “Much obliged, ma’am, thank you,” he said, his voice cracking with youthful awkwardness. He clutched his wool cap to his chest, glancing questioningly at Eldon.

It was Eldon who broke the tableau. He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his buckskin jacket, feeling his ears starting to ache from the cold. The atmosphere had turned the color of vengeful steel, and the first droplets now painted lazy patterns on the ground, threatening to become a torrent sooner than later.

“That’s very generous,” he said, his voice stripped of all pretenses, “but I’d best be on my way. It’s almost four miles to my cabin, and I’d rather not be caught halfway by that.” He nodded at the sky, which obliged him with another thunderclap.

The woman didn’t hesitate to let her disappointment show. She closed the distance between her and Eldon with two deliberate steps, planting herself directly in his path. She was taller than most women in the village, and she used every inch, tilting her chin up so that her green doe-eyes met his without the slightest hint of hesitation. “Is there anything I can do to make you change your mind? Just one cup to warm you up?” Her dulcet tone wrapped the words in velvet as she pulled her long braid over her shoulder.“You know I’ve got three spare bedrooms if any of you need to stay the night.”

“Next time,” he said to appease her.

A satisfied grin played across her features. “Alright then. I’ll hold you to it.”

He gave her a courteous nod of acknowledgement before turning to Will and Nash. “Need me to help with the wagon?”

“Nah.” Nash clapped him on the shoulder. “You did most of the chopping, so we’ll put up the horses.”

Will gave Eldon a friendly pat on the back. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t get trampled. Go on and get yourself home, Eldon.”

“Thanks.” Eldon nodded in farewell, relieved to be free of social situations for a while. The solitude of his cabin called to him. A place where he didn’t have to think or talk to anyone for as long as he wanted.

He strode to the village stables, where Deputy greeted him with a snort and an eager headshake. “Hey, boy,” Eldon murmured, patting the gelding’s chocolate brown neck. “Ready to go home?”

The horse tossed his head, pawing at the ground with excitement.

“Me too,” he replied. “No more rides to the village for a while. From here on out, it’ll be just you and me all winter long.”

He stroked Deputy’s face and fed him a couple dried apple slices from his satchel. He preferred the company of his horse to that of mostly everyone. Animals held no judgements, no qualms, and were always around to lend an ear without talking back. Unlike humans, they knew better than to live too long, or worry about trivial things.

With Deputy saddled and tacked, they rode out just as the storm decided to introduce itself. Eldon cursed beneath his breath. The wind picked up quickly, whipping several strands of hair loose from his short ponytail. Riding soaked was something he’d experienced one too many times, but he really didn’t want to know what it felt like in late Autumn.

He clicked his tongue and nudged Deputy’s flanks, urging the animal’s canter to a gallop, willing the heavier rain to hold off just a little while longer. When they reached the shelter of the trees, a flash of lightning lit the semi-dark forest. The earthy smell of damp soil filled his nose. The air rumbled with a symphony of pounding horse hooves, wind hissing through pines, and rolling, crackling thunder.

They had made it about halfway when the rain started barreling down in sheets. The relentless weather pummeled him from ever-changing directions, stabbing his face like chilly needles and turning the trail to sloshing mud within minutes. He pulled up fast on the reins, jerking Deputy to a halt when they reached the wooden bridge crossing the creek.

It was broken. Rotted through. Eldon tossed his head back and let out a frustrated groan. Maybe he shouldn’t have put off repairing it these past couple months. He’d no excuse now, damn it all. When he guided Deputy away from the bridge to ford the creek, the gelding tossed his head in protest.

“It’s my fault. I’m sorry,” Eldon said, patting Deputy’s wet, muscular neck. “But we’ve got no choice. I promise I’ll make it up you with fresh straw bedding and all the apples and carrots your heart desires.” The horse snorted and took a couple of hesitant steps backward. “I know it sucks, but you can do it, boy. I believe in you.” Eldon tightened his grip on the reins. “Go on now. One hoof at a time. Go on. Good boy.”

Slowly, the encouragement worked. Step by step, Deputy trudged through the frigid, rushing waters. By tomorrow, the high waterline would make this stream look like a narrow river. When they reached the other side of the bank, something caught Eldon’s peripheral vision, and he turned.

A figure, drenched to the bone, stood twenty yards off, smack dab in the middle of the creek. A ghost? No, a man. His eyes latched onto Eldon’s, the desperate look on his face begging forhelp.

Eldon’s stomach fell. Before he could make sense of it, the man dropped to his knees and collapsed face-down in the water with a hard splash. Eldon sent Deputy flying until he was close enough to leap off and grab him. Adrenaline tore through his veins like venom. He hoisted the man up out of the water, dragged him to the bank, and flipped him onto his back.

Oh, Lord, that face. That poor, angelic face, the kind that inspired ancient paintings and romantic songs. Hair like summer wheat, a Grecian nose, and luxuriant brown eyelashes. His full lips were blue and pale with lifelessness. He looked no older than thirty, and now he was going to die, right here on this damned creek bed.

“Hey! Hey!” Eldon shook the man’s shoulders and smacked his cheek repeatedly. His skin felt as cold as ice. “Hey, open your eyes. Come on, wake up. Don’t die on me here. Wake up!”

The stranger didn’t move. Panic rolled over Eldon in nauseating waves. He lowered an ear to his nostrils, checking for breath.

Still breathing. That’s good.

He took off his wide-brimmed hat, smoothed a hand over his hair, and placed it back on his head. Then he exhaled, clenching and unclenching his fists. This man was hypothermic and needed a doctor’s attention, but it was three miles back to the village and only one mile to Eldon’s cabin. Either way would probably spell death, but Eldon had to make a choice regardless.

The rushing water lapped at his trousers as he trudged to Deputy and unfastened the heavy leather saddle. He heaved it beneath a tree near the bank, praying that by some miracle, it might not be ruined when the rain stopped. Sliding one arm under the unconscious man’s back and the other beneath his knees, Eldon hoisted him into a cradling hold. Thankfully not too heavy, even soaking wet.

Several uttered curses later, he had managed to situate them both onto the horse’s bare back. He wrapped a securing hand around the man’s torso, back-to-chest, and cracked the reigns. They rode hard and fast through the violent storm toward home, the man’s sandy-blond head bobbing up and down like a buoy with each stride.

When they finally reached the cabin, Eldon didn’t stop to check whether the man still lived. He pulled him off the horse, pounded up the steps, and burst through the front door with his shoulder. Fumbling through the dimly lit cabin, he carried the blond stranger across the room and dropped him onto the bed. He lit a fire in the hearth as quickly as he could and then returned to the bedside to listen for breathing once again.

Weak, but there. Thank the universe.

Rain hammered against the wooden roof shingles in an erratic rhythm. Eldon’s own breath came loud and heavy, matched by the rapid pounding of his heart. He had to get these layers of soaked clothes off this fellow. He had to touch him, even if he didn’t want to. With trembling hands, he unbuttoned the man’s wool coat, which fit about three sizes too large. Then he gingerly pulled out one arm, followed by the other, and slid the soaked garment out from under him.

A charcoal-colored sweater came next. Gritting his teeth, Eldon lifted him into a seated position, grabbed the bottom of the sweater, and pulled up. The man flopped back against the pillow like a ragdoll. A white cotton undershirt with long sleeves remained. Noticing something odd, Eldon retreated a step. Despite the man’s lean frame, a swollen stomach protruded against the clinging fabric.

Eldon grimaced. He’d heard of a disease called draptheria, which was caused by drinking chemically tainted water. The illness resulted in kidney failure and abdominal distention in the final stages, but he’d never seen a case firsthand. If this fellow possessed such an ailment, it looked far too serious or advanced for treatment. Who knew if he would even wake up? Perhaps it was best if he didn’t.

“Who are you?” Eldon whispered, his voice trembling. “Where did you come from?”

Thunder answered overhead, rattling the cabin. At least the poor soul’s last moments would be in comfort instead of a watery grave. Eldon unbuckled the man’s belt and peeled his pants off, adding them to the wet pile on the floor. He swallowed thickly, debating on whether to remove the man’s trunks.

The shirt first. Setting his jaw, he gripped the damp shirt at the collar and began to tear downward—

Someone called from outside.

Eldon stumbled backward, shooting out of his skin. In a blur he grabbed the shotgun from above the fireplace and sprinted to the busted door, where he saw a soaked Mrs. Tate standing on the porch. Powerful relief filled him. She held a basket of herbs, and her coarse raven curls were piled atop her head beneath the hood of her coat.

“Oh, Eldon, thank the universe!” Her brown eyes lit at the sight of him. “I didn’t know whether you’d be home yet. I’m so glad you are.” She chuckled, pulling off her hood as she stepped inside. “My husband’s going to kill me. He warned me not to go out to the wild fields today, but I was completely out of raspberry leaf for Mrs. Kilmore, and I just couldn’t let her down. I honestly thought I’d have more time before the skies decided to tear open like a—” She regarded him, her brow suddenly creasing with concern. “What on earth is the matter? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Only now did he realize he was shaking from head to toe. “I… need your help.”

She shrugged off her coat and hung it beside the door. “Of course, I’ll do what I can. What’s happened?”

“Come with me.”

In blind haste, he led her to the back of the cabin. It took but a moment for her to spot the man upon the bed. “Oh, mercy,” she breathed, freezing in place.

“I don’t know who he is,” Eldon said. “I saw him in the middle of the creek while riding back from the village. He collapsed in the water and hasn’t woken since. He’s alive, though.”

Mrs. Tate blinked, hesitating a moment. Then, as if propelled by some invisible force she sprang to action, rushing to the unconscious man and placing the back of her hand on his cheek. “Alive, but barely. He is dangerously cold. Quick, put a kettle on the stove. Do you have any hot water bottles?”

“One, I think,” he answered clumsily, rushing to the kitchen like a bat in daylight.

“Better than nothing. Let’s move the bed closer to the fire, too. I see you’ve gotten most of the wet clothes off him, that’s good.” Then she called to Eldon over her shoulder, “We’ll need to get him into dry clothing as soon as possible!”

“Bottom dresser drawer!” Eldon placed the shotgun on the table and lit the gas burner beneath the copper kettle.

“Eldon?” she called, the cadence of her voice rising a fraction.

He turned. She had sliced open the remainder of the man’s shirt with her pruning shears, and now sat upon the edge of the bed, staring at his exposed torso.

“Yes, I… noticed that too,” he stammered, approaching slowly. “Could it be draptheria?”

“Perhaps,” she answered in a grave tone. “But look, see here.” With gentle hands, she turned the man’s head and placed three fingertips to a silver barcode tattooed behind his ear. “A government brand. This man is property of Dominus. Who knows what they could have done to him?”

Eldon froze at the mention of the capitol. “Dominus?”

She nodded.

This was bad. This was very bad. There had been rumors of human experimentation for years, but to literally see someone—a living, breathing being—with a legal stamp of ownership filled Eldon with grim terror. He folded his arms across his chest and began to pace. “Oh, no. I can’t believe I brought him here. What have I done? They probably injected him with cancer, or parasites, or some man-made disease that can...” A horrifying thought struck him, and he stopped. “You don’t think he’s a weapon, do you? Sent to exterminate the outer regions? Biological warfare? Maybe they’re afraid of another uprising.”

“The northwestern regions had nothing to do with the most recent rebellion,” the woman assured him. “Ours happened a long time ago. The generations that have come since know the laws, and we obey them.” Tilting her head, she looked down at the man, studying his face. “He’s quite beautiful, isn’t he?”

More than that. He was perfect, and now, Eldon knew why. The man had probably been grown in a test tube at a science facility, genetically engineered to possess the ideal features of what his creator admired in the male sex. Even now, Eldon caught himself wondering what color the man’s eyes were…

Banishing the thought, he cleared his throat. “What should we do with him?”

“Well, he can’t be left to die, that’s for sure,” she said with a heavy sigh. “We must do the best we can to see that he wakes, and then, we’ll go from there.”

“You can’t be serious.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “What do you propose, then? Dump him somewhere in the forest? I’m involved now, and whether he belongs to the ruling government or not, I refuse to commit murder.”

Eldon dragged a hand down his face and uttered a curse. Any outlier caught harboring Dominus property was sentenced to death—or life in prison at the very least. Something told him human property carried the greatest consequence.

Brushing the man’s hair off his forehead with her fingertips, her gaze raked over him again and again. Suddenly, her eyes doubled in size, as though some revelation had dawned on her.

“What now?” Eldon asked, his head whirling.

She looked up at him with wary, curious eyes. “I’m about to do something crazy… Something that doesn’t make any sense… but I have to know.” She took a deep breath, rubbing her palms together to warm them. Gently, she placed both hands on the man’s bloated stomach and began to palpate.

“No!” Eldon lurched forward. “What are you doing? He could be contagious!”

She slapped him away. He backed off in silence, wondering what he’d tell her widowed husband and five children when she fell sick and died from something uncurable. Why wasn’t she the least bit worried? Forget hunting apex predators. When it came to bravery, this woman trumped him tenfold.

“Dear God,” she muttered. “You’re not going to believe this.”

“Try me.”

She met his eyes. “I think… I think he could be pregnant.”

She was right. He didn’t believe it. “I’m sorry?”

Her brow furrowed in concentration as she continued to maneuver her hands skillfully over the unconscious man. “No—I know he’s pregnant. I’m feeling a uterus, Eldon. I can’t be sure, but I’d say he’s… somewhere in the middle of the second trimester by the look of things.”

Eldon blinked, unable to move. “I don’t understand.”

“I don’t either.” She gaped at the man in the bed, stunned.

“Then it must be something else,” he insisted, certain he was in a nightmare. “An implant, or a—”

“I’m the village midwife, Eldon. I know a uterus when I feel one.”

“Well clearly you’re mistaken this time.”

The woman shot him a hard look, and he shriveled beneath her stare.

“It’s just—” he grimaced—“he’s a male, isn’t he?”

She raised the band of the man’s trunks and peeked beneath them. “On the outside at least.”

“Okay, how would he give birth then?”

“Look, I’m just as alarmed as you,” she said, tugging the sheet up to cover him. “But you saw the barcode on his neck. We don’t know how they’ve made him. We barely know anything about the capitol or their capabilities. Quick, help me move the bed closer to the fire.”

She grabbed one side of the brass bedpost, while Eldon hesitantly took hold of the other. Mind benumbed, his body seemed to move of its own accord. Together, they dragged the heavy bed, scraping the wooden floorboards, to a place beside the hearth.

The kettle began to whistle.

Eldon didn’t know what to say, so he spun on his heel and strode to the kitchen, where he began scouring the drawers and cupboards for that blasted water bottle. His head whirled with shock and confusion at Mrs. Tate’s discovery. How could he not trust her?

Montgomery Tate had been midwife since the day he’d met her, and according to high rate of mother and infant survival in their village, a damn good one at that. A large part of Taurstrand’s growth was thanks to her. And the technology in Dominus was so advanced these days that anything was possible.

At long last Eldon found the water bottle in the broom closet, hidden beneath a dustpan and neglected ironing board. He filled the thick rubber pouch with boiling water from the kettle, careful not to burn his fingers. An endless sea of questions continued to rush his mind, none of which could be answered. Why did this have to happen to him? All he’d wanted was a quiet evening alone by the fire, listening to the storm outside while polishing the rifle on his lap. Now he was sheltering a fugitive experiment and breaking the law.

He brought the hot bottle to Mrs. Tate, who had taken the liberty of dressing the man in a burgundy tunic and a pair of cotton trousers. He was swimming in Eldon’s clothing.

“Well, I’m not a doctor,” the woman began, taking the warm bottle from Eldon’s hands, “but I didn’t see any outward injuries other than a few scrapes and bruises.” Like a caring mother, she tucked it against the man’s left side and pulled the thick bedquilts up over him. “I’ll stay here and look after him until the worst of the storm is over.”

“What should I do?” Eldon asked.

She nodded her head toward the busted door. “Make yourself useful and put Buttercup in the barn with Deputy. Poor old girl’s been tethered to your porch in the rain long enough.”

Buttercup. Yes. Grateful for the distraction, he raced for the door. Pausing just inside the frame, he glanced back at the scene inside his small cabin. Mrs. Tate sat on the bed, her expression dripping with empathy for the soul that lay beside her. Or souls, perhaps.

Eldon couldn’t tell what he felt at present. His emotions had run amuck over the past hour, and he still wasn’t convinced it wouldn’t be a blessing for this man to never wake again. The idea of surrendering him to the government made Eldon sick, but a large part of him wanted to get on his knees and plead for him to live. He just didn’t know.