Forging Amber

She could smell it before she could see it. It had by far the foulest, most vile reek ever to have assaulted her tiny, young nose; a nose which was now wrinkled in sheer disgust. So pungent did the stench prove to be that her tender young nostrils tingled with a slight burning sensation, which in turn caused her frightened green eyes to involuntarily begin watering.

In Amber’s short life she had come across the odd dead rat and bird, and there had even been a poor old dog this one time, with flies and maggots feasting away at the rich and rotten fleshy banquet; but even the smell of those paled in comparison to the hideousness of what she was now suffering through. She found that not even holding her breath helped. In fact in some ways that made the experience all the worse, because eventually she was forced to gulp another toxic mouthful, which meant actually being able to taste the sour air rather than just endure its rancid smell. Her stomach turned, ready to unload the delicious final banquet she had been presented with just hours beforehand. Had she known in advance she would have eaten nothing. At least then her stomach would be empty, rather than now being faced with the prospect of her last meal dancing around her insides threatening to escape upwards. She found herself having to fight the urge to breathe deeply in order to help settle her wild interior, as breathing only meant more noxious fumes.

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Once a year, as the bleak winter concluded for yet another season, a different kind of chill would appear, creeping over the remote city of Glenkinver; it was a cold fear over the heart, particularly for those with children in the city. For it was every year at this time that the draw was undertaken and a child’s name was chosen as the Sacrifice. The Queleon’s appetite had to be appeased. So the selected unfortunate would be led off into the cold shadows deep within Blackstone Forest, never to be seen again. And it proved enough to keep the Queleon satisfied, whereby it would slink back to the depths of Blackstone Swamp, until next year. And the people of Glenkinver would express their deep sympathy for those who had lost, but inwardly they would breathe a sigh of relief at having escaped once again, and count the years till their children had matured past the point of selection.

It had been the way for as long as people could remember. Of course there had been attempts to put a stop to such terror; from fearless knights to the self-proclaimed mightiest of Sorcerers. All had failed. And the monster’s revenge always varied, as if it took extreme pleasure in conjuring up new ways to punish its unfaithful livestock. A particularly nasty year that stuck in the memories of those grey-haired enough to remember had occurred when the beast laid waste to the prime farmland skirting the west side of the city. It had been decided to abandon the Sacrifice for that year, with the city all prepared to fight. And then the Queleon had failed to make an appearance, making some think it had seen the resistance and had decided to give up and move on, or that it had even simply died of old age. But it wasn’t until the late summer that a sighting came of it plodding through the vast fields of wheat. And whilst the city rallied for an attack, with just a single ball of flames erupting from its body the monster caused crops to wither in mere seconds as a raging inferno engulfed everything in its path. It then casually ambled its way back to the swamp, knowing its revenge would come in the following months. And despite the city’s attempts to stockpile any remaining food, and venture beyond the encircling mountains to trade with other far-off cities, the following winter had been a struggle. Everyone had keenly felt the cold, not quite having the energy to maintain a comfortable level of warmth. But it was mainly the young and the old that had suffered the most from the lack of food. Remoteness was nearly the city’s downfall, but also its slight saviour. It was only thanks to the local knowledge of living off the wilderness that the city wasn’t starved completely. And that was the year ’chew some bark to stave off hunger’ became a widespread saying.

The last time the city had dared to challenge the beast it had simply trudged through the streets. And behind each doorway it passed, any child within the household had dropped to the floor like a ragdoll, as if overcome by sudden sleep. Overall the Queleon claimed the lives of exactly one hundred children that day instead of its usual one. It was as if to send a message; ’disobey me and things will be a hundred times worse.’ Many in the city had no doubt that next time it could be a thousand souls lost, therefore any further acts of defiance were quickly shouted down.

Amber hadn’t been present for the selection this year. Her mother had been on edge for weeks, convinced that so many silly little things, from the last of this week’s milk turning sour to the appearance of a dead bird on their doorstep, had been a sign that all wasn’t well for them. Amber’s father had been the voice of reason, but even behind the usual calm exterior gifted to a strong and steady-handed blacksmith Amber could see the increasing dread every time she gazed into his eyes.

Upon the day of the draw Amber’s mother had won the argument, and Amber was made to stay at home to look after her younger brother Alfred. So when their parents had returned home afterwards and were accompanied by the City Guard Amber had known instantly that either her own fate or that of her brother had been sealed. Knowing that the chosen weren’t even allowed to steal one last hug from the ones they held most dear she embraced her brother tightly. This rather cold-hearted ruling had been decreed because one previous year the father of a chosen individual had taken it upon himself to end the life of his son, rather than have him suffer at the hands of the Queleon. But then of course a replacement Sacrifice had to be selected, so yet another set of parents that year were subjected to heart-breaking grief. And the father simply disappeared that night. Rumour spread that he had fled in shame. But other whispers suggested a more sinister end as a consequence of his selfish deed.

So as the guards approached Amber and her brother they had to prise the tearful pair apart, and it was Amber who was marched away along the cobbled streets, serenaded by wails of anguish from her mother as onlookers of friends and neighbours bowed their heads in respect. However the greatest detail Amber had taken away with her of that moment had been the look on her father’s face. It was burned into her memory. When she had gazed up at him for that final time he had tried to remain his usual pillar of strength, despite his only cherished daughter being led away to her doom. But once again his eyes deceived him. It was as if he had died inside.

Amber found her thoughts had wandered. Maybe it was the intoxicating smell. She became aware of a taste of salt hit the edge of her tongue. Tears; they had rolled their down her face after having recalled those all too brief final moments with her family.

Raising her hands to rub at her burning, wet cheeks she winced at the pain in her wrists which hurt from the tight rope coiled round them, which in turn was wrapped around a sturdy oak tree behind her. Despite having the freedom to move everything except her hands, she hadn’t been able to unpick the expertly tied knots. Having tried everything from using her teeth to nearby stones to the tree’s roots that poked from the ground like wooden snakes, her efforts for freedom only seemed to make the ropes cut that bit deeper and eventually she put a stop to her futile attempts of escape. The gruesome thought had even crossed her mind of simply sacrificing her hands. One sacrifice instead of another. She had given a few tugs of the rope, using her own weight against that of the tree. But she was either inwardly too scared to give it all her strength and lose her hands, or she simply wasn’t physically strong enough.

Shifting her weight she stumbled at the ridiculously oversized ceremonial dress she had been adorned with. Mud clung to the frilled hem with damp rising slowly up from the cold and wet ground. It made the dress all the heavier to wear, adding to Amber’s misery. Still, as a bonus to the Queleon it would get a hearty fix of minerals as it chomped upon her.

Rolling her head round the clearing her vision caught sight of a flash of white in the trees above. Her heart leapt. It was a white squirrel. It stopped to regard her from afar and sniff the air. With a vain hope Amber lifted her bonds to as if expecting it to descend and nibble her to freedom.

Then the snapping of a twig drew her wide-eyes eyes into the darkness under the trees at the edge of the glade. She could see nothing. And when she returned her gaze back to the squirrel it had gone. A foolish, childish idea that it would actually help. So she looked back to the edge of the clearing where the noise had originated. Still nothing. Maybe it was a wolf and it would get to her before the Queleon did. But no, the pack wolves of Glenkinver weren’t normally deep-forest dwellers. If anything it would be a bear that saw her off instead. After consideration she’d probably prefer the Queleon. At least her misery would be over in one big gulp. Or maybe it was a fussy eater. Maybe it would select only the most tender meat and go for her liver, eyes, or heart, and just leave the rest of her body cold and alone under the forest canopy. She gave a shiver, starting to feel the cold. Soon darkness would set in. She didn’t want to be left alone in the dark to start imagining movements in the shadows.

The noise of splitting timber forced her gaze to the edge of the clearing. A large holly bush blocked the view of what was advancing, and the trees behind it quivered. The light dusting of snow upon their naked branches rained down. Slowly the trees began to part. What approached was neither bear nor wolf.

The glen darkened as a cloud passed over the winter sun and Amber felt an icy chill run through her veins. A gust of wind whipped strands of her dark red hair across her face but she remained motionless and unblinking, standing transfixed at the parting trees. Inch by inch they creaked and then all at once a huge figure fought its way through the tangle of branches and brambles. The holly bush, the only splash of colour in this otherwise depressing place, was crushed like paper, to be replaced by the monster which held Glenkinver in such terror.

The Queleon was the height of three men, and was almost equally as fat as it was tall. Black matted hair covered its entire body from head to toe, making it appear like some huge dirty hairball, with its head and limbs proving difficult to distinguish from the body. Amber could only just make out a pair of short, hairy stumps that must have been its legs, shuffling its rotund body forward. The only other distinguishing feature of the beast included a patch of dirty-white fur right around the location where its heart would be nestled behind, like a bullseye inviting some saviour with a trusty bow and arrow to come to her rescue. Even in her final moments of life Amber found this thought cruelly amusing, as there would be absolutely no saving her.

Once the monster had tumbled into the clearing it stopped dead, looking ahead in the direction it had rolled in rather than at Amber. But then it spun its head, its eyes darting her way causing her to jolt back with shock as if having been struck by the beast’s paw. Stumbling over a tree root her behind thumped to the hard, cold floor. The Queleon’s steely-grey, emotionless eyes remained fixed upon her. She involuntarily gave a cry which instantly choked in her throat as she foolishly gulped a mouthful of the acidic air, causing her to wretch instead.

With the beast eyeing her up she lifted her head to return its gaze trying her best not to appear afraid. She had read in a book once that wild animals could smell fear, so it would surely know anyway how scared she really was. It probably got some wicked sense of satisfaction from this whole performance. The thought made her ever so slightly angry.

Eventually she could stand it no more and screwed her eyes tightly shut, silently awaiting her fate with more dignity than most would. She heard the beast shuffle closer so that its slow, wheezy breath was audible. Then once again it came to a stop, its short legs no longer dragging through the occasional tangle of brambles. Silence reigned for some time. It was long enough for Amber to open her eyes out of curiosity. There the beast stood, looming up mere yards from her. Its ragged fur was thickly encrusted with clumps dirt. She boldly looked up into its hesitant and bloodshot eyes. There Amber read an expression she hadn’t expected to find. It was afraid.