The Year Of The Bear - Ep.2

(Start at the beginning)

Now on his feet, Carmel surveyed the cave from a defensive posture. In all but an instance he was left largely to himself. He exchanged stares with what looked like a pack of half-humans, their eyes a mix of pessimistic caution, or optimistic disinterest. Big-Brown-Beard looked less menacing on an equal eye line but was no less foreboding in size. With the exception of the heavy animal furs he wore, and the ruddy big sword he now held sheathed in his hand, he looked the most normal of the lot. The painted woman was the next to catch his eye. With a free moment to absorb some detail, the flickering firelight revealed her hood to be studded with small animal horns. All about her, adorning her neck, wrists, and other appendages were trinkets of the wilderness. Carved bones, stones, and baubles dyed from the fruits of the forest. She held her hands before the fire, turning them as the heat demanded, revealing a flash of the same blue paint seen on her face also on her fingernails. The two men who were formerly holding Carmel backed away. The younger of the two, barely a man but no more threatening for it, stalked with one eye cast cautiously over his shoulder. He skulked more than walked, his head low, his shoulders hunched. His clothes were simple, well worn, and his personal effects kept at a minimum. Most interesting was his hair, cut short around the sides and back, but left in a shaggy mess from the top. The other man, slightly taller, lankier, and more confident in his age patted the younger on the back and begun speaking of food. Already he had a jaunty smile on his face as though the moments that had just transpired had not happened at all. As though it were some mere triviality of the day, quickly forgotten. He might have seemed the most lighthearted of the bunch if not for the large visible scar about his neck, head, and face. Then there was the tattoo, climbing up from beneath his leather and fur neck line, some notion of a grave figure, the reaper perhaps, wielding a scythe. An obvious omen to the man's character if ever Carmel saw one. Deeper still other figures sat, arms resting off knees, looking tired or hardened from the weather. All trying to keep off the wet, warming themselves by firelight, and feeding themselves in the unforgivable climate of the mountain. Looking about, Carmel was not so indistinguishable from them. Ten was their number, seven men to three women. That made Carmel the eleventh.

Carmel sidled forward as his assailants gave him space, free to retrieve his things.

“Food?” The Lanky man had returned with a morsel of charred meat and steaming potato skewered on a knife. “It’s hot.” He spoke simply but with a joviality that caused half his face to curl up in a smile. Given the scars and the flickering firelight, the appearance was more menacing than friendly, and if it weren't for the food on the blade, Carmel might have mistaken the gesture for a cruel mugging. Carmel accepted the token without words. It had been days since he’d had a hot meal, though he was far from famished. “Who are you people?” He asked before trying his teeth on the meat.

“Us? We’re Bears. Hardy frolk from one place or another. Going about our business wherever that’s want to be. They call me Kodiak the Cursed, what do they call you?”

“Carmel. Just Carmel” Carmel answered between a slow gyration of his jaw.

Kodiak tucked his palms beneath his armpits and fashioned a bend through the top of his long spine. “Just Carmel? And you say you’ve come down from the Roving Hamlets? That’s a far ways out into wilderness. Tell me, Just Carmel, what’s brought you down to this part of the world, so far away from your kin?”

“An illness sweeps the Wilds, spreading hamlet to hamlet, crawling over the crags into the most remotest hovels. The sages have no answers and the soothsayers speak only of ill omens, so I left in search of help.” Carmel slid the potato off his skewer and rolled the warmth of it around his hand before realizing Kodiak’s eyes had grown sharp with interest. The lanky man leaned closer, and behind him Big Beard and the Wild Woman brimmed with a similar enthusiasm. Carmel had to pause the trajectory of his potato halfway to his open mouth to answer the woman's interjecting question.

“What Illness? Describe it to me.”

Carmel stopped to think on the answer, a hardened ridge forming along is forehead. He’d never thought to put it into words before, and as yet no one had bothered to give it a name. Perhaps because before now it had never existed. “An unknown thing not like anyone has seen before. It strikes at random, like a foul spirit loose with a curse. The young and the weak seem most susceptible, women, and weasley men in unequal share. Though the elderly are almost all but untouched. It produces no swelling, no ailments nor discoloring of the skin, though those it effects seem pained. There’s also no fever to speak of except whatever fever that’s want to touch the mind. The results are-” Carmel thought on the word, rolling it around his mouth like the morsel he’d eaten moments ago, “Madness.”

“It’s Yos.” The painted woman intoned, her eyes wide and wild. “And if it has truly touched the High Northern Wilds then nowhere is safe. You must come with us.” The woman spoke softly but Carmel couldn't help but note the unwavering demand within the statement.

“Where?” He asked over Kodiak’s shoulder.

“You came seeking help. Let us introduce you to The Big Bear.”

(Continue to Ep.3)

Support me on Patreon or follow me on Minds for updates.

#yearofthebear #fiction #art #butonfly

(Please like, leave a comment, and remind!)