Chapter 27
Weaving his way around Doncaster, Aiden continued fording the River Don. By evening, he found himself at the crossing of the River Derwent. The sky was darkening and the air was acquiring a noticeable chill. After watering his horse, he started a small fire and wrapping himself in his robe, drifted off to sleep. He decided it was necessary to conserve his food and would only eat once a day and after recent events, he thought that sleep might be a comforting escape. But having woken several times during the night, he discovered that sleep would be anything but healing. It seemed that as soon as he closed his eyes, his mind became bombarded with screams and panic as he relived the events of Sheffield. What may have been timid dreams transformed themselves into malicious nightmares, plagued with images of the boys face, caught in an eternal expression of agony. On occasion, he would feel the pressure of cold steel suddenly pierced his chest, slicing through his heart and splitting his spine. He must have died a thousand times every night and out of exhaustion, Aiden begins sleeping for brief periods during the day. Sometimes just beyond the tree line, or on the rocks, out in the open.
Reaching the Vale of Pickering, Aiden took advantage of the shelter it offered and camped at its west end. On his way, he saw the groups of men on horseback riding south from York. Two factions were bound for war: the House of Lancaster against the House of York. Initially, they fought for control of the King. Now, they fought for the throne itself. Eventually, a new king would be installed, but politics was of no interest to Aiden and this was not his war to fight. His war was against all things ungodly and from the beginning, killing was a justifiable act, so long as evil could be dispatched and innocent lives protected. Yet, Aiden remained terrorized by the image of the young boy and the agonizing expression frozen on his face. It wafted around in his mind like a flock of ravens hovering over a dying animal. Always circling. Never resting.
He spent three days in the valley, trapping game and harvesting whatever the land offered in the way of food. And while the days were mild, the nights were blustery and frigid as the valley pulled cold air down from the mountains, filling it with a deep blanket of icy wind. He also spent many hours unleashing his rage, not simply blaming God for His absence at Sheffield, but also for the life he'd been cursed with, given up by his parents, only to watch them die at the hands of men whose sole intention was to overthrow the authority of God by the practice of witchcraft. Worse yet, he had become convinced that, had he failed to act, God would simply have stood by. Uninvolved. And had the Abbot succeeded, the resulting chaos would have been unmatched by any army, regardless of size or strength.
Fighting off the cold night air, Aiden was forced to risk detection and build up his fire. The mountains, valleys, and moors teamed with both predators and scavengers alike and a roaring fire would act as a dinner bell for anything that wandered the nocturnal English countryside. And the only help Aiden's horse could provide was a warning, in the form of sudden discomfort. But, that was all he needed. He could be on his feet in seconds, his eyes alert and forward, his sword drawn and ready. And curled up on his side, Aiden faced the fire with a warm rock tucked into his chest, an eye half open to the dark motionless mountains to the north.
Eventually, the greenish orbs of glowing eyes crept out of the distance, slowly encroaching on where Aiden lay at the edge of the tree line. As he had expected, his horse provided the warning as it reared up against its bridle. Aiden jumped to his feet and drew his sword, hearing a multitude of hungry growls closing in on him. Holding a burning piece of firewood out at the darkness, he found himself surrounded by a small pack of wolves, their noses and browse deeply wrinkled by hunger and animal rage. But regardless of his swordsmanship, Aiden was only one man and no match against a pack of wolves, possessing both ancient instincts and ghostly speed.
He inched his way toward his horse. With its bridle tied to a tree branch, it was the perfect target and Aiden could not afford to be without it. Travel would otherwise be impossible and he would quickly find himself at the mercy of the elements. Grabbing the reins, he untied them from the tree and walked his horse back into the tree line, keeping a keen eye on the wolves at the same time. It kicked a few times, but once in the trees, it seemed to calm almost immediately.
Securing his horse, Aiden slowly walked back to the fire. He knew that any sudden movements could prompt an attack and if one suddenly leaped forward, the rest would quickly follow. By the time he walked the short distance back to the fire, the wolves, even in their small number, had spread themselves out around him. Wolves were common in the English countryside and many saw them as the devil's accomplices, wandering through the night, snatching children from their beds. But Aiden was not given to superstition and believed that all God's creatures held purpose. Even if it was simply to survive.
He stepped out between the fire and the pack. With the flames constant flickering at his back, he would be better able to see the wolves snarling faces. And when one of them decided that a test of his resolve was in order, it lunged forward from a flanking position. Aiden's reaction was instantaneous as he took up a defensive stance and swung his blade down over his head. The cold sharp and steel exploded through the animal's skull, scattering blood, bones, and teeth across the ground. The wolves head had not so much been severed but split down its center, it's brain barely contained. As soon as its lifeless body struck the ground, a loud growl turned Aiden's attention to someplace behind him. Having had a running start. A second wolf leaped up behind him, it's open jaws poised to grab him by the neck. Again, Aiden's response was precisely timed, the point of his blade guided by years of training. The ebb and flow of time suddenly dozed off into a frozen dreamlike state as Aiden felt the wolves hot breath on his face. The point of his sword briefly touched the animal's soft warm underside, just below the sternum, right before piercing its skin, muscle, and sinew. The wolf let out a horrifying unearthly scream as its deeply wounded body struck Aiden, knocking him to the ground.
As the remainder of the pack slowly closed in, waiting for their opportunity to strike, the impaled wolf pulled itself away from Aiden sword and strained to get back up. It, like any other predator, possessed a strong survival instinct. It would either continue the fight or run, escaping into the woods where it would curl up in the shadows and die on its own terms. But, Aiden wasn't finished. The wolf would neither fight nor flee and raising his sword, Aiden swung it down like the ax of an executioner with the wild scream of the man in battle. By the time the edge of his blade struck the ground, the wolf had fallen, it's body cleft in half just above the waist. It's instincts to survive were strong enough that its front legs and paws briefly mimicked the act of running. But, they were shortly quieted by the torrent of blood that flashed from its body, as it breathed its last breath, it's eyes clouding from within.
By the time Aiden looked back up at the dark emptiness of the nocturnal valley, the pack was not only missing two of its members but had vanished into the night. They departed without so much as a whisper, running silently across the ground. Had they fled out of instinct or did these wild hunters suddenly experience the strangeness of fear? One might think that such creatures, considered by many to be fugitives from hell itself, act from the absence of conscience, that such evil fears nothing. Certainly, something suspected of stealing an infant from its bed had nothing to fear from anything, earthly or otherwise. Yet, they were gone, leaving their dead brethren behind.
In the defense of his life, Aiden found an important resource. Food. It wasn't venison, but it would do. He started with the hind legs, using his sword to strip the skin from the underlying muscle and chop through joints and cartilage, separating legs from hips. Having cut out the leanest portions of meat, Aiden built up the fire and sharpening a long stick, skewered it down the middle. He let it lay a few inches above the fires hotly glowing embers and continued to sit throughout the night, his eyes scanning the moonless valley. After the near-fatal encounter leveled at him by two of the valleys four-footed specters, Aiden's senses had peaked, allowing him to make note of the smallest brush of wind against the grass. Even the slightest stirring of a mouse's paws, crawling across the cold night earth.