The Mad Raven's Tale (The Accarian Chronicles Book 1) by Andrew Walbrown (little red riding hood read aloud txt) 📕

What was that? Is someone else here?

Ulam opened his eyes, waiting for his vision to completely return. He did not know when he had fallen asleep, only that someone or something had just awoken him. He heard very little, only the hoot of an owl and the quiet hum of the wind. Within the hearth, the fire still burned, though the flames had rescinded greatly while he slept. He waited patiently, fearful of moving, not wanting whoever or whatever had woken him to know he was there. He did not move his head, only searching with his eyes, watching the collapsed door at the entrance for any sign of movement. He even opened his mouth to breathe quieter. If someone is there I cannot let them know where I am. Thank the Gods my axe is right beside me.

He felt his fingers wrap around the weapon’s handle, feeling slightly more secure now that he would be ready to strike in a moment’s notice. He waited for what felt like a thousand years, watching the entrance, praying there was no other way into the hall. He could hear his heart beating, feel it pounding against his ribcage, but as time went on the thundering slowed. So much time had passed that he began to believe nothing was there, that an owl or the occasional crackle of the fire had startled him awake. Ulam stretched back out on the bed and slowly closed his eyes, relaxing as he listened to the fire’s low rumbling.

Then he heard another noise, one much closer to him. With a panicked jerk, Ulam opened his eyes to see a mangy rat digging through his backpack, undoubtedly aware of the bread and fruit packed deep inside. Ulam swatted at the backpack, scaring the rodent out of its wits, and watched as the furry creature zigzagged across the hall and into the darkness once again.

Ulam was wide awake now, the sudden rush of adrenaline pumping through his veins. He rubbed his face and began to cackle, relieved that his intruder was only a hungry little rodent. After some time the excitement began to wear off, and he crawled back under the blankets, closing his eyes once again. Before doing so, though, he stashed his backpack under the blankets with him to protect his furry friend from running off with any of the provisions.

“Just a damn rat,” Ulam muttered with a chuckle.

He rolled on his side and shifted under the blankets, hoping to find that sweet spot that was so comfortable earlier. He yawned and scanned the room one last time, just in case there were any other opportunistic critters waiting for him to doze off to sleep.

And then he saw it, at the entrance, perched on top of the decayed oak door. A dark silhouette with two bright, yellow eyes staring right at him.

I am not alone!

In an instant Ulam jumped to his feet, his axe whistling in the air as he raised it. All the panic and fear that had disappeared moments ago now returned tenfold. A cold sweat poured down his forehead as his heart clenched in terror. As quiet as a shadow the silhouette entered the hall and bolted straight for Ulam, seemingly gliding over the stone floor. For all of its grace, though, Ulam knew there was menace behind its yellow eyes.

His legs began to sway, as though he were on the ship from Accaria once again, while the iron axe in his hands only grew heavier. Instinctively he entered one of the fighting stances Captain Karraman had taught him, though he was not sure how effective the stance would be against a beast or phantom.

At last, his enemy entered the waning light, suddenly stopping and shielding its eyes from the glow coming from the hearth. Ulam stepped back, completely numb with shock as he looked over his attacker. It was a man, or what was left of one, his very being corrupted by some wicked affliction. The man was a full head shorter than Ulam with a wild strength coursing through his body. His skin looked decayed in many places, as though his flesh was made of melted wax, while his eyes burned a bright yellow. His mouth was covered in blood, red ooze dripping from his chin as he snarled. Every time the fiend opened his mouth Ulam could see razor-sharp teeth, also dripping from a fresh kill.

Ulam did not know what to do, unsure if what stood before him was a Human or a monster. He wanted to try to communicate with the man, to learn what had happened, to perhaps find a solution. But Ulam knew there was no hope as he looked deep into those yellow eyes and saw soulless hatred staring back at him. Ulam knew what he had to do; he knew he had to kill the deranged man standing before him.

The flames appeared to have a paralyzing effect, keeping his enemy at bay. It stood at the edge of the light, gnarling at Ulam with an unsettling pair of voices, as though it had two mouths speaking at the same time. Its words were incoherent, a jumbled mess of syllables that Ulam did not think belonged to any language.

Ulam gathered his courage and approached the fiend, cautious not to step within range of its arms. He held his axe high and estimated from that angle he would bury it deep within the corrupted man’s head, killing him instantly. Though he felt uneasy about killing this person standing in front of him, he knew it was the right thing to do.

“Be still,” Ulam muttered, “and I hope you find peace in the next world.”

Ulam swung down with all his might, closing his eyes as he did so. He did not want the memory of blood and gore shooting from the man’s head to be etched in his mind forever.