The Bear by Michael E. Shea (ink book reader TXT) 📕

or useful statement. For a priest and monk he had a lot of wit. Garity covered his mouth with his hand and for the first time since the two had met, Longhorn saw something other than cheer and security in the small man’s face.

“You said the tracks were about ten to twelve inches across?”

“Yes.”

Garity went over to the one of the splintered trees and looked at four deep claw marks dug into it. He ran his finger in one of the claw marks, drawing it out to measure the depth. Without another word, Garity began walking down the trail.

They followed the broken trees for half a mile. Garity stopped at each one and examined any claw marks they found. The small man hunkered down in the mud not seeming to care that his brown robe had splashed into a rather large puddle. A smile crossed his face. He had found a track.

“You’re right, it’s big. Look at these first four claws. They’re pretty typical for a bear, maybe a grizzly, but look at this back one. The paw isn’t circular, it’s long. There’s a fifth claw over here.” Garity took a small pick out of his leather satchel. It had a curved pointed blade and a two foot wooden handle. He dug carefully into the paw’s print with the point of the blade.

“What does that mean?”

“It means this isn’t just a bear.” Garity held his own hand out to Longhorn, palm out, and wiggled his own thumb. He stood up and looked into the woods.

“I once heard a story of a man in a town to the north. He went out hunting one day and was bit by some huge rabid bear. He managed to kill the bear but the wound got infected. He crawled up into his hunting cabin a few miles from the town and no one heard from him for weeks. One day a party of the townsfolk went up there to see what had happened to him. They found him but he had changed. His bones had broken and shifted. Black fur covered his skin. When he saw them he roared and attacked. He killed three of the men before the other two filled him with arrows.”

“You’re saying we’re dealing with a man who turned into a bear?” Longhorn looked at the monk as his question hung in the air. Longhorn felt like he wore another man’s skin. Was he really out in the woods with a priest of the King talking about a man who turned into a bear? Garity shrugged.

“That’s impossible, Garity.” Longhorn shook his head.

“No.” Garity pointed down the row of broken trees. “That’s impossible.

“It’s easy to recognize the strength of whatever chased down and ate the boy. We know it’s big. We know it’s strong. We know it has big claws. But what isn’t being seen is how fast it was. That boy must have been running like the wind, but this thing chased him for half a mile and caught him. It chased him smashing down tree after tree. And think about these claw marks for a moment. Think really hard and imagine the bear chasing him down. What have we missed so far.” Longhorn didn’t like puzzles but he humored the priest. He looked down the rows of broken trees. He looked at the claw marks. He looked at the muddy path that broke down shrubs and underbrush. His eyes opened wide and he looked at Garity.

“It was running on two legs.” 7

When they left the village, Hafol and the party of hunters felt good about themselves. Hafol, the blacksmith’s assistant, was confident that they would find and kill whatever beast was in their woods. It had rained the first night but the next two were clear and warm. The moon brightened the shadows. The party kept watches at their camp half a mile from the original attacks location. They told jokes. They roasted a pig in a large fire, claiming it as bait but enjoying it thoroughly. Were it not for the murder they were here to avenge, the eight men would have enjoyed their time away from the nagging of their wives and the crying of their children.

On the fourth night rain fell from the sky at dusk and it fell harder as the night grew. No fire would take and Hafol sat shivering and quiet with his wet cloak pulled around him. Fatigue wrapped him like a cold wet blanket. Four nights he had spent out here and they had nothing at all to show for it.

Something cracked in the woods. A tree, thick from the sound of it, cracked and fell down. A surge of adrenaline flowed into Hafol’s veins.

To their credit, as tired as they were, every one of the other men shot to their feet with weapons in hand. They were alert. They were prepared. Every one of them died in less than two minutes.

Rantho, the butcher of the town, was the first. A few seconds after the first tree fell, another cracked and fell on the outskirts of their camp. It smashed Rantho right in the back of the neck and the only sound louder than the crack of the tree was the crack of the butcher’s spine. Jariko, Rantho’s brother and owner of the Lone Tree ranch, died next when he ran to Rantho and a black shape blasted into his chest, crushing his sternum and sending four ribs into his lungs. The massive creature crashed into the camp like black fury. It roared.

Five of the remaining hunters fell to their knees under the beast’s roar. Three of them dropped their weapons and placed their hands over their ears. Haron, one of the four farmers who joined the hunt, was praying when the beast’s claw ripped off his face.

Only Greyfellow held his ground. Hafol stood hynotized as he saw the huge man standing in the camp with his legs wide and planted in the ground. Rain splashed unnoticed on his face. He pulled his heavy axe high into the air and rushed towards the massive black shape. He reached the beast just after it mauled and threw Yorin Jamison’s corpse against a tree where it hung limp in the branches. Four huge slashes in Yorin’s chest poured blood onto the ground.

Lightning flashed and Hafol got his first look at the sheer size of the beast. Greyfellow was the largest man in the village but this creature stood twice as tall and twice as wide. Grayfellow looked like a child in front of it. Hafol felt his bladder let go.

Greyfellow’s cleaved his axe into the beast’s leg. The large man’s cry of victory was dwarfed by another of the beast’s deafening roars. Greyfellow stood paralyzed by the roar. The beast twisted its head to one side and bit, crushing Greetree’s skull in an explosion of blood and bone.

Hafol turned and fled. He ran hard in the opposite direction of the beast. A few seconds later he heard a scream and a few seconds after that he heard another. He didn’t slow down. He might have regretted leaving his two remaining friends back at the blood bath that had been their jolly hunters’ camp but right now he wanted to run to the opposite side of the world. His nerves fired again when he heard the crashing of trees close behind him. His lungs, unused to such trauma, felt like they were ripping apart. The crashing got closer. His heart threatened to explode in his chest and his legs were numb with pain. He tripped and fell into the mud. He got up on his hands and tried to run but fell face first again. He looked down. His leg was gone below the knee. His scream burst into a wet gurgle a few seconds later when four white claws buried themselves in his throat. The last of the hunters died in a puddle of mud and rain and blood. 8

The sight of the boy torn to shreds five days earlier had been the worst thing Longhorn had ever seen, until now. The sight of the boy was the scene of a single murder, this was the scene of a massacre.

He and Garity could make little sense of the carnage. It was as though the hunters had fallen into a sea of knives. It looked like twenty or thirty wolves had done this, not a single beast. Four hours of investigation revealed the same evidence they had found at the death of Jonse.

Garity stepped over to Longhorn and out of earshot of the rest of the townspeople who had come to the horrible scene. He stood silent next to the sheriff.

“I have no idea what to do.” Under normal circumstances, Longhorn would not have been so open with someone he knew less than a week but these circumstances were far from normal.

Garity looked at him, his face somber.

“I don’t have to tell you that this isn’t your fault. You’re smart enough to know that on your own.”

“Do we even know that one beast did this? It could be two, or five, or ten.” Longhorn felt himself beginning to panic.

“It’s just one. The tracks, the paths, they show just one creature. It moves like five and it has the strength of twenty, but it’s just one beast.” Garity put his hand on Longhorn’s shoulder. Longhorn looked over to the small group of farmers who dared to stomach the gruesome scene.

“I came here to protect these people and now nine of them are dead. Their blood is on my hands and I have to do something about it. Tomorrow the King’s messenger will arrive. I am going to give him another letter and ask for a garrison of his guards. He may not send that many but even a few will help. We have to kill whatever is out here and we have to do it soon. This town is on the verge of disintegrating.” Garity nodded his head.

“You’re right. We may need those guards. We may need the King’s hunters too.” said Garity.

The two men made it back to town late in the afternoon. Every eye of the town followed the two men as they entered the tavern. 9

For one hundred and twenty years, the Leaning Oak Inn had served drinks, hot food, and shelter to travelers and villagers of Relis alike. It was the second largest establishment in the town next to the church. The tavern could serve half of the village in one sitting if needed.

Frendal was proud of his Inn. He, his wife Gloriana, and his two daughters kept the tavern running smoothly and they earned a good living from it. Gloriana did the cooking and his daughters served the tables and prepared the rooms. Travelers and guests of the town could rent one of four rooms upstairs for five silver a night.

Late into the night, the stranger entered the Leaning Oak. A dark brown cloak covered in mud hung over his head and shoulders. Frendal had begun shuffling out the late night drinkers and wiping down one of the fifteen tables on the main floor when the cloaked man entered. The man was not big but still seemed to fill the frame of the door. Frendal couldn’t see his deep hood. The man carried a large pack on his back. Leather straps held a massive bow next to the pack. The bow was four inches thick at the center, and almost as tall as the man who carried it. Frendal imagined it would take three men to string it.

“Good evening, friend. We were just closing up for the night.” Frendal tried his best to keep his nervousness out of his voice, but something about the man scared him.

“I need a room.” The