Page 11 of The Source of Storms

Ileft the main road and traveled west, taking a shortcut through the forest – the most direct route to Skeioholm. Fresh snow had softened the hard edges of the landscape and muffled all sounds. It was peaceful and quiet. Even the sounds of the horse’s steps were dampened.

Moss-drenched spruce and hemlock soon towered around us, their green boughs bending beneath dense snow. I leaned back in my saddle and stared up at them, awestruck by their sheer size. Trunks far wider than my wingspan towered skyward, and the high, tightly woven canopy sheltered the forest floor beneath from most of the snowfall.

We weren’t the only ones taking advantage of the shelter. We spooked several deer, and passed many telltale oval imprints in the moss where they had made their beds beneath trees. Some were so frequently used they’d been worn down to dirt.

The blue roan listened well for his young age. He moved through the woods like a gray ghost, quiet and gentle beneath me. His presence calmed the flood of emotions that had consumed me that morning, and he was a soft guiding spirit on one of my darkest days. I decided to name him Anam.

Despite our easy travel in the forest, we still had not reached the road by late afternoon, as I had expected. I began to get nervous. Was it further than I remembered? Was I too far north and had missed the road entirely? I would have to hit iteventually, I reasoned, or run into Skeioholm itself when I met the coast again.

The trees grew smaller and tighter together. The forest canopy dropped lower, and branches frequently forced me to duck. My apprehension spread, and I began to get the sinking feeling that I was somewhere I should not be.

I saw no sign of deer or any other wildlife. We moved slowly, cautiously. The air was thick in my throat, pressing the silence into my ears. I strained to catch the slightest sound, but all I heard was my own breath. Anam chose his steps carefully; his ears flicked about in all directions. I felt his body tense under mine, and he danced sideways when he slipped on the snow, more of a nervous shy than a stumble. He could feel my unease, and I could feel his.

A stick snapped, and I turned to look behind us.

Nothing there. Nothing but the damp, dark trunks of trees against the heavy snow. I tucked my mittens away and twisted the reins in my bare hands, the leather cold against my skin. I forced myself to take a steady breath in and out, then another, and scanned the forest around us.

Another small snap, this time closer behind, to our left.

Anam tossed his head, and I could see the whites of his worried eyes. As I turned, I glimpsed at the edge of my vision a tall, dark shape. But a branch caught my hood, and as I ducked to dodge it I lost sight of the figure. I squeezed the horse’s speckled sides with my legs and he picked up his pace immediately, needing no more encouragement from me.

My eyes roved the trees, and I saw movement behind us, to our right. Another rider, a lone person on horseback. A man, judging by his height. The horse was large and moved with a strange gait, possibly dragging its feet. It picked up speed, pacing us easily with long strides. I urged Anam faster, and theother mount increased its pace again in response. Adrenaline coursed through me fast now –– he was certainly following us.

As he gained on us, I could see the rider’s head loll sideways, flopping back and bouncing with the horse’s steps. Was he injured? Dead and somehow tied upright to the saddle?

His arms hung limp at his sides. Not just his sides, but his mount’s sides. Down far too low, nearly dragging the ground as he rode. At the ends of those long arms hung sinewy hands tipped in narrow claws. His head was too large for his body, and even at this distance I could see the dark curve of a mouth that stretched the entire width of the face, reaching from ear to ear. He wore no cloak, no clothes at all. And no skin.

It was no man. It was no horse.

I dug my heels into Anam’s sides and swore. “Go, Anam! Go!”

He took all the slack in the reins I gave him in an instant. He kicked into a gallop and raced through the snowy woods. We flew down the small game trail, snow spraying up behind us, but I soon heard the matched muffled rhythm of our pursuer drawing nearer. The stench of putrid, rotten meat burned my nose.

I leaned forward and dared a glance back. The creature was closer, gaining steadily. The horse’s head tossed wildly, revealing a massive mouth lined with sharp teeth. No skin covered its rippling muscles, only the taut, dry layer of raw meat that has been hung to cool and dry for a few days. It had no eyes, but gaping, empty sockets.

I looked forward just in time to catch a small branch to the face, felt it lacerate my cheek. I leaned low over Anam’s neck, gripping the reins tightly. At this speed, I could not stop or turn him with any control if I tried. He was running for his life, for both our lives. I twisted my fingers into his black mane, still gripping the reins, and pressed myself into his neck.

I glanced back again. It was nearer now. The strange, finned feet of the mount slammed into the ground right behind us. I heard it’s ragged breathing over the sound of my own. Anam hurtled over a fallen log and stumbled on the landing, losing precious speed and nearly flinging me into the snow. But he recovered his footing and raced on.

The creature was close now. It’s lolling humanoid head bounced with every stride, but the vapid eyes stayed locked on us, boring into my own with a deathless, indifferent stare. It was close enough for me to see black veins spiderwebbing across its bare, skinless muscles. The rotten smell of it was nearly overwhelming.

I inhaled sharply as it raised a massive arm and swiped at me with long claws. I leaned forward and heard it tear through the back of my cloak. My horse let out a pained whinny. I felt him flinch beneath me, and then surge with speed.

“Come on, Anam, run! RUN!” I half yelled, half sobbed. I pressed my face against his neck and clung to him. I had no weapons other than the small knife I always carried, but the short blade would be nothing against an aberration like this, and I had never learned how to use it in a fight. There was no other option than to continue to flee.

It grew brighter as the trees thinned. We burst from the shadows of the forest, and light struck us as we flew into the open. I saw the edge of a river in front of us, lined with ice-covered cobble. I sucked in a breath and leaned back to tug on the reins, but I was too late. We hit the rocks at full sprint and stumbled. Anam recovered enough to make an awkward leap into the river and a few desperate strides across. As his hooves met the ice of the opposite bank, he stumbled again, and this time I was sent flying from the saddle. Anam screamed.

I hit the hard frozen stones shoulder first, crumpling as the breath was knocked from my chest. My head bounced in awhite burst of pain. I opened my eyes to scorchingly bright light and immediately pulled my knife from my belt, expecting to be crushed by the pursuing creature at any moment. There was little I could do against this monster, but I would not go without a fight.

But no monster came. I heard the babble of shallow water and the heavy, raspy breath of a horse. I tried to breathe in, but my lungs hadn’t recovered from the blow and my ribcage would not expand. I pushed myself up to a seat, and my left shoulder twinged painfully.

There was Anam, lying a few paces away in red-speckled snow, steam belching from his nostrils. He was struggling to stand, his front hooves slipping in front of him, splaying ineffectively on the icy rocks. I scrambled to him and looked across the river.

The monster lurked there, motionless, watching us from its vacant eyes in its too large head, the toothy mouth stretched into a wide grin. The stench of rotten meat still reached me from across the river, and I now saw that the horse body and human body were one and the same. No saddle separated them, their muscles joined together to form the singular creature. The arms of the human body hung down to the ground from high on the horse’s back. The horse had no hooves, but fins tipped with claws instead.

I’d heard of this creature before: A nuckelavee. I’d always thought it just a myth my father used to scare us into staying close to the steading. But here it was, staring back at me from the other side of the river. Quite real.

I tried to speak to calm Anam, but the words were no more than raspy whispers. I could inhale only in short bursts, so I gave up any attempts at talking. Anam was trying to get to his feet. Miraculously, his front legs looked intact, yet blood splattered the snow around him. Large gashes on his rump werestill bleeding, flecking the pristine white ground with deep red. I glanced up and the nuckelavee stared, its horse body sniffing deeply.

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