Chapter Two: Relicts of the Past

“They came from the darkness. We’d never seen anything like them. They were abominations of nature.”

—Ylva Norn, A History of Faengard: The First Age

Ein and his father stuffed themselves until they were bursting at the seams that night. There was no need to hold back; anything left over would be thrown away between all the meat and wolf pelts they needed to carry home. They abandoned the scraps of deer they’d salvaged and a few other odds and ends—a spare pot, a quiver of arrows, a flask full of alcohol for treating wounds. There wasn’t much else they could afford to discard. They hadn’t packed many things in the first place.

Alend sprinkled another handful of salt over the roasted meat and then passed it over to Ein, who took it eagerly. Even with such basic seasoning, the smell caused Ein to salivate like a canine himself. It had been a long time since he’d been this full. Even when his stomach was so bloated he couldn’t stand up straight, he refused to see the food go to waste. Sitting around a crackling campfire with a full belly and waves of warmth licking at his face, he found himself wishing his mother and sister were there.

We’ll be back before long, he thought to himself. Back with enough food to last a month.

He couldn’t wait to see some of the fullness return to his mother’s cheeks, to see the bright smile light up Cinnamin’s face when she met them by the door. He also wanted to see Evaine again, and Merrill.

Alend tossed a gnawed bone into the darkness and drank a mouthful of melted snow. The plan was to take the night to rest and recover, and then set off on the road home at first light. They’d left markers along the trail to aid them—strips of cloth, nails hammered into trees, things that didn’t appear naturally in the wild. Hopefully the winds hadn’t torn them away.

Ein realized his father had fallen silent against his tree, arms folded across his chest. Alend was staring into the clearing where they’d found the wolves, where the corpses still lay stripped to the bone. The flames painted dark shadows across his face. His brow was lowered into an almost horizontal line, eyes dark and distant, brooding.

“What do you think killed them?” Ein asked. He licked clean the skewer in his hand and massaged his stomach.

“I only wish I knew,” Alend replied. “Why don’t you tell me?”

He directed his attention to his son, eyes glinting. Ein couldn’t tell if his father even knew the answer at all.

“Something dangerous,” Ein said. That much was obvious, and Alend’s look told him so. “Something that can take on six wolves at once with enough strength to rip them apart. Something that walks on two legs and has claws.”

“An idiot would be able to tell me that much.”

Ein ignored the jest. “My first guess would be a bear… but bears hibernate in winter, and even the strongest bear can’t fight six wolves and win with such ease. If we ignore bears, wolves are probably the next highest on the food chain. The next top ‘dog’, so to speak.” He smirked.

Alend scowled and threw another bone at his son. “I didn’t spend all these years raising you to become a court jester.”

“You’re just mad you didn’t think of it first.” Ein swerved, watching the bone as it whistled past his ear and into the darkness. He cleared his throat. “It’s not tigers or mammoths for sure; they don’t live around these areas. That only leaves…” he broke off.

“That only leaves?”

“This is just a guess,” Ein said. “But the next thing I would think of would be something from the legends. Perhaps… a relict.”

He paused, looking towards his father. He’d expected admonishment for believing in such superstition, but Alend was strangely quiet.

“What do you know about the relicts?” he asked.

Ein stared deep into the flames, watching them crackle and spit. Sparks of orange and ash sprayed onto the ground every few moments, sizzling into nothingness. The relicts were legends, folk tales told by housewives to scare children out of the woods. If you spoke of them in front of the villagers, they’d only laugh and ask if you still wet your bed and drank your mother’s milk.

“They’re demons,” he said at last. “Creatures of pure evil from mankind’s darkest nightmares. Natives of Nephilheim, the land of shadows.” He cleared his throat and began to sing:

“Relict, relict, creation’s delict;

Promises broken, Pantheon tricked.

Strength and will of no man living,

Vicious spirit, unforgiving;

Eyes of night and claws of steel,

The Faceless Ruler’s troops ideal,

See a relict, run, survive!

No mortal man returns alive.”

“Relict, relict, creation’s delict, Promises broken, Pantheon tricked. Sealed beneath great Aedrasil, Return to war one day they will.” Alend joined in, finishing the last verse of the rhyme. “So you think these murders are the work of a relict?”

Ein shrugged. “Could just as well be a dragon or some other legend. But with the way things have been lately, especially with the Great Winter and all, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Alend nodded. Ein waited to see if he would say anything more, but he didn’t. It was almost as if his father believed in them—in the relicts. That would mean he believed in the Oathbreaker and the ramblings of the Three-winged Crow. Given the current circumstances it wasn’t a far cry, but the thought of demons and an ancient god of evil marching on Felhaven was so absurd Ein couldn’t keep from smiling. Felhaven was a sanctuary, a village in the middle of nowhere in the far reaches of Faengard. Even if the Oathbreaker was real, there was nothing he could possibly want with such a secluded place. The villagers would sooner die of starvation than mythical monsters marching into town.

“So that’s it?” Alend spoke up, startling him. Ein thought his father had gone to sleep.

“What do you mean?”

“Is that all you have to say?” Alend said. “In regards to what killed those wolves?”

Ein thought for a moment. “I suppose so,” he slowly said.

“It could have been done by something wielding a human weapon. Like a sword.”

“That’s ridiculous. Humans wouldn’t leave those kinds of tracks.”

“Perhaps,” Alend said. “But there are things shaped like humans that aren’t. Things that can use our weapons. Not all relicts are hulking beasts who fight with claws and fangs. Like animals, there are different types of relicts. Some of them talk and fight like we do, though I wouldn’t expect you to have heard of them. Their tales aren’t widely spread.” He bundled his furs about him and curled up against the tree.

“So you believe in it, then? In the Twilight of the World?”

Alend waved his hand in a shooing motion, signalling the end of the conversation. Ein shifted his attention back to the soft crackling of the fire.

Relicts. Monsters, demons, creatures of old from ages long gone. Any stories that remained likely contained but a glimmer of the truth, as was the nature of recollection. However, a glimmer of truth was still a glimmer. Ein looked around at the flickering shadows, picturing ape-like beasts with claws prowling through the night. Then, they turned into cloaked swordsmen drifting between the tree trunks, with only emptiness where their faces should be.

Ein shook his head at the absurdity of it all. The relicts had not been seen since the Second Age, according to the stories. They didn’t exist. He snuggled down into his blankets, yet, try as he might, he continued to see dark shapes floating about the edge of his vision. It was a long time before he finally fell asleep.