The sun had just risen against the sky, its light a dull red and warm against the boy’s skin. He had just let the flock out to graze and was resting on a weathered rock, stretching his toes on the smooth stone. The breeze was calm as he closed his eyes, feeling the gentle wind tousle his short hair. All around him was the gentle crooning of the avair, their throats humming with low brays as they grazed on the short grass.

There were eighteen of the animals that the boy had to watch over. It was a simple job—he just had to make sure that none of them were injured or grew too aggressive. The young would rarely wander off by themselves and more often than not predators would slink away at the sight of the bull’s curved horns. It was a simple job, and a boring one at that, and the boy found himself thinking of home as he often did.

He opened his eyes to hear a sudden lowing from the middle of the herd, the adults gathering in a circle, blocking his view. Confused but not quite concerned, the boy grabbed his wooden staff, hopping off the rock and hurrying over to see what had happened. The bull snorted at his arrival, its eyes low to the ground but unblinking, those massive curled horns still deadly despite being dulled by Pa’s file. The boy stretched out his open palm and whispered in a gentle tone, dropping the staff slowly on the ground to show that he meant no harm. The beast knew him—trusted him—but even still, it was on edge. Something was wrong, he knew. Lightly, he inched closer to the bull, voice quiet and mild. Ever softly, he touched its muzzle, stroking the hide with a knowing touch. Gradually, the bull closed its eyes, snorting softly as the tendons in its neck relaxed.

“Good boy.” he whispered, patting its muzzle before stepping closer. The herd shuffled nervously at his arrival, lowing uncertaintly before skittering out of his way. He braced himself before looking at what the avair were hiding. When he saw, the boy slowly released a breath that he did not realize he had been holding. A chill of fear rippled down his back, his legs trembling and his skin prickling with goosebumps in spite of the heat. It was a small calf, the newborn that had been born hardly a week ago. Its legs thin and spindly, its hide short and snow-white. Its head too large for the rest of its body, the horns only bony stubs in the back of its head.

It lay on its side, something horridly wrong with it. The joints were all twisted, the muscle seemingly torn under the skin. Black clung to its underbelly like dye on its fur, the inky patch throbbing with a grotesque heartbeat. It bled out of its mouth too, the black, dribbling but too thick to be blood. It came from inside the calf, and he could see that black writhing in shapeless form. There was a thin wheezing that he finally realized was not the wind—it was the still-breathing calf, its darting eyes rimmed with shadow and blood. It was still alive, sitting in a puddle of blood and worse.

The boy found himself shaking, the fingers on his hand trembling uncontrollably. He forced himself to steady his breathing, forced himself to hold his breath. He could not allow his nervousness to get the better of him, else it would scare the herd into a stampede. Calm down, his thought with a panicked heartbeat. C-calm down.

Shakily, kneeled down, pulling out the short knife that he kept around his waist. Mostly he used it for cutting vines and other tangles that the animals found themselves trapped in, but its would be sharp enough for what he wanted. Holding the animal’s head down, he whispered calmly, covering its eyes with his hand as he spoke soothing words into its ear. He waited until it slowly relaxed and it stopped tossing its head about before he slit its throat in a smooth cut. Blood pooled out onto the ground and the nearby avair backed away at its metallic scent.

Getting up, the boy grabbed his staff, giving three short whistles to tell the herd to follow. Their long ears perked up, the constant lowing growing soft as if they understood that one of them had just died. The bull fastened those big eyes on the boy, not blinking as it stared for a moment before moving. The rest of the herd followed and the boy led them home. He needed to tell his Pa.

Pa would know what to do. He must.

The boy led the avair back into the pens before locking up and setting out to find his Pa. The kitchen was empty, and so he made his way out back where he heard the faint sounds of striking trees. The man was cutting lumber down next to the river.

“What’re you doing here, Sky? S’not even halfday and you led the herd back already?” he asked, grunting softly as he hacked at the fallen lumber.

“There was somethin’, Pa, somethin’ weird. Wrong. The babe, he was bleedin’ black.”

“What? You speakin’ nonse, boy?” Pa set the axe down on the ground, stopping to look at Sky. Those thick brows were drawn together with an expression like thunder, and he hastened to explain.

“There was somethin’ on his chest. Inside it too, was bleedin’ out his mouth. It was just wrong, not natural. I killed the babe and got the herd back quick as I could. I thought you’d know what it was.”

Pa furrowed his brows, coughing dryly the way he did when he was thinking hard. “If you killed it then it should be fine. Probably just some bug that found its way into the babe. I’ll clean up the body later today, you go find Sun and yell at him to start milking before they go dry or I’ll have his skin on a post.”

Sky wanted to protest, but Pa had turned his back, ending any further discussion. Thwack, thwack, that steady rhythm was Pa’s steady strength. Sighing, he went to go find his brother Sun, heart still unsettled by that strange black thing on the calf.

He opened the door to the house, expecting to find Sun somewhere in the kitchen helping Ma, but he was not there. Half muttering to himself, Sky suddenly heard a rasping in Granpa’s room and opened the door to find the old man awake, sitting up in his cot. Those eyes were glassy and unfocused, a strange whiteness coming out of the corners. His mouth was muttering something, thin fingers outstretched and splayed in the air.

“Granpa? You alright?” Sky asked nervously, rushing forward.

The old man turned quick as lightning, catching Sky’s wrist in a bony hold. Those glossy eyes swiveled to focus on him. He spoke, voice hollow and dry.

“The night is coming. It will take and consume. The dark god’s time has come, and man will fall.” Having finished, his eyes rolled back into his head and the old man fell back onto his cot, chest heaving and forehead covered in sweat.

“Granpa? Granpa?” the boy cried out, shaking the old man gently by the shoulder.

“Sky? What’re you doing here?” a voice spoke behind him, quiet and firm. It was Pa’s voice. Sky turned around to see him standing in the doorframe. “I thought I told you to go find your brother.”

“I was lookin’, Pa, but then Granpa started talkin’. His eyes were all strange and white, and his voice was off too.” He shivered, “It felt wrong. He was talkin’ about night coming and the dark god, Pa. What’s it mean?”

Pa’s face turned into a scowl, eyes angry. “That old man’s just speaking nonse and lies, like he always is. Don’t listen to him boy.”

“He comes.” cried out a thin voice on the cot. Grandpa spoke, voice wheezy and frail. “He wakes, and man will fall.”

Pa stormed forward, grabbing the old man by the arm. “Shut your mouth, you fool!” His mouth was twisted in fury, eyes thunderous. “I’ve had enough of your lies.”

“Pa, no!” Sky cried, grabbing Pa by the shoulder, but the man sent him sprawling with a backhanded blow. Shadows danced across his face, throwing strange angles against the furrows in his expression.

“You’re in my house, under my roof!” he yelled at Grandpa. “You eat my food and don’t work a damn drop, and now you’re scaring my boys with crazy lies and nonse.” Spittle flew from his mouth as he struck the old man across the jaw. “I long shoulda—”

Yet he suddenly stopped, falling silent.

Pa’s hands clawed at his throat, as if he was grasping for something, as if he was gasping for air. Hideous black veins spread from his mouth, like roots of a flower, growing to cover his face. He turned to look at Sky desperately, those eyes pleading, tears running down his face.

“Pa, what…” Sky whispered, frozen in shock. His heartbeat seemed to have stopped, time frozen as he could do nothing but stare. The black spread across Pa’s face, pooling out of his mouth and spilling onto the front of his chest. The air around it seemed colder, shards of ice forming on the edges from sweat.

“Help…” Pa rasped, reaching out at Sky with grasping hands. The boy backed away nervously, but Pa lunged suddenly, as if possessed, the black now covering his eyes. With a howl, Pa grabbed Sky’s head, cupping the boy’s face with coarse fingers. He leaned in, mouth touching the boy’s, muffling the shriek that almost escaped Sky’s lips.

Sky felt that awful black writhing, felt it enter his mouth, and he heaved in revulsion. He wanted to run and scream, but Pa held fast onto him with an awful strength. That terrible coldness filled his mouth and slid down his throat. It spread through his body like a freezing fire until he felt nothing and collapsed on the floor, body covered in black. His father lay next to him, his body a mirror image. The shadow that swallowed them both pulsed slowly, as if it were a snake digesting its meal.

“It comes.” the old man whispered on his cot, face twisted in a helpless smile of the condemned.

“It wakes.”