Tale of the 7 Horros

By: Athan Wong

Beware the Bane

the Bane that reaps

the Bane that creeps

thousand souls in one night

for it lusts for those of magick

Beware the Bane

- Tales of the 7 Horrors, BC 2022 -

1

“Are you sure that this plan will work?” the towering boy hissed into his ear.

“Hush,” the other person replied tentatively. His sapphire eyes glittered under the moonlight locked onto a fish in the water. As a boy two heads taller kept him in a headlock, it seemed like an extremely tedious process to keep track of it.

The tall boy dropped the other from his grip, causing the smaller youth to fall onto the floor. Surprisingly, his gaze was still locked onto the fish. With a flick of a wrist, the wooden stick he held in his hand was thrust straight through the creature, with its writhing motion slowly came to a pause, as its blood lightly spilt through the stream.

“Trout,” the tall boy muttered. “I think you did pretty well on the clean pierce, but it’s best to eat them cooked. According to that book, you brought they carry a damn load of parasites we can burn off.”

“Very well,” the smaller boy, still recovering from the chokehold replied. I shall start a fire.”

They efficiently gathered the wood and tinder. Sweeping the area in a synchronized manner, from a close radius to being further apart, the two boys updated each other on their progress on collection whenever they connected.

Quickly, the smoke began to rise through the forest, the only potential light source apart from the fire was the warding moonlight, but alas the forest was so dense that they were shut off from it.

“Coeus, are you sure we can make it?” the large boy asked in a crouched position as he cooked the trout, which was now a tan beige.

“Isaac, if I knew that I was to travel back 4000 years into time and never go back to the present, do you seriously think that I would’ve developed this project?” Coeus replied.

“I suppose so...” Isaac concluded, more confident than before.

“You’ve got to get those wits up if you want to survive here brother,” Coeus chuckled, “but I do enjoy the company of someone slightly more optimistic than I am.”

After Coeus divided the trout into equal segments; the trout entered the mouths of Coeus and Isaac, a rich yet delicate find of hard flakes of skin and tender meat that was well-appreciated by the brothers.

“Can’t I have more? I saw you put some of the trout in the bag!” Isaac cooed.

“Brother, you’ve had three-fifths of the trout and you’re still whining despite getting triple the portions as I have.”

“But there’s still mo-ore!”

“They’re for tomorrow. Or tomorrow’s tomorrow, for that matter. I think we can manage.”

“Fine,” Isaac whined, folding his arms. He walked off to his backpack that kept all the necessary supplies, pulling out every single bit that stood before him until he could find a tent that he could pitch.

“Isaac, I insist you put all those gear back. They’re worth... possibly a fortune?”

He grumbled and placed them back in a hurried order, fitting random objects within nooks and crannies until they seemed to fit within.

They set up a camp, one rather standard on the outside, but what was in reality a fine-tuned instrument to best the worst of weathers. The outer shell being a dome capable of making an impact from hail to rain, while the top was adjustable in size as a gap to allow ventilation.

The camp was set after the fire died, and the brothers lay on the brisk texture of the soft grass floor, as they stared wistfully at the sky above, through a small gap of seemingly infinite trees. The sky was a deep purple, reminiscent of the cosmos as stars shone in the most beautiful of ways. Silhouettes of the occasional bird flew across the sky, serving as a sense of calm- that they were not alone in this desolate area.

“It’s been ages since I’ve breathed air as fresh as this,” Coeus said.

“And it’s been ages since I’ve seen the stars so beautiful,” Isaac added.

“If only I had brought my camera,” Coeus replied in angst.

“If only I had eaten more food,” Isaac remarked.

Pulling up the thick leather blanket, Isaac yawned heavily and fell into slumber.

Coeus eyed the sky once more and fell into slumber.

They woke up at the crack of dawn by the faint yellow tinge that shone through the tent, flowing through the closed eyelids of the brothers, turning them from a deep black to a light peach. The wind rustled lightly, providing a rush of energy that shook them awake.

“Good morning brother,” Coeus said in an aloof state.

“Good morning to you too,” Isaac replied in mimicry.

Isaac moved his arm towards his right in a swinging motion, knocking over the right side of the tent, creating a startling sound that alarmed Coeus.

“Oops,” Isaac said in a shocked tone, “I forgot that we no longer owned a clock. You know how I like to smash the clock on the right cupboard?”

“Always,” Coeus said, “ten years of doing something consistently every day is pretty hard to shake off.”

The remaining trout from the day before was devoured by Isaac in a matter of seconds, spewing chunks of fishbone and meat onto the floor, attracting bugs and wandering bears alike to the scene. Coeus, on the other hand, ate dried strawberries from the pack.

They collected the remaining resources from the campsite and set off as the sky faded into a light blue. They gazed off into the distance as Coeus pointed towards the map he held, indicating the ideal endpoint for the day.

“At the dying sun,” Coeus explained, “the map Oswald gave us should lead to Fosriver Town.”

“Odd name,” Isaac remarked.

“Fos is Greek for light,” Coeus said, slightly annoyed at Isaac’s ignorant remark, “and they say at the brightest day of the year, the river reveals an ancient cave to the dungeon where Moros, the so-called God of Doom, resided.”

“But why would this god live in someplace where it’s vulnerable to entry by a bunch of villagers?”

“That’s why it’s hard to believe. Too many... plot holes.”

They walked in a quick pace northwards, from the thick lush forest towards the rapids. By afternoon they had managed to find a boulder near a river to rest and refill their water flasks. They continued across a rough mountain pass where Fosriver Town was barely within their sight. A long black shadow cast amidst the fading sun- flat village houses made of hay and wooden planks, a spiralling well, all in an elongated state.

When the moon rose amongst the steep hills behind did they finally arrive Fosriver.