Red's CD Project Story 2: Part 3 – Changing courses

Note: It may be a bad pun to say it was burning me to get this part started. I knew how I wanted it to go, I just didn't have time to write it. Unlike some other things I've written like this, I am tickling in more backstory as we move the current story forward. I think that's why it feels like a lot has happened even though, through three parts we're still by the fire. 

Disc 1

Track 3: All Messed Up – The Donnas

“You turn me inside out and upside down… Now I am all messed up”

Oan was a blur, grasping the spear and charging in one mesmerizing movement. Since a boy, he had lived by the hunt. Ten season cycles into life, he had slain a full-grown bear with this very spear and a stone. He still wore those bear’s teeth on a necklace around his neck. There was no man among the Aldroubi that could equal his speed, his stealth and his precision during a hunt. Oan was a born killer.

He skipped over the fire instead of going around, the spear point directed at the heart of Nestor, who didn’t so much as flinch until the spearhead neared the brown flesh poking out below the fur wrapped around his body.

Then Nestor was gone, disappeared to Oan’s eyes with some sort of magic. Oan could accept no other explanation; least of all being that Nestor was quicker and better than he. In fact, the old man from across Belnor had done the impossible dodging the spearhead with such speed that he seemed to leave wrinkles in air as he moved. Before Oan could react, the spear was tugged forward with his momentum carried with it. The world spun and he felt a leg sweep under his and, for an instant, he was staring at Old Moon’s fractured gaze before landing on his back with a thud and a crackle.

The thud was from a log; the crackle was from the fire. Nestor was atop him bracing the spear’s shaft against his chest. His wrinkled face and deadeye staring down with drool falling from his lips. Underneath Oan, the fire burned away at his body. He could feel the flames roasting away, the blisters forming and then one popped spewing forth his frozen blood.

Everything was silent then except for heavy breathing of two men as Oan’s lifeforce kissed the flames, which danced as if the blood was a new, better fuel. His blood dripped down and then the fire screamed and hissed at its touch as if doused with a bucket of water and then shot out in all directions colored blue and green instead of orange.

Oan heard his comrades drawn to the fire by the commotion, scream in horror at the flames. They saw Oan, the boy raised by the witch, pinned to the fire and yet not burning. For years, rumors had swirled about what the witch had done to him. Now, they were all sure that his blood and his body were polluted by some spell. His longtime tribesmen, some of them he considered friends, fled with screams. Oan knew the Aldroubi well. They would regroup their wits and mettle soon. Then they would come back with spears and bows and maybe even the swords of their grandfathers to drive him away. His time with the Aldroubi was over.

His gaze returned to Nestor’s face. The old man was unaffected by all that was around him. Oan felt the strange tickle of his skin healing on his back as his chilled blood was suffocating the flames. He pushed up against Nestor, but the man was ungodly strong.

“Stop you’s fighting,” Nestor voice was strained. He could not keep Oan down like this long. “I let you up soons enough, I will.”

He felt another flame spring up and heard his skin pop on his left shoulder blade. Shadows hit Nestor’s face, making him more ugly and deadlier all the same.

“I’s had you pegged from the start boy, so I did,” Nestor started with his strange accent thick again. “Those waters still chills me to the bone a day later. Yet, you go in neck-high to get me and you’s skin is burning hot by the time we reach the bank. While’s I sit here shivering by the fire, you’re bear-chested and brave.”

“My blood runs cold, old man,” Oan said trying more to push the man off.

“Stop it boy, I’ve been a-watch in the Sorna since well-before you walked this earth. No one’s blood runs warmer than mine, I’ll hold you hear all night if I’s have to.”

Finally, Oan ceased struggling and his felt Nestor’s grip loosen.

“Now, I’ll know one thing before I let you up and from there it’s likely we’ll both be going on our way.”

“What is it, cursed man?”

“Gentle, boy. I’ve tangled with one demon on this earth before and paid a great cost for it. I know one when I’s see it with my good and bad eye. So what is it boy? What sort of demon are ye?”

Over Nestor’s shoulder, Oan could make out New Moon’s blue curved smile. It calmed him a little even though he knew his life was forever turned from its coarse. The witch had told him that one such as him could never grow comfortable on one path because sooner or later he’d have to go another direction.

He settled on Nestor’s empty socket and he was the man saw best from that one.

“I am Oan Stoneheart. The Belnor has taken my breath once. Madra the Lurking Witch healed me with a curse. The blood in my veins runs forever like the Belnor’s iced waters. My course is set to the underworld for one final great battle, but that is a very long journey and one that meanders often.”

Oan stopped, gauging Nestor’s reaction. There was little asthis man had seen enough not to be surprised by tales of witches and curses.

“Now, tell me man of the Sorna watch. Does thee spy for Salama of the Sand since thee failed you’re watch? Or do you truly flee from his evil?”

The lines on Nestor’s face slackened and he stood up.