The shaman rolled the bones and called a name. The chief’s chosen ushered the man to which it belonged away from his wife and daughter and into the longhouse, where the elders removed his clothes and greased and painted his body with the colors of the pledge.
They walked him into the woods unbound. There was no running from it. To be pledged was a terrible fate. To shirk one’s duty before the eyes of the village and the Gods, that was blasphemy of the highest order. And so the man stilled his face, controlled his breathing, and confidently followed the shaman, who muttered guttural incantations and waved a twig of juniper berries over their path.
His courage nearly failed him as the bone white oak loomed ahead. It was an island in the center of the copse, and no other tree joined it for twenty long strides in any direction. As if even they stood back in reverence.
He was strapped to the tree by his arms, crucified, while the shaman gibbered the old words, his eyes rolled into his head in a trance. Then he produced a bone dagger from the sleeve of his robe, and cut a deep but not mortal gash into the pledge's chest.
And then all of them turned and wordlessly reentered the woods.
The moon hung enormous in the sky, casting the naked expanse of field and the fog that rolled over it in an iridescent light. The fires of the village could not be seen through the trees that were before him. There was only the woods. Only the cold water of moonlight. Only silence, and that was soon broken.
Something came for him.
From behind he heard large, heavy foot falls move across the field, confident yet furtive. This went on for some time, and the man’s terror mounted. A snort like a bellows, then a growl that sounded like rolling boulders rumbled behind him, much closer than he anticipated. He began to yell. It was rhythmic, almost as if he were trying to catch his breath. A berserker working into a fury. But when he heard the thing behind yodel high above his head, and he realized how tall it stood, the screams began in earnest. A syrupy glob of hot saliva fell heavily onto his shoulder, and he looked up to gaze and the rows of yellow fangs that hovered just over head.
And then the jaw opened.
::
A woman and her daughter sat stiffly at a wooden table. Before them was a pot of simmering stew and a heel of warm fresh bread. Outside the house, the night was still and silent. Both listened intently. Neither moved. There was a shrill roar from the woods, and both women flinched. The mother’s hand snaked out and clasped her daughter’s. A horrified scream rang out immediately after. It was quickly silenced. A tense moment passed, and then the insects resumed their nightly chorus.
The mother sighed deep, and then served her daughter supper. They were safe.
Until the next full moon.
They walked him into the woods unbound. There was no running from it. To be pledged was a terrible fate. To shirk one’s duty before the eyes of the village and the Gods, that was blasphemy of the highest order. And so the man stilled his face, controlled his breathing, and confidently followed the shaman, who muttered guttural incantations and waved a twig of juniper berries over their path.
His courage nearly failed him as the bone white oak loomed ahead. It was an island in the center of the copse, and no other tree joined it for twenty long strides in any direction. As if even they stood back in reverence.
He was strapped to the tree by his arms, crucified, while the shaman gibbered the old words, his eyes rolled into his head in a trance. Then he produced a bone dagger from the sleeve of his robe, and cut a deep but not mortal gash into the pledge's chest.
And then all of them turned and wordlessly reentered the woods.
The moon hung enormous in the sky, casting the naked expanse of field and the fog that rolled over it in an iridescent light. The fires of the village could not be seen through the trees that were before him. There was only the woods. Only the cold water of moonlight. Only silence, and that was soon broken.
Something came for him.
From behind he heard large, heavy foot falls move across the field, confident yet furtive. This went on for some time, and the man’s terror mounted. A snort like a bellows, then a growl that sounded like rolling boulders rumbled behind him, much closer than he anticipated. He began to yell. It was rhythmic, almost as if he were trying to catch his breath. A berserker working into a fury. But when he heard the thing behind yodel high above his head, and he realized how tall it stood, the screams began in earnest. A syrupy glob of hot saliva fell heavily onto his shoulder, and he looked up to gaze and the rows of yellow fangs that hovered just over head.
And then the jaw opened.
::
A woman and her daughter sat stiffly at a wooden table. Before them was a pot of simmering stew and a heel of warm fresh bread. Outside the house, the night was still and silent. Both listened intently. Neither moved. There was a shrill roar from the woods, and both women flinched. The mother’s hand snaked out and clasped her daughter’s. A horrified scream rang out immediately after. It was quickly silenced. A tense moment passed, and then the insects resumed their nightly chorus.
The mother sighed deep, and then served her daughter supper. They were safe.
Until the next full moon.