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Panik
PAN - the ancient Greek God of Nature, of herds and herdsmen, of nightmares and mental disturbances. His sudden appearance, traditionally at Midday, causes irrational fear and hysteria ... PANIC, in animals and men alike ... "Even horses and other animals are tormented by nightmares, the animals sweat profusely and snort loudly and become completely disarranged and have knotted manes that cannot be combed out and can only be burned out with blessed candles or excised by a cut in the shape of a cross ..." She had found this spot, almost exactly at the centre of the Old Forest, three days after she moved into Genesis's holiday house (if a log cabin without running water or power could possibly be described as such). She had planned on spending her two weeks holiday in the cabin until she discovered how boring this would be. Then she discovered the Old Forest, up river from the cabin. There was only one trail leading into it, a tentative spiral path that had obviously not been trodden in ages, given the degree to which the undergrowth had reclaimed it. The path seemed to lead down into a natural basin that was broken at its north and south ends by the river which flowed past the cabin. That morning, as she followed the trail further, the surroundings changed imperceptibly, gradually taking on a vague sense of menace. There were massive trees ranked on either side of the path, like sentinels guarding the forbidden inner reaches of the forest. She tried not to give the impression that she was glancing at them out of the corners of her eyes; she could almost sense, just outside her field of view, a shadowy figure slipping from behind one tree to the next; she wanted to catch whoever it was, and yet she also found an increasing sense of a feeling which she had once described as 'Walk-away-quickly-I-don't-want-to-know'. As the sense of menace grew, she gave in, turned suddenly and looked behind her. There was no-one, although the branches of several bushes looked as if someone had just stepped past them to hide behind a tree. She frowned, then continued down the spiral trail. Arriving at the centre of the forest, she found a clearing about twelve metres across, carpeted with last season's dried pine needles. There were twenty-three pine trees (spaced in an unnaturally regular fashion) around the clearing, their branches meeting overhead, to leave a circle of cerulean blue directly overhead, unmarked by clouds. She stalked a circle just inside the perimeter, watching for the shadowy figure, and realised that the sense of menace had vanished when she had stepped into the circle of trees, leaving that peculiar blankness which she had occasionally experienced during deep meditation. "... which is what I'm here for," she said to herself. She paced about, examining the positions of the trees, located the exact center of the circle. She stripped off her tracksuit pants and t-shirt, sat down in the circle of soft, dark earth which was exposed by gradual thinning of the carpet of pine needles towards the centre. It smelled cool and fresh, as if it had rained here recently. The scent of pine, overpowering at the edge of the circle, was merely a faint tang here, under the blue halo of open sky. She folded her legs, resting the underside of her forearms on her knees, her hands dangling down, fingertips brushing the soft soil. She tilted her head back, eyes closed in the shaft of sunlight shaped by the ring of pine branches overhead, and inhaled for a count of eight through her nostrils. She held her breath for a count of eight, slowly and evenly exhaled, and rested for a count of eight before inhaling again. She had recovered her old rhythm within minutes, and let herself drift off into a point about a metre above her head, occasionally humming as she exhaled. A part of her mind always remained behind, thinking, self-consciously, 'is this working?'; she emerged from her trance after what seemed a space of about five minutes, to find that the morning and afternoon had passed, and the circle of sky overhead had closed over completely with a striated sheet of grey cloud. She snapped out of her relaxed state immediately, shivering with sudden awareness of the chill that her body had taken on. She was vaguely disappointed that the sense of calm that she had attained had fled in the face of the storm that was brewing above. The air had dampened, the scent of pine growing oppressively thick and cloying. She unfolded her legs, which tingled (I must have really been out of it, she thought, for the circulation to slow that much), sat back and rolled over onto her knees. As she reached for her t-shirt, there was a sharp, dry crack overhead; the sky had darkened considerably, and the storm was about to break. She froze as the sound echoed across the basin; the feeling that she was being watched had returned, even stronger than before. The air hazed over, dimming the thousands of green shades worn by the pine trees into a murky olive. She knelt there for a space of about twenty seconds, fingers digging into the earth, eyes wide, barely daring to breathe; she felt as if some dark beast was about to leap on her and tear her apart. Then, the storm broke, torrents of rain lashing down and hissing into the ground. The stinging impact of the freezing water spurred her into motion; she snatched up her clothes and ran. The ring of trees provided momentary shelter from the rain; once outside the circle, however, the torrential downpour soaked her thoroughly, plastering her hair to her face, stealing the last remnants of warmth from her body. She ran desperately, losing the path, striking out in what she hoped was the direction which led out of the basin. Leaping over a fallen tree trunk, she fetched up against the base of a black, gnarled pine, her breasts pressing against the sharp curlicues of bark, fingers seeking out a hand-hold as a chorus of deranged howls sounded somewhere behind her, from about where the circle of pine trees was. She gasped as the sound filtered through the trees. It sounded like a pack of wolves, and given the resonance and bass clarity of the sounds, each one was the size of a small pony. She pushed away from the tree, running directly away from the sound, trying to disturb the undergrowth as little as possible. Just when she thought that she'd regained the path at the point where the spiral straightened out, she lost it again, and had to dodge frantically around thick clumps of bushes and boles of trees which seemed to rise up in front of her, blocking her way deliberately. She paused again, leaning against a tree trunk that leaned at an exaggerated angle out of a hummock of grassy earth; peripherally aware of a rushing sound nearby, but straining to hear any sounds of her pursuers. She was rewarded by a scattering of yelps in a semicircle behind her, as if they had spread out in search of her, and she considered climbing the tree in order to escape; she abandoned this idea in panic as a deep-throated growl sounded close by. She whirled around, jumped over the hummock, and fell three metres, face-first, into the river. She had enough time to snatch a breath before going under, plunging into the blue-green silence which contrasted with the dark symphony of the storm and the beasts that pursued her. A train of bubbles accompanied her as she struck out for the other side, kicking her legs and angling downwards until her view was obscured by clouds of silt raised from the river bed by the turbulence. She writhed through the freezing river-water, parallel to the bottom, not trying to oppose the flow but letting it sweep her downriver. As the desire to breathe grew within her, she struck out for the surface as close to the other side as possible, grabbing loose branches from a fallen tree that was lying half-in the river and hauling herself out onto the bank. She brushed dripping strands of hair out of her eyes and glanced back at the opposite side. There were several dark shapes that roamed back and forth on the far bank, as if frustrated by her escape. One of them reared up on its hind legs and howled, the sound chilling her to the marrow. Behind them, she could just make out the hulking outline of a man. He must have been over two metres tall and at least a metre across at the shoulders; he held three of the wolves on a chain that was bunched around his left hand. He moved out of the shadows, into the twilight of the storm and the onset of evening, and she stared in shock at the antlers that sprouted from his temples, the snarling smile that creased his bestial features, his dark eyes that met hers across the surging river. At that moment she felt trapped, unable to move or even consider retreat. The spell passed, however; she turned and fled through the sparse forest that seemed less malevolent than the forbidden reserve on the other side of the river. As she ran, she heard the hounds howling, and a course peal of laughter followed her as she escaped. It made her scalp tingle.
That evening, she packed the stone-lined fireplace with logs, ignited it and sat huddled before the blaze, wrapped in a large fluffy towel, shivering, unable to sleep. Every noise outside sounded like something scratching at the door, which was securely barred and had a log propped up against it. The warmth of the fire would make her doze, until another sound woke her. She had searched the cabin for a weapon; the only modern thing with any offensive potential was a taser with flat batteries. She grimaced. "Maybe I can throw it at him." Around half-past two in the morning, she had dozed off again, resolving to leave as soon as was practical the next day, when she was woken by the sound of a single heavy blow on the door. She was awake instantly, one hand reaching for a thick branch that she had found in the stack of firewood. She waited for the sound to be repeated; it wasn't. Eventually, she fell asleep again. She awoke at midday, bleary-eyed and cramped from sleeping on a pile of rugs before the fire, the thick branch still clutched in her hand. She crawled over to the galvanised iron bucket filled with water, ducked her head into it, gasping with the shock of the cold. When she noticed the log propped up against the door, she recalled the sound she'd heard. Wishing she had something more intimidating than a branch, she delicately removed the log, unbarred the door, opened it and peeked through the crack. Nobody. It wasn't until she had packed her belongings and was about to leave that she found the note that had been nailed to the door. The writing was archaic and barely readable: Cerenos to Miss; Greetynge. She stood there for a moment, rubbing the rough parchment between thumb and forefinger, remembering the shock she felt when he stepped out of the shadows, revealing his terrible form. "Well, if he can read and write, he can't be all that terrible," she mused, taking her bag back inside.
She was sitting crosslegged in the clearing. Waiting, although at the moment, the sense of someone watching her was conspicuous by its absence. It was later afternoon; the sun beat down at an angle through the circular gap in the leaves overhead. She took a slow bite out of the apple that she'd brought with her, wishing that Genesis had left her something to read other than Burroughs and Crowley. She was about to start looking for pinecones that resembled chess pieces, with a view to playing a game with herself, when she heard a twig snap behind her. She froze: the 'watched' feeling was back. She repressed a shiver as the muscles in her back twitched with the sensation. She lifted her head, swallowed the mouthful of apple (which slipped past the lump in her throat with difficulty) and said: "Kerenos?" There was a pause, which drew out for so long that she thought that she may have been mistaken. Then, a profoundly deep voice spoke. "Miss." The sound made her heartbeat accelerate. Her breaths were short, sharp and painful gasps; her legs trembled as if they were about to run away, with or without the rest of her. Making a conscious effort, she slowed her breathing, but just as she thought that she had her fear under control, he spoke again: "I will not to harm thee. Fear not." It took a moment for the meaning in his words to penetrate her panic, after which she managed to turn around slowly and face him. He wasn't as beast-like as she had imagined; her previous view of him having been across a river, during a storm when the light was failing. Here, seeing him in broad daylight, the leaves overhead forming dappled patterns on his face, she could almost regard him as attractive. Thankfully, his dogs were nowhere to be seen. He was very tall; she had to crane her neck back to face him, even as he was standing quite a distance away. He was wrapped in a dark-brown fur cloak, underneath which he wore tanned hide breeches and a tattered white shirt, open to the waist. His massive feet were encased in ragged buskins, made of the same hide as his cloak. Long brown hair wreathed a face which was, surprisingly, clean-shaven for the most part; his eyes were shaded by shaggy eyebrows, and two broad stag's antlers thrust out from his temples. Her gaze was locked with his, too scared even to turn and scramble away. He moved forward a step, further into the light, which almost gave her the impetus to run ... then she saw the sadness in his eyes. Her fear evaporated. "I would speak with thee," he said softly, his eyes downcast. She slowly approached him, looking up and forcing him to meet her gaze. She took one of his huge hands in both of hers, tugged gently. He knelt in front of her, bringing his face level with hers. Idly, she reached out to stroke an antler where it joined to his temple. It felt rough, like coarse sandpaper. Staring into his dark eyes, she perceived in them ages of loneliness and separation from others; of a desperate desire to make contact frustrated by the knowledge that others would find his form terrible and flee, or find it horribly fascinating and try to capture him. Her fingers delicately traced the ridges of the antler, stroked his temple, tracing a path down his cheek, coming to rest at the corner of his mouth. Then, with a rush, she threw her other arm around his neck, dragged him close and kissed him. He tasted like oak leaves and rain-washed soil, his breath like a breeze through pine trees. Something tickled her cheek, and she drew back for a moment. She wiped a tear from his face and smiled warmly. After a moment's hesitation, he smiled back. Thanks to: Robyn Starkey, for her help with the old english bit |
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