Starting today, 1-20-13 I shall be posting a ch. from my story every Saturday, (today is Sunday but that will be the schedule starting next week). This is just for fun, if you want to read it great, otherwise, just pass it by. I has nothing to do with Heathenism or Asatru, but you may enjoy it! =) My other series shall not be affected! This is completely original work, copying it without a source will lead to legal action! Thank you!
The Kingdom (tentative Title) Prologue:
WHOOOOOO WHOOO WHOOOOOOOOOOOO! The snow white owl screeched as the boy walked under it. What was that! Nothing, just an owl… Oh, why did I come here! I should not be out here! How do I get out of here! The forest began to close around the ten-year-old boy as he lost sight of his father’s castle. The tall trees on either side of him seemed to lean in closer, listening to his thoughts. The mists of the early night began to consume the forest in their cold, deathly cold grip. The boy, Melkoroth Zvwolk, was terrified. Cold sweat dripped down his face. It froze as it fell, shattering upon the ground. There was something in this mist, in the darkness. Something terrible. He knew it; he could feel it deep down in his bones. With every breath that he took, the terror grew inside him, consuming him.
“H, hello? Is anybody out there? Help! Help me please! I’m lost and scared!” he cried. His thin voice losing itself in the frigid wind. He continued to stumble along through the forest, blind as a newborn pup. The roots and the undergrowth tried their best to grab his feet, and drag him down to a dark, and lonely death.
The wind began to rise, and with it came snow. Yet the wind did not blow the mist and fog away, it thickened it. An unnatural frost began to flood the forest. There was not a sound to be heard.
“You will find no help now,” came an icy, raspy voice that seemed to be everywhere and nowhere all at once. It was as if the wind itself was calling to the boy. The boy began to run. He ran as fast as his ten-year-old legs could carry him. Here and there, a root or branch would try to grasp him and slow him down. Whatever it was that was hunting him, it had no trouble keeping up with the boy. It was faster than him, much faster. It was already in front of him, but also around him, behind him, above him. It was everywhere. The boy gave a scream, a scream that would curdle the freshest of milks, and terrify the bravest of warriors. A scream that would have torn the mother’s heart in two if she had heard it. But there was no one else to hear him scream. Save for it. And it reveled in his torment.
The voice came again. This time it seemed to be colder and louder, but somehow more calming. I remember father telling stories of how the cold calls to you, how it calms you. Until you slowly fall asleep, and never to wake again. The voice’s calmness slowly pulled on the boy’s eye lids making them heavier and heavier. But he knew he could not sleep, he kept on running.
“Where are you going? There is nowhere to go!” it cried.
As the night grew older, the boy still wandered, growing more and more tired. The snow began to grow heavier, and heavier. The boy stopped, and he leaned upon an old gnarled oak as he tried to catch his breath. Then the air grew taut and thin. The boy’s breathing slowed and he could no longer move. Whether it was the cold or his fear, he was frozen. The boy began to panic, and he tried to scream, but no sound left his purpling lips. Then the thing, (for there are no other words to describe it in all the tongues of the world than just that) stood before him, around him, and above him. It was not a man, it was not an animal, and it was not even a creature. It was a shadow, a cloud, a wisp of smoke and ice. The mist and cold rolled into a ball of death and despair that sucked the life out of all things that walked freely under the sun. It surrounded the boy, and engulfed him. It went in him, through him. It filled his lungs, and flowed through his veins. He screamed in agonizing pain as his ten year old heart stopped beating in his chest. He stood staring blankly as the mist took the shape of a large creature, which then split into the silhouettes of many men that formed a circle around him. The world grew dark as if some unnatural glaucoma took hold of his eyes. Then he fell, face first into the dirty snow, and he remembered nothing more.
Later that night, as the mist fully engulfed the great forest MistWood, which surrounded the city of OaksHeart, the men came looking. Old men, young men, rich men, poor men. All came looking for the darling prince Melkoroth Zvwolk. Their happy black-haired prince. Yet all they found was the white haired, pale, icy-looking corpse of a boy they did not recognize at first. But they knew who it was. Footsteps lead away from the corpse, heavy footprints; they were the deepest the trackers had ever seen. Deeper than the tracks of a bear, but much smaller. Yet somehow, they were frozen solid with black ice. One of the men, a member of King Harveld’s personal guard; Sir Snow, tripped and fell on one of the tracks. He did not wake for many days. There were only a few pairs of these odd prints. They did not come from anywhere, and they did not lead anywhere. It was as if they had come from the sky, and left back the way they had come. However, one thing was very clear: Whatever it did this to the prince, it had hunted him down, and killed him with some sort of dark power that was thought to be lost to the world. The boy’s staggering footprints could be seen for a mile, making it was clear he was running from something. There was not a single visible wound upon the young boy’s body. Never the less, he was dead and colder than ice.
The men carried the boy’s body back to his family’s holdfast, the royal castle Causeway Keep, in the capital city of OaksHeart. The entire realm gathered in the great hall where they mourned the loss of their beloved prince. For three days, they mourned until the day of the funeral. A day that will never be forgotten.
What do you think? I would love to hear constructive critisism!