Boelik

  Boelik

  Boelik

  Midpoint

  BOELIK

  Amy Lehigh

  Published by JLB Creatives Publishing at Smashwords

  Copyright 2016 Amy Lehigh

  All rights reserved.

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  A breeze rippled through the forest and made the trees whisper, the dancing shadows that they created seen only by one person. Boelik sat on a mossy rock beside a burbling creek, staring at his reflection in the stream. The water from the soft moss soaked into his trousers and navy cloak, and his hand squeezed some of the dampness out as he pressed against the stone. On the soft breeze his sharp ears heard the distant sounds of the little village nearby celebrating something. He had no urge to visit.

  He continued to sit in silence with his navy cloak draped about his shoulders, covering his left arm completely. He lifted his arm out from under his cloak to inspect the only thing anyone would ever be able to see when they thought of him. “Mother, why did you leave me with this?” he muttered, not for the first time, staring at the silver fur that covered his arm and at the claws that extended from his fingertips.

  Boelik then turned his gaze to his reflection in the creek to spy his human hazel eyes, his human face, his human brown hair that fell to his shoulders; all of it said human. His heart said he was human, too. But every time someone saw the arm that his demon mother had cursed him with, he was pinned as a demon himself, no matter what he had done. No matter the truth.

  He closed his eyes and slashed the wavering reflection in the creek to rid himself of the memories that threatened to surface. Boelik hid his silver arm back under his cloak as he got up and stalked back through the emerald forest. He stopped at a little grove with a little shed and, next to it, a little house. He remembered building it when he first came here, getting materials from the village over the course of a few weeks so as not to arouse suspicion. He had slept on the ground in the cold nights while he worked on it.

  As a finished product, the house hardly reached a hand’s width above his head, but he didn’t mind. After all, he was also quite tall—any man he’d ever met had stood at least half a head shorter than he. In addition, the house was full of cracks and holes, and the door was a series of branches tied together and placed in the doorway. Not to mention a singular room. “Not the worst first attempt,” he said as he stared at it.

  The shed was added as an afterthought; Boelik liked the idea of being able to store ‘extra’ things, even though he had none. Instead, he used it for food storage, all of it spiced and preserved to last as long as possible. The shed, too, was quite poorly crafted.

  Moving the slat that was the door, Boelik sighed at the few morsels of meat left. This, of course, meant that he had to hunt. Boelik had at least managed to make deals with the butcher and tanner in town for these occasions; he would come in with two deer, give the hides to the tanner and one deer to the butcher for some money and so that the butcher would dry and salt the other for him for free. It was how he managed to make this meager life work.

  So, grabbing his carving knife from the house to whittle while he waited, he climbed a tree to lie in wait for his quarry. Stars shone in the heavens by the time Boelik managed to get his two deer. He hefted one over each shoulder and carried them back to the shed to string them up for the night. He yawned, exhausted, as he trudged back to his home. As he trod past his cold fire ring, he tossed in the fox that he’d carved.

  In the morning, Boelik was awakened by sunlight streaming through one of the cracks of his house onto his face. He stretched and yawned, sitting up from his bed of deer hides. After casting a glance at the door, he picked up his beige cloak from beside the hides and, standing, put it over his navy one. He doubled the normal little brass clasp over the golden fox one that held his navy cloak.

  Boelik walked out and grabbed the deer from the shed and put them onto a makeshift sled of branches, hefting the rope over his right shoulder, careful to only use his human arm. As far as the villagers knew, he didn’t even have his left anymore. “And into the kettle once more,” he said to himself as he trekked, his baritone voice resonating in the still air.

  In the village, Boelik avoided the people who milled around as much as possible, keeping his head low. He first went to the tanner, who doubled as the skinner. Once the deer were skinned and the hides turned over as equal exchange, he headed toward the butcher’s shop. On his way, a young woman danced by him, oblivious, her golden-brown hair flitting in her wake. She accidentally danced over his foot as she did, causing him to stifle a grunt as pain shot through him.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry!” she apologized swiftly, stopping. Her brown eyes shone with guilt as she faced him. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” Boelik replied in a soft voice, trying to stifle the groan of pain in his throat.

  “Are you sure?”

  “It was just my foot. I’m fine.”

  “All right,” she said, looking at him with doubt beside her guilt. “Farewell then. Good day!” And with that, she waved as she stepped back, turned around, and started off again.

  “Good day,” he called after her. “Though I don’t know how you can manage stepping on a stranger’s foot so easily,” he muttered.

  Boelik soon made it to the butcher’s without another mishap, had his meat cleaned and salted, and returned home with enough to last him a good while. To make it last longer, he’d mix it with the berries and fruit he foraged and the vegetables he grew in his small garden, for which he used the money from his hunts to get the seeds. For his meager dinner, he started a small fire and ate some of the new meat, listening to the birds singing in the forest. “It’s peaceful here, isn’t it?” he said to a little sparrow that was in the branches nearby, and it give a small chirrup in reply. “Lonely, are you?” Chirp. “I suppose I am, too.” Chirp, chirp. “Would you care to join me?”

  Silence.

  Boelik sighed. “I suppose not, then. I’m not surprised. To you, after all, I am simply some monster who happens to be talking to you. I would wager that you could sense what I am, too. You don’t even understand how I could exist, a monster like me, hm?” He heaved another sigh in the silence that answered. “Yes, I thought so.” He stood and snuffed out the fire.

  The familiar creek burbled as Boelik came closer. His blue cloak was tossed about by the wind, only kept in place by the fox clasp his father had given to him not long before Boelik had lost him forever. Boelik fingered the clasp, his tall frame pushing easily against the wind despite its eager endeavors. He sat on his rock and stared at his reflection in the creek, watching as little fish swam by, the spring-green moss tickling his hand when he placed it on the rock. Boelik pulled a carving knife from his boot and accompanied it with a small log he’d taken from his fire-pile. Time passed by without him as he was lost in tedium, and it was night before he finished.

  “Well, it’s nice to see a familiar face,” Boelik said to the little wooden fox in his hand once he was finished, its small face staring back at him blankly. “Mildly familiar, I suppose. Mother had a bit more emotion to her.” He sighed. “How long has it been since I had a true conversation? …I don’t know.” Staring at the little fox, he said, “Well, you wouldn’t know, would you? You were just born.”

  Boelik rose and trudged back to his small grove, dogged by the shadows of the forest and his loneliness. As he passed the
dead fire, he instinctively threw the small carving into the pit. He entered his pathetic home and moved the ‘door’ back behind him and soon fell asleep on his bed of deer hides.

  As dawn’s light began its sweep through the forest, Boelik stretched out of bed. “What does the morning bring me,” he yawned. “Little birds again today, or shall I find some large game by chance?” Boelik walked out of his home, finally able to stretch his arms all of the way without the low roof. He made himself a breakfast of meat and berries near a small fire. When finished, he put his fire out once more and began to head for the heart of the forest, opposite the traveler’s path to the village. But no further than a few steps from his grove, Boelik heard a young woman’s scream come from the path.

  Whipping around, his cloak fluttering absentmindedly behind him, he wondered if he truly heard what he thought he did. But while he hesitated, another scream assaulted his ears. Boelik dashed for the path, speed beyond any human’s causing him to be no more than a blur in the forest. He stopped just short of the path to crouch in the bushes and assess the situation.

  The young woman who had bumped into Boelik in town the previous day screamed again, eyes wide with terror. In front of her lithe frame, sprawled back on the ground and gaping in fear, was a large brown-black wolf. The beast snapped at her, and she beat its muzzle back with what seemed to be the only thing on her: a basket of apples. The fruits rolled across the ground as the wolf stumbled back for an instant, toward Boelik’s hiding place. He took the chance to leap onto the wolf’s back, hooking his arm around its neck and locking his long legs around its waist. It snarled in reply and was quick to retaliate.

  Air whooshed out of Boelik’s lungs as the wolf used its weight to crush him and make him release its throat. The maiden stared in fear as the two then stood and glared at one another. As Boelik glanced over to check on her, the wolf charged, eyes glinting with hunger as it bit into his human arm. Screaming as teeth dug into his flesh, Boelik twisted so that the woman would not see his furred arm flash out from beneath the cloak to punch the wolf between the eyes. When he was not released, he cried out and put his claws in the soft part between its chin and throat. The wolf made a gurgling growl as it stared at him with wild eyes, their light fading.

  At last the beast let go, dropping to the ground, its crimson blood mixing with the red apples. Boelik cast a quick glance at the woman before running off, much closer to a proper human speed, toward his creek. He had no desire to let her see any more of him lest she run and tell the villagers of the monster in the woods. Images of fire and swords and screaming horses swept through his mind; he shoved them away and kept running.

  “Wait!” the woman called. She ran after the man who saved her, the man whose foot she had—regrettably—stomped over the day before. She ducked between branches and weaved through the forest after him without hesitation. Slowing as the soft sound of flowing water appeared in her ears, she peeked through the trees to see her savior sitting on a large, shallowly slanted rock. He turned and spotted her and, in an instant, stood poised to run again.

  “Don’t run, please!” she said quickly as she stepped into clear view, her eyes drawn to the blood dripping from his arm.

  Boelik paused. Everything in him screamed run, but instead of listening he asked, “What do you want?”

  The woman gave him a strange look. “I wanted to….to, um, thank you. For rescuing me.”

  “Well, you’ve thanked me. Now you should go home.”

  “But… you’re hurt,” she said softly, her eyes shaking as she gazed at his arm, much to his surprise.

  “I’m fine. It will heal.”

  “Not like that, it won’t. Not unless you want to die of an infection.”

  “The creek water is clean enough. And I have cloth.”

  “I have better,” she said, walking out to meet him. He stepped back, nearly tripping and falling into the creek.

  “I’m fine. Truly,” Boelik insisted, his heart pounding, yearning to accept her kindness, but he couldn’t bear the thought of what her kind face would look like once it was full of fear and disgust.

  “Nonsense. Come here and sit,” she commanded, patting Boelik’s stone. He hesitated. “I promise I won’t crush your foot this time,” she added with a tiny, guilty smirk.

  Boelik smirked for an instant as well before tentatively stepping around her to keep her on his right when he sat. Then the woman ripped off a strip of her long, brown village skirt. The hood of her short, tawny cloak had fallen back and Boelik could clearly see her warm, brown eyes.

  “What is your name?” she asked as she ripped off a second strip and soaked it in the creek to wash his wound.

  “My name is Boelik.”

  “Boelik? A strange name, that.”

  “For you, maybe. I come from far away.” He flinched as the cold cloth was dabbed onto the wound.

  “Ah, I see,” she said, continuing to clean the bite and putting her hand on his wrist to keep him from moving again. “My name is Olea.”

  “Olea?”

  “It is inspired by the Oleander. My mother is fond of greenery of all sorts.”

  “I see,” Boelik said, repeating Olea’s words. She smiled.

  There was silence between them for a while. Boelik watched as she took care of his wounds, the sounds of the wind and birds filling in the silence between them. Olea eventually glanced up at him, her gaze flicking to the clasp on his cloak. “That is quite beautiful. A fox?”

  Boelik nodded. “My father was… fond…of foxes.” So much so that he fell in love with one that had nine tails.

  ”I see.” Then, as she finished cleaning the wound, “There. Now we can wrap it up. Hold still just a little longer.”

  “All right,” Boelik yawned. Fighting and running with such ferocity had drained him for the day; now that his adrenaline was draining, fatigue was taking its place.

  “It isn’t even midday. Are you tired already?” Olea said, a mild tease in her voice.

  Boelik looked at her with a hint of amusement. “It is exhausting saving the damsel in distress, you know.”

  “Well, at least this damsel doesn’t throw herself at you,” she replied with a huff. “I like to repay favors.”

  “Rather than simply accepting them?” Boelik said, and she nodded, wrapping the large strip of cloth around his arm.

  “There we are. Feel any better?” she asked. Boelik stretched his arm a bit before nodding. It still throbbed, but the pain had dulled.

  “Thank you,” he said, putting his arm down. Olea gave him a small smile.

  “You’re quite welcome.” Glancing back through the trees, she said, “I should return home now. Though, I will need to get more apples before that. They all became soiled after the fight and being thrown about.”

  “I saw that. You didn’t do too badly fending off that wolf. Though I wouldn’t recommend using a basket as a consistent weapon,” Boelik suggested with a smirk.

  “Oh, come off it; I only had the basket,” Olea muttered. Boelik laughed.

  When was the last time I laughed? He thought vaguely.

  Recomposing himself, he said, “Well, either way, I’ll need to go and fetch that wolf later. That pelt should make for a nice bed, if not fetch a pretty price.” Olea nodded. “But, before then, I could accompany you to the apple trees and to the edge of the woods again. That way you needn’t worry about predators.”

  “That would be nice,” she agreed.

  The pair walked back to the path, and Olea picked up her basket. Boelik took a moment to kick the apples off the road and drag the wolf off the path as well. Then they walked to the apple trees, and Olea began to fill her basket, which was surprisingly intact.

  While she picked, Boelik and she talked amiably, a spark of friendship igniting. Eventually, Olea adorned Boelik with a shorter name: Bo. “It’s quite long and strange to me, your name,” she had said. “Could I call you ‘Bo’ instead?”

  “Of course,” he had replied. “I don�
€™t mind.”

  Finally, Boelik escorted Olea to the edge of the woods. “Shall I see you in town tomorrow?” Olea asked, her golden hair shining like a halo in the evening light. It would be an understatement to say that they’d dallied in their errand.

  Boelik shook his head. “I won’t often come into the village. I enjoy my life out here, away from people,” he explained. It wasn’t exactly the truth, but it wasn’t quite a lie, either.

  “Then shall I come back and see you?” Olea asked. Boelik shifted and bit the inside of his cheek for a moment as he avoided the woman’s gaze.

  “You can if you like.”

  “I would like to. How shall I find you?”

  Boelik looked at her. “If you call for me, I’ll come,” he replied at last. He was hesitant to show her his home. Fire and blades still danced in his memory from when he was last discovered.

  Still, Olea nodded. “All right. Then I’ll see you tomorrow about midday,” she said, waving a farewell. Boelik waved a small farewell in return, hiding the fire in his arm as he did. Then he turned to fetch the wolf’s carcass, and he brought it back to his home.

  He ended up taking the rest of the day carefully skinning the wolf despite his fatigue and pain. Boelik didn’t want to waste the fur, but he didn’t want to go into town for the skinner, either. And once he did finish, he decided to try the meat. It wasn’t exactly his best meal, but Boelik refused to waste food, so it was stored in the shed and salted to keep from spoiling.

  The next day Boelik woke and rekindled his fire to have his breakfast. He ate and then went to the edge of his grove to find a broken branch, bringing it back so he could sit next to the fire as he pulled his knife from his boot. As the sun inched higher in the sky, Boelik listened to his surroundings and carved into the branch. Around midday, his ears caught a strange sound on the wind.

  Someone was calling his name.

  Tossing the stick in the fire, the scrolling picture of a bird flying was consumed by the flames as he ran to the edge of the forest.