The Prince of Leaves

A little story in a universe I write in.

    The hamlet of Steinnheim was a small, out-of-the way village, located on the northernmost border of the Maranthine Empire. It could be considered the gateway from the Maranthine Empire to lands further north, such as Baldatun and, even further to the north, the Unending Ice. The climes of Steinnheim and its surroundings, the Outward Hinterlands, were generally temperate, with a chilly bent to it. The springs were gentle, as were the summers and autumns, but the winters tended to be harsh, as snow and frost blew mercilessly through the area, blanketing the wheat-yellow fields and dark evergreens.
   As it was so far away, the power of the Maranthine Empire was rarely felt, little more than the name of a far-off place. Its laws held no great power, here, and the guards sent from the Empire were few, leaving the men of Steinnheim to act as de facto guards, soldiers, law enforcers and hunters. It was frustrating to many, to be a part of an empire, having to abide by its laws and pay tributes, yet to receive so little of the benefit. Gael was no exception; he was oftentimes angered by the sentiment of belonging to another land, to another culture. The soft milk drinkers in Marantha never deigned to come up north, nor did they care about the local customs, preferring their bejeweled towers and tea times. Marantha cared little for the troubles of the outlying towns and settlements, Marantha cared little for the troubles of its furthermost charges.
   Gael knelt on the forest ground, pawing a print embedded into the dirt, partly hidden by fallen needles and leaves. There was a heavy chill about the air; winter was approaching. But the print on the forest floor was his only concern. It belonged to a great beast, part man and part wolf, that had rampaged and terrorized Steinnheim for many nights. The most recent attack, last night, took the lives of two young girls as the beast tore apart their home before dragging them off: their torn corpses were found by a herder the next morning. The men rallied and put out a search, taking their axes and bows and hunting dogs with them, scouring the hillsides and the woods for the creature. Gael was on its trail.
   He tugged his furs tighter and slung his bow more snugly over his shoulder, racing up a small dirt path, passing through strands of tall and silent trees. The entire forest seemed to be still. Abovehead, poking sometimes through dense orange, yellow and brown canopy, the sky was burning into early evening. Gael panted as he ran, but his mind was energetic with curses and swears aimed at Marantha. Had they provided a presence here, then this beast would already be dead, quartered, and its head would be fastened to the gates of the town. Instead, every man and young boy would have to be crawling through brush in search of a beast that could easily overpower them all. He wondered if the rest of Marantha suffered from lycanthrope attacks, or lycanthropy in general. There seemed to be no mention of them from the occasional merchant that came up from Marantha -
   With a skid, Gael crashed down a small ravine, losing his footing in his thoughts. With a cry, he landed by a small brook, his ankle twisted.
   "Damn it," he cursed, lifting the afflicted foot. "Argh. Damn the Maranthians, damn this beast, damn me..."
   He spent the next several moments cursing and swearing before trying to get to his feet, shifting all of his weight to his good foot. With another cry, he sank back into the moist dirt; the pain was shooting itself upward from his leg. Then he went quiet, as he noticed a small wind had picked up, kicking leaves about, swirling them in the air.
   "Be still," said a voice and Gael cried out in surprise, as a man sat himself next to the downed hunter. Leaves gently swirled all about them. "Lay down your foot."
   "Who are you? I don't need your charity, stranger, I need to get back on my way," Gael protested.
   "How will you do that if you cannot walk?" the man countered, looking down at Gael's twisted ankle.
   Gael looked hard at the man and snorted. He wore a green traveling cloak and simple green garments.
   "I don't understand why you and your people wander these woods of mine so often," said the stranger, caressing Gael's leg. "You all get lost or injured."
   "Woods of yours?" Gael spattered. "These woods belong to no one. Steinnheim has long had claim to use them."
   The stranger pulled back his hood. Gael immediately noticed his ears, which tapered to a point. The man was very beautiful and appeared to be very young. His eyes were filled with an alien intensity, vaguely yellow behind long, wispy eyebrows.
   "Elf!" Gael roared. "Get off me! Get off me!"
   "We are not the savage cannibals in folklore, hunter. Nor do we seek to skin your kind and destroy you. Not all of us, regardless, and I am your best hope at leaving this forest alive. I know why you and your people have come, hunter. It is for the same reason I have revealed myself to you. You came in search of a creature beyond your strength and ability, believing yourself to be the hunter here. I have watched you as you traveled about these woods - the beast has watched also. And now here you are, injured, refusing help as it advances upon you."
   Gael drew a sharp breath. Was this elf the werewolf? Was he being threatened by the master of the beast? He reached for his bow. The elf-man's eyes darted to it instantly. He smiled slightly.
   "I am not your enemy, hunter. I am no beast, nor do I command it to drink the blood of your young."
   "You know much about it, elf. How do I know you are not speaking lies?"
   "When last has an elf revealed himself to a man, hm? We do not seek war with you, not the true elves of the wilds, unlike the enthralled cousins in the south. We choose harmony - and we isolate ourselves from your kind and your happenings. The beast has long since troubled these woods and I, too, seek a way to end it. At first I thought it could be remedied of its affliction - and when I saw it return with the blood of your young on its jaws, I knew that was not so.
   I have been stalking it all through the night, into the day, and here we are, now. I hadn't accounted for crossing paths with you - or any of your men from Steinnheim. I had planned to simply dispatch the beast before any of you happened across it."
   "But here we are. Why is there a werewolf out in this forest? We've dealt with them before, in the woods, or in our fields, but none have ever attacked the village before. And then, those were few and sick or injured."
   "By our hands. Those were stragglers fleeing my kind. And even then, we do not know where the come from. Perhaps the Far North, perhaps from the South or the East or the West. We do not know. But this creature I do know. I have sworn to hunt it down and kill it long before it attacked your village, hunter. The creature was once my brother and it is not far off, now. Your blood attracts it."
   Gael looked down. His ankle was no long twisted, by whatever magic or enchantment the elf had worked upon it whilst speaking, but he did nothing for the bruising and bleeding of the fall. And before Gael could grab his bow or protest, a snarl shredded the air. It was close and Gael could feel the heat and smell the reek of the creature on him. It bounded down from the outcrop he fell from, landing with a splash and patter into the brook near where he lay. In a flash, the elf was on his feet as the werewolf reared up and howled. In another flash, he dodged a swiping forearm and claw that kicked up water. The elf bounded on his feet so swiftly that Gael thought it to be a mirage. The elf wrestled with the beast, holding it at bay with his thin arms, despite the musculature and savagery of the thing. It bellowed, a cry that shook the trees and hurt Gael's ears. The leaves were swirling again now, high in the air, all about them, rattling and hissing as the pair fought.
   And to his amazement, the creature was brought to its knees in the brook, the elf standing triumphant and tall. His eyes shone with a bright fire and flicker and when he touched the forehead of the werewolf, it slumped forward slightly as the leaves raged around them. The fire coming from the eyes of the elf burned brighter and brighter until it consumed all of Gael's sight and he blacked out....
   He awoke to a chilly breeze caressing his face. It was nighttime and Gael lay on a hillside at the edge of the woods, overlooking Steinnheim. He quickly panicked and rose to his feet and then calmed down. His possessions were still on his person and he was still whole. He pulled up the leg of his trousers; his ankle had been wrapped in a soft fabric and pained him no more. He looked about the trees for any sign of the elf or the werewolf, but he found nothing. The breeze picked up slightly and Gael pulled his furs closer.
   "Thank you," he whispered to the wind as it lazily kicked up leaves, scattering them in the breeze. Then Gael made his way down to the hamlet, quiet at last, where hearths were lit and lanterns made the windows of the houses glow invitingly.