Syth and Axe (Part 13) - Circle of Blood

 

Syth and Axe: vol 13: Circle of Blood

From Syth’s Journal, dated 1946

“Paul’s journey’s were expansive - he traveled the length and breadth of this land, reporting strange sighting across the entirety of our slowly-conquered continent. It seems the native people who lived here had no shortage of mysterious encounters - and between Paul’s traveling with them and learning from them, it seems their experiences became his.

“In the mid-1800s, a gold rush, flush with ‘49er energy, broke out among the settlers in the central valleys of California’s northern regions, though by looking at my maps, it seemed more central than northern - but I defer to the opinion of those who live there. In and around the Sacramento area there sprung up no shortage of colonies - ramshackle towns that popped up in a night and seemingly died off just as swiftly - ghost towns.

“One such town, if it could even be calle that, was settled just north of where Eureka is today, but it vanished in a day, victim of what some called the “Silent Claw” or T’sa-kwil. Paul didn’t talk much about what had happened, but I was able to piece together bits of his story. I’m unsure of what all of it means - a reference to an ‘elf king’ or something of that sort as well as some sort of ancient though young Indian warrior who knew Paul - though Paul insists he’s never known anyone of the sort. These are mysteries for another day, I’m afraid, though the strange gem in possession of one Sean might imply the early delivering of a fairy cross into the hapless hands of would-be adventurers. It’s uncertain, since Paul had no awareness of such things at the time of the story. That being the case, I can only speculate, and hope that my research or Paul’s memory will open more as time goes on.”

California Wilderness, somewhere north of Eureka - 1876 (Paul's first life)

Paul lowered his axe, wiping a bank of sweat from his brow before it fell into his eyes. He’d lost friends before… they’d passed and he’d stayed. But something felt off this time. It had been three years - had it been three years? It had been three years since John’s death… and he still saw him.

In the night, in the camp - the shadowy figure moved through the darkness, his grey skin, his large hammer. Paul could still smell the sweat and blood, the burnt flesh. The great man…

Paul plucked up his axe and drove it into the base of the tree. It thudded, sending shivers through the mighty pine. He wrenched it free and drove in again.

He breathed a heavy sigh and cut again into the side of the tree.

He paused. Things were quiet. The sound of his companions had died down.

He was alone, again.

He’d heard legends of a creature called the Hidebehind, which could get into any blind spot, no matter how narrow. When a lumberjack turned his back, it would sweep in and split him open with a long, razor-sharp claw, spilling his guts and dragging him off into the woods before he could so much as scream. Had each of his friends succumbed to such a legendary monster?

“‘Ey! Joe!” He turned, “It’s time for lunch!”

Miners, travelers, traders - the lot had been passing through the area, heading down to the American River. The so-called ‘49ers had set up so many little towns everywhere he wondered how many would survive - the towns or the people. 

But they all gave him work, and there was more than enough lumber up here to build anything they wanted down there.

So he kept chopping - even through lunch - even with the threat of the Hidebehind.

He finally lowered his axe again and wandered over to the makeshift building that acted as their mess hall. Venison soup.

He sat and gazed at his food. The meat was lean, but it did its job. Beans from a can, a cup of water, a few things scavenged from here and there. This was a ramshackle job, spliced together at the last minute, but it was work. And it was a distraction… a distraction from all the stuff that was happening.

“Man, you’re a regular Paul Bunyan out there, Joe.”

He felt a thrill run down his back - the fear of discovery. He looked up. 

“Never heard your backstory, brother. Where ya from?”

A large man settled across from him.

Paul ran a large hand through his thick hair and took another spoonful of stew, then looked up at the man. “Canada, grew up in the wilderness.”

The men finished chow and filed back off into the forest. The camp was disorganized, probably off-the-books completely. Instead of the organized layout and any sort of priority, this was every-man-for-himself, working at their own pace.

Then the screams started.

At first, he thought there had been an accident - yesterday, a tree had thundered down the hillside and crushed a man’s leg. He was currently en route to the nearest town - some place called China Flat. Maybe they’d have something more akin to medical attention - heaven knew there was nothing like that out here!

But there wasn’t a single downed tree in the area. In fact, there wasn’t even any evidence someone had been here - save for a fallen axe.

Paul knelt. A few others rushed over. “What happened?”

He looked up. “No idea. I was over there and heard a scream. Came running to see what was going on and found this.” He held up the axe.

“That’s Sam’s, Choy’s son.”

“What was he doing way over here? He doesn’t normally come on this side.”

Someone came barging through. “Sam? Sam?” The newcomer was small and lean, but muscular as an ox. He stared around at the gathered men. “What have you done to my son?”

“Nothing, old timer,” replied one of the lumberjacks, a blonde wall of muscle with a saw thrown over his shoulder. His brother, equally blonde and muscled, stood nearby. “We was o’er there sawin’ down ‘em tree when we’s heard the screams. Ol’ Joe here was first on the scene.”

Paul nodded. “Heard a scream and came runnin’.”

“Hidebehind,” whispered one of the men.

“You don’ really believe that tripe!”

“What better answer you got?” cried another man. “Hairy men roamin’ the woods?”

“We got no wee fairy livin’ in these parts,” replied another, his thing brogue giving him an aire of expertise when it came to the supernatural. “Nothin’ came to this part o’ the country, so anythin’ we see’s got t’ be the work o’ nature, not the super-nature.”

“How would you know?”

“I met a fairy once,” he replied, fingering something around his neck. “Tall, with pointy ears.”

“Everyone knows elves are short little critters with pointy hats!”

“This’n wasn’t. He was tall, regal even. Said he appreciate my zeal!”

“Oh, yer full of it!”

“My boy!” Mr. Choy moaned.

“We’ll find your boy,” Paul said. “I have some experience in these woods. Wandered them as a kid. I’ll see what I can find.”

“Thank you!” the elderly man replied.

“Joe, ah’m comin’ with ya.”

The fairy expert stepped up, a knife strapped to his side and a large axe thrown across his shoulder. He wore a strange cross around his neck - it sortof looked like a crucifix or rosary, but was bulky, made of some sort of gem-like material.

“Fairy cross,” the man said, looking at the amulet. “Wards off evil. The king o’ the fairies gave it t’ me.”

Paul nodded, not quite believing he was about to wander into the mountains with a crazy man.

“You all keep an eye around camp. We’ll see if we can find where he went. We’ll be back before night.” He turned to the fairy expert. “Name’s Joe. You?”

“Sean.”

“Pleased to meet you, Sean. How’d you get stuck with our wonderful band of misfits?”

“Family tried t’ cut it after the famine… held on for a decade or so, then jus’ decided it wasn’t worth it. So they left for the shores of Americay, as it were.” His eye went distant for a moment, his fingers closing on the gem.

“Last of the Irish Rovers?”

“What? Oh,” he laughed nervously, “guess you could say that.”

“And how’d you end up out here as a lumberman?”

“Met an Indian man. He recommended I go out west and look for my fortune, that I’d be indeed very fortunate.”

“He some sort of sooth-sayer?”

“Aye,” replied the man. “Apparently he’s some sort of wise man of his tribe, claims ‘e’s seen the future - trapped in some sorta dream - don’t make any sense, seein’ how young he is. Tha’s when I met with the king o’ the fairies, who gave me this gem an’ verified what the Indian had t’ say.”

Paul blinked a few times and shook his head. He’d met things he couldn’t explain, so who was to say there wasn’t a thing called a fairy? It seemed far-fetched, but so did giants, and yet…

He thought back to that first encounter back in his first lumber camp.

He remembered barely surviving that encounter - blood in the snow. Every member of his party broken and bleeding… and one old man, bald and beaten by the world, yet standing strong, like an old root probing from a dry streambed, looking for hope in a world that had so little to spare. That one man who pushed Paul to live, to fight, to stand, no matter what odds rose against him.

“This king of the fairies,” Paul began. “What did he look like?”

“Toll as he was thin, with a lithe, strong form. He was gorgeous beyond mah ability to describe. Spake in tall words that I understood somehow. He said ah must go to this place, that ah was marked.”

“Marked for what?”

“Dinnae,” he replied. “But we’ll find out soon.”

Paul felt confusion rising in his chest. Who was this man? What did he mean “marked.”

They traipsed through the forest, the trail winding up and through the redwoods, their mighty bulk rising. In spite of himself (and his job), Paul couldn’t help but respect these ancient beings. “Glorious. Almost a pity to cut them down.”

Sean gazed up at them, “amazin’ t’ be sure. But worth more as planks an’ houses than as these things. Besides, not like anyone needs this much wood sittin’ in the earth. Was made for us.”

Paul looked around, his axe still slung over his shoulder. “Makes sense…”

Then he thought of John, collapsed on the ground, his grand heart shattered, burns covering his soot-stained skin. Paul bowed his head momentarily, trudging along behind Sean. John stared up at him with a smile. “Keep goin’, Joe. Live for me.”

Joe… John hadn’t even known Paul’s real name. Paul trudged along behind Sean. The man was talking about something, pointing around at the trees, gesturing with his axe, as if he were plotting out the next batch of trees.

Paul nodded automatically, his gaze passing across the trees, his ears deaf to whatever it was that Sean said. These trees were glorious. He really did regret chopping them down. But the industry demanded, and those mining towns weren’t going to build themselves…

Tribes hadn’t been too happy about it, not that Paul generally cared… he had a pleasant-enough relationship with most he encountered, but…

Sean continued his conversation, suddenly stopping.

“You all right?”

Paul nodded. “Yeah, just caught up in though.”

“Heh, been there. Missin’ the ol’ home country, eh?”

Paul nodded absently. “Guess you could say that.”

“Already scouted this area once,” Sean said, “there’s a natural clearin’ up ahead - ring o’ trees if ya’d believe it.”

They stepped up the trail, and sure enough, a ring of trees with a clear glade in the middle.

“What d’ya think caused it?” Sean asked, stepping out into the opening. “Look, even little rocks an’ stuff - mostly arrange in a circle over here - not quite a circle I guess.”

Paul stepped cautiously into the clearing. Nothing seemed amiss - at least nothing he could see. But it was all so strange… nature didn’t grow in circles like this - and that ring of stones. He’s seen something like that before, or he’d heard of it, he thought. He stepped over it to it and leaned down, placing his hand into the ring.

Nothing.

He repositioned the stones a bit, then placed his hand in again.

Still nothing.

Something stirred in the air.

Paul had been in the wilderness long enough to sense when he was being watched. He slowly rose and turned toward the forest, just as Sean was about to reach into the ring himself. The other man paused, hand hovering inches about the soil.

“Something in the woods.”

“Think it’s the…”

Paul nodded, holding up a hand for silence. He stood to full height, axe firmly gripped. Sean stood beside him. “There,” Paul said, pointing into the woods. A large silhouette stepped from the darkness, its lithe form glistening in the setting light. It seemed to ripple in the shadows.

“Wot’s that?” Sean asked.

“I don’t know,” Paul replied, “looks like a big cat.”

“Skookum…”

“What?”

“The tribes keep usin’ some word skookum for big things…”

“Never heard that,” Paul replied, “but if it means big… then this’d be a skookum cat, for sure.”

The creature rumbled a strange sort of hiss at them and crept forward.

Sean began to mutter something in a language Paul didn’t understand, raising the cross to his lips and kissing it.

“Sean! What are you doing?”

The man paused, quivering, then lowered his hand. “Th-this is m-my moment… b-but that thing…” Sean blinked a few times, then shook his head.

The creature stalked forward, bristling as it came, the low rumbling growl quivering through both men. Paul felt his teeth set on edge, his grip tightening around the haft of his axe. He started to take a tentative step back, but fought the urge. You didn’t back down, you didn’t show weakness…

He took a step toward the creature.

“Stop!” Sean cried out.

“You can’t back down from this. There’s no running. We have to drive it away or we’re all dead.”

“That attitude…” Sean muttered, “it’ll get us all killed. We need tah run.”

“If we run, we will both die,” Paul replied, keeping his body facing the large cat. It prowled around them, seeking a blind spot it could exploit. It eyed Paul’s axe with suspicion.

Sean clung to the stone cross, muttering a feverish “no no no no no…” as if it were a prayer.

The creature and Paul squared off, both ignoring him.

“No no no…” he continued.

Paul was about to whisper for him to be quiet when the creature pounced. With the silent grace of a panther and the size of a large bear, it radiated primal fear, nearly freezing Paul in place as it bounded almost twice his height, dropping down in a deadly arc, claws extended, sharp fangs glistening.

Paul wheeled about with the axe, rising up to meet the attacking beast. Its razor talons sank into the haft, and Paul heaved, tossing both his axe and the gigantic cat across the clearing with a superhuman burst of strength. The cat dislodged its claws from the handle and rounded, bounding like it was playing, leaping and jumping as it rounded on him.

Paul raised his dukes like he was about to participate in fisticuffs.

Sean screamed and grabbed his stone.

Paul growled. “Sean! Your axe.”

The man began to chuckle.

Paul gazed behind him, frustration rising. The cat began to prowl closer.

“Your axe!”

Sean burst into manic laughter. “This is mah moment!”

He rushed Paul.

Axe wielding crazy man on one side, prowling monstrosity on the other. Paul growled and spun, rushing at Sean, drawing in the massive cat behind him, who decided to take advantage of Paul’s back being turned.

Paul ducked slightly, throwing his shoulder into Sean’s chest as the axe swept over his head. He raised his hand, using the flat of his palm to strike the man in his sternum as he used his other to strip the axe away. The man sailed backwards, gem necklace fluttering, before striking the ground and sliding a few feet, where he lay still.

Paul knew he had but a moment. He spun, axe gripped in both hands, and swung at where he guessed the cat would be.

He was right. The handle cracked as the bulk of muscle and fur bore down on him, the head of the axe sinking deep into flesh. The cat shook its muscular shoulders, whipping its head back and forth in an attempt to dislodge the blade. Paul rushed the beast, attempting to wrestle it to the ground, his mighty arms clamping around its throat and neck in an attempt to press it to the forest floor.

Sharp claws lashed out, tilling deep furrows in the earth.

“My glory! This’s my moment! I was promised this!” Came the cry from behind him, and Paul felt himself being bodily thrust away.

He toppled forward, pitching over the broad shoulders of the cat, which gave a violent jerk of its head, sending the gore-splattered blade spinning free. Sean, nearly feral at this point, growled at Paul.

“Sean! Stand down! This beast is deadly!”

The man glared at Paul, gem held in his hand, eyes flaring.

Paul gazed behind the man, catching the blood-stained eyes of the creature. They glared at him with a knowing look - a look seemingly matching that which currently flared in Sean’s. They both seemed possessed with an alien cleverness, a slight crimson shine that went beyond the blood now dripping down the forehead of the cat. A primal human intelligence - a malevolent wrath - seemed to possess Sean, as if the cat itself were now controlling him.

Sean crouched slightly, unknowingly mirroring the movements of the cat, and they both pounced.

Blood splashed as the cat’s mighty fangs came down on Paul’s shoulder.

Sean’s hands grasped his other arm, pinning him down.

Paul kicked up, jerking his hips and slamming his knee into Sean’s ribs. The man gasped and fell off, freeing Paul’s arm to swing a powerful blow - as powerful as he could muster with little buildup - straight into the side of the cat’s head.

Something cracked - at least one finger jammed, and the cat rolled sideways, his teeth tearing free with a bloody spray.

Paul clapped his broken hand to the torn muscle on his shoulder and staggered upright, aiming a parting shot at Sean to make sure he didn’t rise quickly. Blood welled between his fingers. He groaned, his marred arm hanging loose at his side.

He rose, feeling blood pulsing like water down his arm, dripping from his fingertips.

He staggered back, away from Sean and the cat, trying to locate at least one of the two axes that had been scattered in the chaos.

There.

He rushed forward, only to be stopped by a grip on his ankle.

Sean. The man held the gem in his hand, his eyes wide and desperate. “Scla’ter…” he muttered, “... I … the guardian… m–must not let…”

His babbling incoherent, the man reached out with another hand, grasping at Paul’s leg, though a swift kick aimed at the man’s head forestalled that notion. Sean pitched back, and Paul stumbled forward, casting a gaze at the cat as he staggered to the blade.

His head spun. The mangled flesh, the blood pulsing from his wound… exhaustion…

The cat rose, licking its fangs, glaring at him.

Whatever this thing was…

… it was growing more and more powerful…

… and more angry by the moment.

Sean lay in a heap, unconscious - no longer controlled by the cat. Not that it needed him anymore. Its eyes, red with blood and otherworldly rage, latched onto him, its silent padding the muffled knell of doom as it crept toward him, silent as the grave and just as deadly.

Paul locked eyes and stepped toward the axe. He bent and plucked one from the ground. The gouges in the haft showed it to be his, the wood scarred where the cat had caught it moments earlier.

The cat pounced, its blood-soaked teeth bared, its face pulsing blood, but the wound seemed to rapidly close as it neared the center of the clearing, as if it were drawing power from it somehow.

Paul whipped the axe at the creature’s face, a foolish act - one driven by desperation - but perhaps the only thing he could do. It spun toward the beast, catching it in the shoulder and dropping it awkwardly to the side. It’s claws raked the dirt, one clamping on the blade and wrenching it free, just in time to get another slammed into the middle of its spine - the other axe.

The back legs twitched and gave out, hanging limply.

Paul stepped back as the cat reared on him, blood spraying from the new wound in its back, its eyes blazing a strange amber-gold, blood dripping from the almost-sealed wound on its face. It bared its fangs and let out a hiss, dragging its body toward Paul, hair bristling, ears pinned back, claws digging the ground as it attempted to reach him.

He felt a tingle at the back of his mind, and closed his eyes.

“Not me…”

“Taya…” came a voice behind him. Sean.

Paul looked away from the cat. Sean was slowly staggering to his feet. Blood dripped from a cut lip, but he appeared to be fine. His eyes were clear, slightly tinged red from a broken blood-vessel, but otherwise fine. He was free.

“W-wot happened?”

“No time.” Paul said, “we’ve got to finish this, together.”

The man blinked, confused. “W-what?”

Then a claw plunged into his chest, shredding fabric and flesh with ease. The cat-like beast raked the claws free with a spray of blood. Sean crumpled to the ground.

The man propped himself up on one arm, his chest awash with crimson. His eyes flitted. “Live… tell them…” he voice croaked as he began to choke on the blood rising in his chest. He fell to all fours, looking up at the large cat looming over him, its malicious eyes staring down at him with contempt. He quivered uncontrollably.

Then, with a swipe of its massive claw, it caught him across the base of the chin, lifting up his corpse. It seemed to regard him with an almost-human look of disdain, then tossed his corpse aside uncermoniously.

Sean’s body struck the ground with a wet thud.

The stone glimmered on the cat’s claw, stuck from the blow - unknown and unseen… unheeded.

Paul knew something in that moment - whatever that gem was, it was important and powerful. It had been gifted to Sean by a strange being, with the intent that he use it to banish this beast.

Paul watched as the cat rose to full height.

The circle - something about that circle.

The creature healed the closer it was.

Its back legs twitched as its spine uncoiled and mended itself.

This was going to be Paul’s only chance. He bent, plucking both fallen axes from the ground, wielding one in each hand, though the pain and blood made gripping the one unbearable - but he’d grown used to standing when everything in him said otherwise.

The cat’s eyes locked onto Paul’s, crimson with rage and something deeper—an alien cunning that mirrored Sean’s earlier madness. It circled, silent as death, waiting for him to falter. Paul’s vision blurred, exhaustion and blood loss tugging at his edges. Paul rushed forward, using the last of his strength.

The cat anticipated the strike, sweeping a claw at him.

But Paul had understood the game as well. He heaved one axe straight at the cat’s face, and when it raised its claw to block, he brought the other axe screaming down onto the remaining paw - the one holding the gem - slamming the blade neatly between the gaps in the finger pads. The blade neatly split the flesh, severed tendon and bone, and hooked the gem, all in one smooth motion.

The cat roared in pain, withdrawing its other hand.

Paul scooped up the small object from the ground, now slick with blood - his, Sean’s, the cat’s - and danced backwards, dodging a powerful swipe from a very angry, very large, very malevolent being. The gem burned, vibrating slightly as he stood, watching the creature. The creature lunged forward, landing inside the circle in the center of the clearing. Stones rolled and tottered, some falling back into place, some rolling free. At least two lay just outside the ring, knocked free like teeth in a jaw.

Paul saw the cat’s paw catch another and another, the circle reforming, the body healing rapidly now as it was in the center of its power.

He had to get it away from there. Its power only grew the closer it was to that place.

He had to find a way to interrupt it. He couldn’t kill it - not here. If he tried to lure it away, it would rip him to shreds - it had killed Sean in one mighty blow once it could no longer control him. It had already tried and failed to control Paul.

The gem…

It burned in his hand… growing hotter the nearer he got to this place. It seemed to resonate, as if it belonged here. Maybe it did belong there - maybe he just had to return it…

The cat’s paw was almost healed. It absently toyed with the stones around the circle, as if rearranging them, making sure every one was in its place. It gave its paw a test, watching the skin knit and the blood slowly dry.

He had to try.

With a scream, Paul rushed forward. The cat screeched at him, knocking a stone free, then swiped.

One last duck, a slide into the circle. He drove the gem up into the creature, as if shoving a key in the hole. His strength was enough for the small sharp rock to pierce skin and bury itself in the flesh just beneath the fur. Confused, the creature let out an irritated cry and rounded on him, swiping once more. The claw caught him, sending him flailing across the clearing.

He struck the ground as the cat turned to pounce. Its foot slid back, something glowed beneath its flesh as it touched down in the middle of the circle, and with a blinding explosion, it winked out of existence.

Paul collapsed, blood gushing from his wound. Tall redwoods loomed overhead, silent witnesses to the carnage. He coughed, his eyes locked where the creature had been. It was gone.

Something tingled on his arm.

His wounds… they were… sealing.

He clutched a hand over them and staggered back away from the clearing. Sean lay nearby, blood still pooling from his fractured neck. Paul bent and gingerly lifted the broken man, his body limp, crimson dripping.

He traipsed wearily back to the camp.

Abandoned. 

Claw marks on everything, everyone gone.

Paul settled Sean down on the remains of one of the cots, the young man’s blood staining through the fabric almost instantly. “I got another man killed because of I couldn’t stop him…” he said to no one. He breathed a deep, shuddering sigh and stared down at Sean’s corpse. He’d have to bury the body - couldn’t leave it to the elements. But where were the others? Had they been devoured, driven off?

Paul stood. His shoulder had stopped healing, but the wound had mostly sealed. He flexed his crimson hand. He walked to the shed and drew out a shovel, then strode back into the camp. He cut into the root-choked soil, digging deeply enough to bury a human body. It was the least he could do to honor the dead… “Another grave… another ghost… but for what? Why must I linger when better men die around me?”

He raised a knife and scored a name into the tree. “Your memory will continue…”