The Tales of the Ganvadels Suivre l’histoire

Screech ran through the thick forest foliage as fast as his short and spindly legs could carry him. He'd been on the run for close to a month, stopping for hardly more than a few hours a day to sleep or to forage for a meager meal. He hoped his orc pursuers were far off now, but his instincts told him they were always close.

Screech was one of a birdlike race known as the ravenfolk. Even when he was in good health his body was never large or muscular, and like other birds that made him small and weak. He was covered head-to-toe in black feathers but he couldn't fly away even though he wished so badly to, possessing fingers instead of wings. It was a feature that was foisted upon the ravenfolk by the gods as a curse for their curiosity many a century ago.

He spent the daylight hours on the run until he was either too exhausted, the weather turned to rain, or the darkness of night fell. Recently he was needing to sleep earlier each day, having to stop and rest before the sun came close to setting. The stress and constant exertion combined with lack of true nourishment made what little muscle and fat he had once had melt off, leaving him thin and sickly. What remained of his cloth robes hung in tatters off a wiry frame and his feathers were heavy with grease and dirt.

Or is my weakening body just making them feel heavier? Screech thought to himself.

He paused under a tree to catch his breath, gazing up through the leaves to see the light of a setting sun passing through them. He hadn't stopped running at all that day, the first time in at least a week. He regretted it immediately. A wave of exhaustion hit and the world went black for a moment, forcing him to sit. It took everything not to pass out right then. Only this time he thought the feeling was different, like he could close his eyes and never wake up.

Maybe I could let myself drift away peacefully, he thought. That wouldn't be so bad.

He shook the dark idea from his mind, only to have another take its place. What if the orcs were closer than he realized? Screech felt the panic attack welling up inside and attempted to push it down to no avail. He began to hyperventilate, trying to find a proper breath, but it felt like there was a weight sitting on his chest that was blocking air from getting into him. His vision was blurry and his ears rang as if a bell had been rung inside his head. He started to cry, pulling his knees tight to his chest, holding himself and waiting for the feeling to pass. Screech's mind drifted to his friends; Dew, the love of his life, and Knick, his best friend. What he would give to see their faces again, happy and without care as he liked to remember them. But the thought was quickly corrupted by the truth.

They were both dead, butchered when two orcs attacked them in the dark one night. The three of them had been resting around their fire, reading out words from a book that each and every ravenfolk carried. The gods had taken not only their flight, but their ability for proper speech as well. The Raven Lord was the chosen god of worship for the ravenfolk, who took pity on them and provided them with the means to bypass this part of their curse. They could not use their own language, but were allowed to mimic those they heard. Any words they wanted to remember needed to be written down, and each night they'd sit and recite them out loud to each other to put the curse at bay for another two weeks, the clock reset.

That was a month ago. Screech had managed to escape death, but the orcs had stolen his book and his belongings, and relentlessly chased him deep into the forests. He was lost and alone, far from civilization, and now his body was like a prison to him. He was unable to speak a single word, even to say the names of his deceased friends. His body did not obey, no matter how hard he tried.

Say something, he pleaded internally. Please.

Nothing came out.

Screech sat under the tree for a time to gather what little strength he had left. He was starving. He needed to pull himself together and forage for something to eat, but his body felt like it was made of heavy metal with every movement.

The sky had darkened when Screech found the will to move again. He got on his hands and knees and began to crawl around in the dirt as he scoured for insects to consume, looking under rocks and in rotten logs. He dared not make a fire and ate whatever he found raw. He had never eaten insects before all this, and did not know how to hunt small game; ravenfolk cultivated mostly fruits and berries. But there was no other option during these hard weeks.

Ants were the most tolerable. They were so small they hardly had a taste when eaten one at a time, though they didn't do much in the way of filling him. Slugs tasted awful. When he ate them the texture made him gag, but he pushed them down. He imagined it might feel the same as biting into a fresh tongue. Lastly there were always plenty of wood beetles to be found, but the way their bodies crunched and their thick blood spread across his tongue made him cringe. Screech ate what he could stomach and stopped when he came close to being sick, standing again with the help of a tree.

Now he was thirsty. He had gotten by enough with finding small streams and drinking rainwater as it fell from the leaves, but it had been two days since the last rains had come. Screech's legs shook underneath as he began his hunt for water.

He walked slowly, listening to the different chirps and warbles of birds in the trees, the light wind that made branches sway above, and the sounds of small ground critters running around and chittering at each other. He thought about how beautiful it would all be if he wasn't terrified. After a bit of time Screech heard the hopeful sound of running water.

He persisted. I'll get myself a drink, find someplace to hide for the night, and sleep until dawn. The thought of sleep filled his chest with dread. He felt like he had one foot in the grave, and he worried that if he closed his eyes he might not open them again. At least that would be better than what the others got. To slip away in my sleep instead of cut to pieces.

The sound of water grew louder as he neared its source. This was no mere stream.

Screech climbed one last small hill to find a large river splitting the forest with rocky banks on either side. He silently celebrated, thankful that at least something had gone right. He was sure he could follow the river to some sort of settlement starting tomorrow. For the first time he felt hope that his plight might soon be over.

The sky began to darken further as clouds rolled in overhead, and he felt the air beginning to cool. There was likely to be another rain.

The river didn't seem to be moving very quickly, but Screech worried it could still easily pull him away and drown him. His childhood fear of being swept up terrified him nearly as much as the thought of the orcs finding him. He kneeled on the edge and scooped up handfuls of cold water, slowly drinking mouthful after mouthful until he was sated, before cleaning some of the grease and dirt from his feathers. He would need a proper bath, but in the end he felt better.

He moved back and sat on the bank, watching the river flow by smoothly. He felt peace as he listened to the calming sound it made, his mind more tranquil than it had been in a long time. He closed his eyes for only a moment, and. . .

Screech awoke with a jump to wood snapping and heavy footfalls. He had fallen asleep, and now most of the daylight was gone; it would be completely dark soon. There was another crack followed by a curse from a deep voice in a familiar, guttural language.

The orcs were close.

He was running for the trees before he knew it. It was as if his body had taken control for itself, the tiredness gone, replaced with panic and a pounding in his ears as adrenaline filled his body.

One of them shouted in orcish and the chase was on. Screech dared not look back, knowing they were close behind by the sound of deep ragged breaths. Their strained breathing made them sound like monsters, something akin to feral beasts. He ran as fast as possible in the dwindling light as rain began to fall. Lightly at first, before quickly becoming a downpour. The last remnants of light faded away and now he was running blind, unable to see in the dark like the orcs could. He hoped the rain and uneven terrain would slow them down and enable him to find a hiding spot.

Screech slid under a log and cut to the left, hoping to lose them. There was a loud crash of metal and an angry curse, and he thought maybe this was the right plan after all.

Then Screech's foot found a root in the dark that his eyes could not. With all momentum forward he couldn't stop himself. He fell, and felt his ankle twist and the bone shatter. They were thin already, but malnourishment had weakened them. He lay on the ground in shock, ankle screaming in pain as he heard the footsteps getting closer in the dark. Screech could feel the way his foot now bent at an unnatural angle without even seeing it. He would surely die here.

Desperately, he sat up and began to pull at the root. Pain reverberated up his leg and through his entire body with each movement. With a final effort he grabbed his foot and twisted it free from beneath the wood. The pain was so intense he would've swore if not cursed into silence. He clawed at the ground, pulling himself away, hoping to find somewhere to hide.

He couldn’t see the slope.

It was impossible for Screech to count the amount of things he hit on the way down. Rocks, roots and bushes. With each roll he gained more speed until he was nearly bouncing to the bottom. The breath was knocked from him halfway down, leaving him gasping and whimpering for air when he finally came to a rest at the base of the hill. The adrenaline was wearing off. It was still making his heart beat hard and fast, but every pump made his body throb in pain.

He started crawling blind in the dark, dragging himself desperately through mud. Behind him he could hear furious yells that turned into an argument. When the voices began to move away he knew he had escaped them. Screech crawled until the adrenaline wore off and he fell still in the darkness, body aching everywhere. It wasn't just the ankle, or the tumble, but all the stress of the last month at once.

The rain began to sap the heat from his body. He had no energy left to move, and it was very cold. He found a sort of comfort in it as he felt himself going numb.

Screech closed his eyes, and wondered one last time if he'd wake up again, before exhaustion consumed him and he fell unconscious.