The Åströms' Chronicles: Trapped

The last rays of light sank into the horizon, proclaiming the beginning of night.

Varg Åström adjusted the shortbow slung across his back and the sword strapped to his hip, then walked through the village gates, followed by the rare, bewildered stares of those not sleeping—Varg was the only one who hunted at night.

Varg hated hunting.

While he realized the necessity of it—what grew from the soil wasn’t sufficient to feed the village—he still ducking hated it.

He especially despised it when Syvel and his sycophants went into the woods while the sheds were full of meat, just to kill for fun.

Moreover, they used freaking skunda undir to fight animals.

Contemptible.

From the first time Fiske explained to an eleven-year-old Varg the necessity of hunting to survive, Varg decided that he would hunt only at night, to even the odds.

“How does it even the odds if your prey is asleep?” Fiske asked gently, handing Varg his first bow that morning.

Varg raised his eyebrows in an expression that would send chills down others’ spines decades later.

“I’ll hunt only awake animals,” he replied, taking the bow. “Fryktelig Uhyreіs.”

Fiske smiled wider, but Varg’s expression remained solid.

“We can eat their meat, right?” Varg asked without a hint of a smile.

Fiske waited for a second, then nodded.

“Sure. Let’s hunt Fryktelig Uhyreіs then.”

Passersby looked at them, puzzled, but said nothing.

Maybe they thought Fiske was joking.

But they were rather pleased that the little nasker whom Fiske had found and vowed to raise would be killed by the deadliest predator on the island.

Decades passed.

Fiske was long gone.

Varg mastered ikke and was finally accepted as an equal in the village.

Still, the night was the only time Varg hunted when it was his turn, and he was the only one who had slain a Fryktelig Uhyreis.

Slain without using ikke—the odds should have stayed even.

***

Varg slowly advanced through the dark forest, causing little to no noise, following four-claw traces heading toward a small clearing north-northwest.

Varg slowly unsheathed his sword and slightly sped up—Fryktelig Uhyreіs could notice people from as far as five miles, and the only way to survive and get a chance to slay it was to strike first…

What?

Varg froze, looking at the soil in front of him, feeling cold sweat run down his spine.

Another set of Fryktelig Uhyreіs’ traces joined the first one, also heading to the clearing.

Varg slowly stepped back, licking his suddenly dry lips and looking around.

A single Fryktelig Uhyreіs was rare to meet; two at the same time were considered impossible—both to meet and to… survive the meeting.

An icy fear appeared in Varg’s chest and quickly spread to each and every cell of his body, petrifying him.

Varg frowned and shook his head, decisively narrowing his gaze.

There was no way back—the beasts must have already sensed him and would trace him back to the village.

He already was the first and only to slay one Fryktelig Uhyreіs.

Well, now he was going to be the first and only to slay two.

Varg took a deep breath and advanced toward certain death.

***

The eagle circled the clearing, looking at the scene unfolding below.

The elders had promised that his watch would be over soon, as the destiny this human was meant to fulfill was about to unfold.

The eagle winced; the elders were old schmucks for whom “soon” could mean freaking anything.

The eagle perched on the tallest tree to enjoy the spectacle.

***

The clearing was fairly small, yet well-lit by the moon, which—though not full—was still bright enough to highlight every feature of a strange creature.

The creature had a small body covered with dense pitch-black fur and two slowly blinking green eyes with vertical pupils. It looked perfectly relaxed, lying on a rock still warm from the sun.

It was a mid-sized cat.

Well, not for Varg, who had never seen a cat—for him, it was just a small, unknown being that had no idea what was after it.

The other two in the clearing were giant humanoids, best described as slender monkeys, covered with thick, dark-brown, spiderish shells.

Eight glowing circles of pupilless eyes on each of their roughly cut, human-like faces—with never-changing expressions and horrific mandibles—were the last things so many people of the island had seen.

Two Fryktelig Uhyreіs hid in the shadows of the trees, on two opposite sides of the cat.

Varg slightly bent his knees, ready to attack—even though they hadn’t spotted him yet, they would right after they finished with their prey.

Varg didn’t want to admit that the main reason he hadn’t fled yet was that the creature lying on the rock was so adorable, he just couldn’t stand the thought of it being ruthlessly killed.

It seemed he’d have to use ikke today.

After all, two Fryktelig Uhyreіs justified any means.

As if ikke could save him today, anyway.

One…

Varg tensed, ready to spring.

Two…

The first Fryktelig Uhyreіs moved slightly forward, unnoticed by the cat.

Three…

The second one did the same, shifting behind the cat’s back.

Varg frowned: it was quite weird that they were approaching such small prey so… carefully.

Four…

The cat’s ear moved as if it heard something, but it kept lying where it was.

Five.

Thunk!

Varg’s sword hit the shell on the neck of the first Fryktelig Uhyreіs seconds before it reached the cat with its claw, almost hitting the vulnerable joint, and distracting the beast.

Ik-ke!

Varg moved to the side a second before the second Fryktelig Uhyreіs’ jump ended, dodging its mandibles.

Immediately, Varg lunged for its eyes, which the beast easily dodged.

Clank!

The first one, moving at a speed comparable to skunda undir, went for Varg’s neck, but Varg, moving before the attack, managed to catch it on his sword.

Varg fell to the grass and rolled forward, grabbing the cat and rolling again, letting another set of deadly claws swish idly above his head.

Varg jumped up, his left hand pressing the cat against his chest, his right holding the sword pointed at the two Fryktelig Uhyreіs who stood across the clearing, eyeing him.

Varg raised his eyebrows—never before had he seen them wait before tearing someone apart.

It was almost as if they were considering talking, which was also impossible—

“Leave the venn, human.” A voice so high-pitched it hurt Varg’s ears emerged from the first beast’s mandibles without them moving. “We’ll let you go.”

Varg slowly stepped back, having no idea what to do next.

“You surely will—I’ll conveniently lead you back to the village,” Varg retorted, trying to buy some time.

The cat he still held turned its head to Varg, looking at him with undisguised disdain.

The same high-pitched sound emerged from the first beast’s mandibles in the form of laughter, which cut into Varg’s ears especially hard, making him wince.

“You think we don’t know where your village is, human?” The Fryktelig Uhyreіs stepped forward and pointed at the cat. “The only reason we show up anywhere near it is if one of them is near. Leave it and go. You’ll never see us again.”

Varg pursed his lips and prepared to use ikke again.

No way he believed a damned humanoid spider.

Suddenly, something weird caught his eye. Varg glanced at the cat, and almost dropped it.

The cat’s fur became translucent and started shimmering, its pupils shrank into tiny dots, and its claws started glowing white, hurting Varg’s eyes.

The freaking cat was wearing skunda undir?

The cat scowled at Varg.

“Freaking MORON!” A low female voice, curling each vowel as if about to meow, appeared right in Varg’s head. The cat’s voice.

“What?” Varg asked flatly, quickly shifting his gaze from the cat to the deadliest beasts on the island, who slowly approached him.

“You spoiled a damned TRAP,” the cat’s voice yelled at Varg, and she jumped out of his hands, landing on her two rear legs and taking what could easily be mistaken for a battle stance—with her front paws in front of her, claws fully unsheathed.

The glow of the cat’s claws slowly changed from white to blue, causing both Fryktelig Uhyreіs to step back.

Their faces were still frozen masks, but Varg could swear he saw a glimpse of fear in all of their sixteen eyes.

“That’s her…” The first beast looked at the second one, taking another step back.

“Impossible. Brenda’s dead,” the other responded, his high-pitched voice slightly trembling.

The cat—whose face carried the full range of human expressions, which made her look no less eerie than the Fryktelig Uhyreіs—smirked, shifting her gaze from one beast to the other.

“The next time you think you’ve tracked down one of us for an easy kill, think twice.” The cat smirked and suddenly raised her claw. “Wait a second. There will be no next time for you.”

The cat’s silhouette smudged as she leaped toward the closest Fryktelig Uhyreіs, the absolute deadliest creature on the island, at lightspeed.

The Fryktelig Uhyreіs jumped back, shrieking and holding his arm, now decorated with a wide-open wound gushing thick, dark-red blood.

Flabbergasted, Varg looked at his sword, which had never managed to do the same, and then at the cat’s… Brenda’s claws.

Brenda glanced back at Varg and winked at him.

“Will you join, human?”

Little did Varg know that his decision to “save” Brenda—and hers to invite Varg to “join”—had struck up an impossible friendship—one that would last through centuries and give him a chance to save the world—twice.