Wyld Blood

1. A/N: I don't think this one will see RR, but its technically a progression fantasy

The mountain trail was steep enough that at times Halon had to go to his hands and knees to keep ascending. The stony earth dug at tender flesh, leaving faint wounds that wept thin ribbons of red. He kept on without hesitation even as the sun cracked the horizon and spilled its glorious yellow glow across the world. 

Frigid air scoured his lungs but he didn’t despair as he continued his climb. The trees grew sparse, stunted and thin. Claws had dragged themselves across the bark, territorial marking from some large beast. Far below a city sprawled, just beginning to rouse from its slumber. Tens of thousands would crowd the great sky-docks as the nobles descended upon the Imperial Throne. 

They’d see the Blessed in their gleaming armor, grand in the light of the sky and the glory of the gods. The multitudes of pale skinned blue bloods, who’d never had to work under the blistering rays. Those with soft hands and fake smiles as they hid behind silk curtains and murdered with honeyed words. 

And the unwashed masses would cheer them. Them and their priests and paladins. Those who had sworn to the gods. Bowed their heads and gave offerings and sacrifice at the altars. Cattle the lot of them. Nothing more than bags of vitality that the civilized gods drank deeply from and offered nothing more than the barest of bones to feed them. 

It was why Halon climbed. Beyond the reach of the settled lands and high to wear man feared to tread. Where the wild still held sway. It wasn’t the true wild, for this continent had been claimed with steel and blood and magic centuries ago. The wild gods were driven beyond the seas and those who refused to bend the knee had gone with them. 

Halon reached a meadow as he neared the summit. The whitecaps of snow had yet to regain their luster. A hot and dry summer leaving the meadow grasses parched and brittle as the summer faded to autumn. Halon cared little for that as he tramped to the middle of the field. He drank from his water bottle and cursed himself for only bringing one. The climb had been tiring and his limbs shook from the exertion. 

Old books and whispered ritual guided him as he set his small pack down and looked around the field. A knife of onyx volcanic glass was held in a case of velvet, and he carefully pulled it free from its confines. 

Five inches long and triangular, it looked as if it could cut the very air with its fine edge. Rolling the sleeve of his right hand up into a bunch just below his elbow, he parted the skin on his right palm. Dark blood welled instantly, pain distant as the cut was so clean that it took his body a moment to recognize the damage. 

He flipped his hand and let the blood spatter against the dry earth. Watched as the earth drank it greedily and the shoots began to turn green. Power thrummed through the air, the hairs on the back of Halon’s neck rising as he felt something look upon him. 

“Father? I have come to seek acknowledgement!” Halon cried out to the empty field. For a moment there was true silence, even the wind falling quiet. A deer walked out of the treeline across from him. It was thin with its ribs showing and its antlers were only a pair of spikes. It walked across the ground trepidatiously as Halon held his breath. 

Step by step it crossed the ground, all the while keeping its eyes locked on Halon. When it reached him, it bent its neck and ate the grass that had drunk his blood. Ripping it free of the earth it chewed twice and swallowed. Halon cautiously raised his hand and stoked the buck's face, feeling the fur under his fingers. 

It stepped and looked at him. A pathetic wail started to come free and then bones began to snap. Muscles tore and grew and re-knitted themselves. The small spiky antlers grew into a magnificent rack as the deer reared back on its hind legs. 

Where before had been a creature on the verge of starvation, stood something different. It wore the shape of an animal, but Halon could feel the difference. A god sat perched in the beast, puppeting it. 

“Your father could not come. I shall stand in his stead.”