Egelric is alone with a nightmare and a nightjar

“Druze!” Egelric shouted again from his perch on a tree stump.

Belsar looked up at him and whined, wagging his tail encouragingly.

“I know you’re here,” Egelric murmured, stroking the dog’s black head. “You’re a good boy, I know you are.”

It had been wrong to take a horse the last time. A horse knew itself for prey. What he needed was a dog – a good, loyal, brave dog. A dog with vicious teeth, and strength enough to take down a man, if need be. Or an elf.

He hadn’t even brought a sword. He had recovered his grandfather’s great knife from Gunnilda and wore it on his belt, and he had the knife Druze had used to kill the horse in his boot. But he felt more at ease without the sword – more like himself and less like a fraud.

The hour was late. The birds and animals of the night had hushed as they entered the sleep between their two awakenings.

It was a month later, and the eye of the bull was already high in the eastern sky at this hour. Now it was the hunter who was breaking free of the horizon, rising after him with his bow.

And if he looked a little higher than these two, from time to time he could see fall one of the flashing tears of Saint Lawrence, even two weeks after his feast day. He had cried much this year. The people said it was an omen of misfortune.

But Egelric’s neck was growing tired from watching the sky, and his body ached from sitting on this stump. The air was damp, and he was growing cold. At this hour, one could already feel the end of summer.

He had called for Druze from time to time as he waited, but he did not expect to see him before now, before the hush of deep night had fallen over the world. Now, when he called, he would expect an answer.

“Druze!” And then he rubbed the whimpering dog’s ears. “That’s right, boy. Druze!”

He waited a while longer. He was considering getting up and walking around the crossroads a bit to stretch his legs and keep himself alert, but suddenly it was the dog who grew alert, leaving his side and walking a few steps closer to the road. It was a dog’s ears and a dog’s nose that he had needed last time.

“What do you hear, boy?” he whispered.

Belsar answered with a rumbling growl from deep in his throat, and he held up his pointed muzzle, sniffing at the air.

“What do you smell?”

He took a step closer to him, but the dog yelped and leapt away from him.

Instinctively he turned to look behind him, and he found himself face-​​to-​​face with the elf.

Druze stalked past him with scarcely a glance and approached the dog. The animal crouched and cowered in terror, but he stood snarling at the stranger, unwilling to leave his companion.

Druze drew a great breath into his dead lungs and spent it hissing, “Go!” to the dog.

Belsar notched his tail between his legs and ran.

The elf turned back to Egelric, who still stood stunned and gasping from both his shock and the stench. Druze took him by the shoulders, spun him around, and hurled him against the trunk of a tree before he could even fling up his hands to defend himself.

“Druze!” he cried.

The elf gasped and chuckled, leering menacingly at him. “What – do you want?”

Egelric had planned out a hundred things that he meant to say to him. But now that he found himself staring into that pallid face and breathing that loathsome breath, he found his mind quite bare.

“How is – my girl?” the elf wheezed.

Egelric clenched his teeth. He would not allow himself to be angered to folly this time. “Where is my son?”

“Ah!” The elf laughed his hideous laugh. “Let’s trade.”

“Never! Where is he? What have you done to him?”

“I?”

“Where is he?”

“Who?”

“My son!”

“He?”

Egelric turned his head and spat. He could taste death on his tongue. “Tell me, I beg you,” he pleaded. “Does he live?”

Druze cocked his head thoughtfully. “Can the dead – die?”

Egelric moaned. “Where is he?”

Somewhere in the trees a lone nightjar awoke and gave its churring call.

Druze scowled.

“Where is he?” Egelric begged.

“Miserable – man,” the elf said, shaking his head. “Where – is its son? If it had – no son – it would stand – and fight. If I could – hurt it – it would cry – like that maid. It would beg – and plead. You would – like that.”

“What do you want?” Egelric asked, nearly sobbing. It was more horror than he could bear. The creature stood staring at him, never taking a breath until it had to speak.

“The girl.”

The nightjar called again.

Druze grabbed Egelric by the shirt and shoved him aside. But he followed after him, pushing him out onto the road, panting, “I would – kill you – I would – kill you,” as he went.

Egelric stumbled backwards, terrified at the idea of falling at the creature’s feet. He was no match for it – not in strength, not in nerve.

“None – would hear. We are – alone. I could – make you – scream – for hours,” he continued, herding Egelric across the road and into the trees on the other side.

The bird called once more, and its prosaic churr was something to which Egelric’s mind could cling as a sign that there was something more in the world besides himself and this nightmare.

Druze stopped and twisted his face in rage. Egelric could only cower before him as the dog had. “Look at it! Look at it!” Druze panted. “It wants – to die!”

Egelric waited, praying that the bird would call again to reassure him that he was not alone.

The bird churred somewhere in the trees behind him.

“Look at it!” Druze gasped one last time before giving Egelric a shove that nearly knocked him off his feet.

Druze turned and began stalking out onto the crossroads.

“Wait!” Egelric cried, stumbling after him.

The elf turned back to him with a snarl.

“What do you want?” Egelric pleaded. “What must we do to make you stop?”

“It is what – I asked – long ago.”

“Please – you needn’t kill any longer. We never hurt you.”

“You!” Druze began to walk again, and Egelric trotted after him.

“We would help you if we knew what we could do for you.”

The elf spun around and grabbed Egelric by the throat. His fingers tightened with all the force of the hands of the elf warrior who had broken into his house years before and strangled him into unconsciousness so that he might steal his son.

Until the sound of the blood pounding in his ears drowned it out, Egelric could hear the churring of the nightjar as it called and called, awake and alone in the deepening night.