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Fèidh's Redemption

© Cederwyn Whitefurr

12th February, 2024

All Rights Reserved.

Authors Note: Fèidh's are (c) Possum, used with permission and thanks.

Part One: Stranger in a Strange Land

In the realm known to the buck's mind, known in its ancient tongue as Talamh, or earth as some called it, he ripped some fresh tender leaves off a nearby shrub and chewed them. One brown-colored ear twitched, shooing away annoying, biting insects as the buck continued to browse the shrub before him. His small, ineffective antlers, denoting his youth, but with the hint of what would come in the future, scraped and scratched at the branches in a mock battle.

Thirst-driving him, he made his way quietly through the forest, drawn almost instinctively towards the swift, clear-flowing stream. Here, he paused, eyes scanning the woods and ears swishing. He remained as still as possible, knowing deep in his mind, that he'd be the most vulnerable when he stooped to drink from the water's edge. Urge overwhelmed instinct, and he approached, then dipped his head and began to drink.

As his lips touched the clear stream, a sudden shiver rippled through him. His steady movements become hesitant, as a tremor rippled through his powerful frame. His ears, which had been swishing away bothersome insects, now flicked nervously as if trying to ward off unwelcome thoughts. In the quietness of the water's edge, the tranquillity of the moment was shattered by the subtle quiver that betrayed his internal struggle, the haunting memories surfacing like ghostly echoes in the deep recesses of his mind...

*

In the shadowed enclave of an ancient grove, where whispers of ethereal magicks coalesced like fog and broke apart again, a sobbing young Fèidh buck was brought in shackles and chains, then forced down onto his knees, his head bowed as he awaited the punishment for his crimes. An ancient Fèidh Elder stood with an air of solemnity, his formal ebony with deep green trim draping his withered form, as he struck the base of his staff on the stone three times, the sound like claps of summer thunder.

Ely's judgment was forthcoming...

“Ely - “ Come the Elder's words. “You are here to be judged by Fèidh laws!”

Ely kept his head down, his tears streaking down his cheeks. He knew he could offer no words, nothing short of death itself, would free him from the guilt and shame his actions had wrought. He expected to die, it was their rules, rules that had stood for millennia...

Raising his staff, the Elder began to chant, drawing on the powers that this grove eagerly provided. Quietly, yet spoken with centuries of wisdom and power, the Elder's words resonated throughout the sacred grove as he spoke aloud.

“Ely Elapus, Clan of the Mountain Forest, so true named, for so you shall reap that which you have wrought upon yourself!”

Being true-named, bound Ely tighter than the chains and shackles.

“For you unforgivable crimes – of which there are many, so truly named are you! By my words, and the roots and sky of Talamh, the whispers of the winds and the will of the Fèidh, so are you judged...”

I deserve death... Ely's thoughts come to him.

As emerald green lightning struck down around Ely, eldritch wisps began to coalesce from the ground, writhing and ensnaring him. Ely grit his teeth, feeling like the flames would sear fur and flesh alike, for so intense was the pain.

As the Elder's voice raised, he brought his staff up between both paws, drawing on the very magicks of Talamh itself.

Ely screamed... he couldn't help it, a heart-wrenching exhalation of pure agony and suffering.

“Mercy...mercy!” Shrieked the young Doe, whom Ely had so cruelly mistreated. “Elder, mercy, I beg of you!”

Rushing over, she grabbed the Elder's arm, breaking the link between him and the magicks themselves.

As the Elder's voice faltered, the magicks became unbound and unleashed, uncontrolled – true wild magicks...

Magicks, capricious and unleashed, twisted and warped the buck's firm As the air crackled with energy and the magickal forces clashed, for amid this turmoil, the buck himself felt himself caught between two realms – one his true self, and the other that which he was fated to become...

Ely's shrieks persisted, as he was consumed by the magicks, his body enveloped in the emerald glow – black flames flickering and writhing amongst the green.

Such was the intensity, that the gathered Fèidh bleated and fled – even the Elder, who glanced over his shoulder, trying to make sense of the horrors he'd unleashed, inadvertently.

For what seemed an eternity, Ely writhed and screamed, until he couldn't scream – he had neither breath nor ability...

At last, the magicks burned out, leaving an otherworldly ambiance behind it, the leaves curled in on themselves and the very ground itself looking like a wildfire had swept over it, what lay on the ground, sobbing and panting, was neither buck nor doe – it was a hermaphroditic being, embodying both the masculine and the feminine within the confines of a red deer's form.

*

On shaking legs, Ely slowly rose back to his cloven hooves, the echoes of the agonizing forced change on his body, still sending pulses and trembles throughout his body as the memories slowly subsided. Around him, the forest, once a familiar sanctuary, now held the echoes of his past, and as he shook himself, he was oblivious to the predator that stalked up behind him...

*

With a low growl, it crouched, its bright yellow eyes filled with an unnatural intelligence. Ely froze like ice, adrenaline spiking through him.

Foolish Fèidh! His mind shrieked. Have you lost all your senses? You know what that is – you heard it, draw breath, and smell it...

Against his will, Ely's nostrils flared, and he inhaled – the scent of the woods, pine, oak, and birch, the decomposing leaf mulch – and that smell...

Wolf...

A sharp whistle, distant and haunting, echoed through the trees. Ely's ears rang with its haunting resonance, a wince force from him. Pacing around him, the wolf held Ely's gaze transfixed, its gaze intense and penetrating, before it circled behind him, then with a snap of its jaws, the saliva flecking Ely's hocks, the wolf padded away with slow, deliberate steps.

“A buck, a foolish buck at that...” Come a quiet voice behind Ely, approaching, stealthy, its footfalls barely making a sound. “Hardly worthy of the hunt, but good work Lycan, you done well.”

Ely twitched at the mention of the word Lycan_;_ to his mind, it sounded like Faoladh – Werewolf – in the common tongue he'd learned from others. Nervously, Ely drew a deeper breath, but the wind carried away the scent of both the wolf and his captor.

“Really?” A low growl of laughter reached Ely's twitching ears. “You think I'd let you scent me, us, from downwind?”

Stay still... Ely's mind commanded his body. Don't even breathe, if you can help it – no sudden movements, you'll get your chance, and when you do – run.

As the midday sun cast dappled shadows throughout the dense Canopus, and the mysterious voice resonated, Ely swallowed nervously, sensing as it closed in and its shadow materialized from the foliage. A grey wolf, bipedal, emerged. Its fur blended seamlessly with the mottled clothing it wore, blending with the dappling from the sun. Ely's nostrils twitched, scenting it at last, then finding the scent of maleness upon it.

It's a... Ely's mind struggled to comprehend, to make the connection, only getting the barest glimpse of this enigmatic creature.

Dressed in attire crafted from earthy hues and forest greens, the wolf moved with silent reassurance, his steps barely disturbing the fallen leaves beneath. A hood covered much of his face, revealing only glimpses of the muzzle and black nose, the muzzle and clothing, bore the wisdom of one intimately connected with the wilderness.

Strapped to his side, was a short blade and a dagger tucked into the belt. Slung across his back was a bow crafted from what must have been an ancient tree, the quiver hanging at his belt, above the dagger, hinted at a skilled archer.

His presence carried the essence of the forest itself – the earthy scent of moss and bark clung to him, whilst a faint scent of pine sap drifted to Ely's nostrils. He seemed a master of the unseen, a figure both wild and disciplined, his every movement careful and considered.

As the bipedal wolf looked over Ely, a mocking smile curled the edges of its furred lips.

“Foolish, careless, and oblivious - “ come that voice, mocking and dismissive. “You be lucky that it was Lycan and I that found you, not...”

Perceptibly, his ears pricked forward as he took another deep inhalation, the glimmer of his eyes widening at Ely's scent. Beside his master, Lycan rose, his hackles rising, dewlaps starting to curl back.

“You're a...” Gasped the wolf ranger. “...a.. Fèidh – yet...?”

Ely twitched, he couldn't help it. His kind, whilst not completely xenophobic, tended to avoid the other races of Talamh, especially humans, as they were seen as 'primitive and savage, a child-like race that was yet to grow and mature'. Ely struggled to comprehend the nature of this enigmatic creature. Was he a friend or foe? Ely didn't know, the answer remained elusive, buried beneath layers of mystery that clung to the ranger.

“Be grateful,” Spoke the ranger quietly, giving Ely a furtive wink. “There are people in the woods who would do you harm...not that I think you're out of the proverbial woods, just yet...”

Ely's eyes widened, he could feel the weight of the wolf ranger's gaze upon him. Around him, the air thickened with unspoken tension as the ranger's words hung heavy in the silence that now surrounded the three of them.

“Be grateful, as I have said - “ the wolf ranger repeated, his tone heavy with warning and guarded intent, as he exchanged a knowing glance with his lupine companion, Lycan. “There are people in this wood, who would do more harm to a foolish young Fèidh – than we will...”

Will? Ely's eyes widened to their fullest extent, and he nervously stepped from one cloven hoof to another, before he froze at a menacing, low growl from Lycan.

“Don't run - “ sighed the ranger, as he looked askance at Ely. “you wouldn't get six paces before Lycan brought you down. Now, are you going to behave – or must we do it the other way? You've interfered in our hunt Fèidh – there's a price that needs to be paid for this. I'm sure you understand, nod once if you will submit – I would prefer this to go that way. Lycan? He wouldn't care – but he would care – if you ran...”

Ely's heart pounded within his chest like a drum echoing in his ears. He had made a grave mistake, and the realization he had done such, gripped him with icy tendrils. As the wolf ranger's words hung in the air, his subtle body language and words filled Ely with fear and trepidation.

As the weight of the forest seemed to press down on Ely's shoulders, feeling the piercing gaze of the wolf ranger and Lycan, both predators in their own right. Ely's chest tightened with anxiety, his breaths coming in shallow gasps, as he contemplated his options.

His instincts, primal and irrational, shrieked at him to run, to flee into the safety of the trees, to escape the impending danger that loomed over him.

His wiser, Fèidh mind, fought back, reminding him of the futility and the ruthless efficiency of Lycan and how he'd be brought down – the inevitability of capture in a cruel, and painful way.

Ely knew his chances of escaping were virtually non-existent, and the consequences dire, that settled like a stone in the pit of his stomach.

As if reading his thoughts, Lycan snapped at Ely, spittle flecking Ely's belly. A deep, primal, aggressive growl come from the large wolf, quickly extinguishing any foolish notions of escape.

“Lycan, down!” Come the sharp snap of the ranger's voice. “Stop tormenting him, you had your fun, now, sit and behave!”

With a low whine, Lycan sat, adopting a broad wolfish grin on his muzzle, tongue lolling as he genuinely seemed to enjoy the game, before he blinked and whined softly, his large yellow eyes growing wide as he realized that Ely was genuinely terrified – that this game had gone way beyond what Lycan and his master had expected. Glancing up at the ranger, Lycan gave him that look, his eyes filled with compassion and concern.

Ely's muzzle opened, yet his tongue felt like it was frozen to the roof of his muzzle. He did the only thing he knew how to do – he dropped his forelegs, his hind legs following, and he lay his head down on the ground before a tremble rippled through him.

“I...” Ely's voice cracked under the tension and fear.

Watching on, the ranger quirked an eyebrow, inhaling the scent from the frightened, cowering Fèidh like it was a fine wine. It was a thought, primitive and primal – from his wolf ancestors, he neither wanted nor shared. With a shudder, he wiped the expression and thought off his muzzle, his ears flattening in guilt and shame, his paw reaching out to touch the quivering stag, freezing as Ely spoke up, his voice a sibilant whisper.

“...surrender - “

TO BE CONTINUED...