Prologue
The old man drew in a deep breath, inhaling the intoxicating fumes of whistling powder. With his exhale came a relaxed and lucid expression and smoke pinkish with blue accents. The old man briefly fell into a deep sleep. The little boy noted he had increased the usual amount of powder in the ceramic keg steadily over the last few weeks. The little boy was worried for the old man but the scars and bruises on his back held his tongue against voicing his concerns. The whipping the previous day had been particularly memorable. The boy had ventured once again towards the forest following the soft whispering calls. Before he had successfully broached the edge of the thick forest, the old man had found him.
The calls had been increasing in duration over the years. First they had started as a slight murmur on the wind, their call heard by no one but him. When he had told Oghona about the calls, the old man had had a pained look and grabbed his arm, pulling him into a tight embrace, trembling slightly he had whispered fiercely that the boy never give answer to the calls. Oghona had promised to give him something called 'name', but since the calls started the old man had decided not to and asking him for 'name' only resulted to more beatings or silent trips to the Amaku river. An occasional gust of dry wind blew into the hut and the boy shivered in the resulting chill. The harmattan had come earlier than usual he mused silently. Cocking his head he could barely make out the annoying chirps of the ugly big head birds that migrated with the season. Their meat usually tough but he had learned how to soften it with some herbs he'd found near the river bank. Later he would take out his catapult and catch one for dinner but he would not give the old man any he decided. A slow drool crept down the side of his mouth as he reveled in his gluttonous thoughts which were halted when the old man broke into a series of dry coughs. The coughs were becoming bad, they didn't usually begin this early in the day. The boy straightened, his little feet padded noiselessly across the mat covering the floor of the old hut. The man was old, the air was old, the hut was old, the trees around them were old, everything here was old. The boy kicked at a lizard as it scurried away from his path, he could bet the lizard was old also. The Old man won't let him go to the village and play with the other children, the old man won't let him play in the forest, the old man wanted him to be an old man too, do old man things. Tears dripped down along the boy's cheeks and he grit his teeth against the pain in his chest. The bruises on his back hurt even more and absently he found his gaze drawn towards the evil forest. The forest was immense, its trees where as tall as the mountains and a certain pressure could be felt from it. The boy day dreamed about what it would be like to answer the call, explore the f...
'Boy'
The sound startled him, the old man had come behind him and was stroking his long grey beard.
'Did you hear me call you boy?' His tone was flat and he had a strange look in his eyes.
Unconsciously the boy took a step back towards the entrance of the hut. He nodded his head guiltily, his little heart thumped hard against his chest. There was something wrong with the old man's eyes, as if there were many old men in there.
'Very good'....'Come here child' bade the voice.
The boy took a step towards the old man and stopped. The old man's features were warped, his eyes had sunk deep within his head and from his head grew things that the boy had seen on the man-mountain goats. His smile slightly obscured by the thick beard, sported strange teeth. Outside the wind had picked up and a steady chill had crept into the hut.
'Come here child' came the voice again, through words rough and mangled by the old man's teeth.
The boy could not move, he stood rooted and words could not escape the sudden pressure on his throat.
The old man who was not old man took a step towards him stretching out an arm..
The little boy screamed suddenly finding his voice against the horror. The sound of his own voice woke his legs up and he fled from the hut.
Behind him he heard an animal bellow that echoed around the hills but he wasn't afraid.
The wind was calling him again, this time he answered
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