I’m back, y’all! I need to stop apologizing for being gone, work has been insane recently, but your patience has been rewarded. This is one of the best snippets out of my fantasy book so far. For context, Maywin (the main character) and Cory (his dwarvish best friend) are staying at a church in the town of Solzhen on their way to the elvish city of Galvettena. The church is also serving as a hospital, taking care of several burn victims from a recent fire. And here, in the dead of night, we are introduced to the most terrifying creature in all the land of Thrycia: the drekavac.
Cory was barely awake, sitting up and rubbing dirty blond hair out of his eyes. “What’s going on?” he mumbled.
Ignoring him, Maywin scrambled out of bed and into the sanctuary, not even bothering to don anything other than the nightshift he slept in. Elder Odyen was praying in front of the shrine to Teos. Loren was setting a heavy bar over the front door. Maywin ran to the window and looked out to see men with torches filling the streets.
“Will someone please tell me what’s going on?” Cory asked.
“Drekavacs,” said Loren. He tried to pull the boys away from the window, but Maywin shrugged out of his grasp. He could see something. A white shadow was racing through the streets, snarling at the torchlight. It was heading straight towards the church. Loren grabbed hold of Maywin and Cory, and Elder Odyen started praying more loudly.
The drekavac stopped right in front of the window. Its front legs were longer than its hind legs, giving it a sloped and hulking silhouette. Shoulder blades protruded from its back, almost like wings, exchanging prominence as the creature shifted its weight. Its glowing red eyes sent a cold shudder through Maywin’s soul
And then it screamed.
The cry was a mix between a dog howling and a child crying. Maywin flinched. Even Loren was trembling. A thought like an arrow was lodged into Maywin’s mind: would the drekavac try to break down the window? Would it eat them? There were villagers outside—surely someone had a weapon—why wouldn’t anyone kill it?
Eyes still burning, the drekavac turned its back on the holyhouse. It jumped over the crowd of men who still surrounded it with torches and pitchforks, disappearing into the night.
For a while, no one spoke. Loren’s death grip on Maywin and Cory relaxed into a shaking embrace. Elder Odyen uttered a phrase of thanksgiving to conclude his prayer, and then the silence returned. Even the wounded children were motionless in their makeshift beds.
“That’s, em—” Loren shifted his hold on the boys from an embrace to a hand on the shoulder—“that’s a bit worrying.”
“That’s the third attack since the snows left,” said Elder Odyen. “Not quite four weeks ago, they got a calf. And two weeks before that, they wounded a little girl.”
“They got into the village?” Loren asked.
“Not before tonight,” said Elder Odyen. “It’s the repetition that worries me. You know what that means, Loren.”
Loren thought for a moment. “They had a hard winter and they need a new source of food?” he asked.
“One drekavac is a simple omen of death,” said Elder Odyen. “Attacks like these are an omen of war.”
“Or multiple deaths,” said Loren. Grabbing a nearby candle, he went from bed to bed, checking on the burn victims. Elder Odyen quickly joined him. The patients began to stir, the adults saying variations of “I’m alright” and the children finally feeling safe enough to cry for their parents and older siblings. Finally, Loren stopped at the bedside of the old man whose burns leaked out of his bandages.
“Odyen,” said Loren.
Elder Odyen joined him at the old man’s bedside for a few wordless moments. Then, solemnly, he began to sing:
“O Wounded God, who gave our spirits rest
When first we came into this mortal plain,
Upon the death of flesh and bone we beg
That you would give this spirit rest again.”