Post by Shadaras on Feb 14, 2008 12:55:21 GMT -5
This was inspired by a comment Kit made about one of the alternate names for a mountain lion. Specifically, the painter. He get a very pretty mental image from that, and that's what spawned this. And if I could find the quote, I'd put it here, but in what little searching I did, I couldn't find it.
Ohyes. Rated T for death and blood and suchlike.
And the ending is weird. I happen to love it, though.
------------------------------------------
“You here to see the Painter?” A brown eye peered through a flap in the door. “If you are, then leave now. I don’t serve the likes of you.”
I had never heard of any painter that lived out here in the country, so I was a bit confused, to say the least. “What painter? I haven’t heard of any painter. I’m just a traveler seeking shelter from the rain.”
The door opened all the way, revealing the man. He was shorter than I was, but his mane of tawny hair seemed to be trying to make up for it. “Come in, then,” he said, stepping back and waving me through. I followed him gratefully in to the inn, shedding my soaked cloak and hanging it by the fire. Glancing around, I saw no other people here. But that wasn’t too much of a surprise. It was night, harvest-time, and raining. Nobody in their right mind would want to be outside right now. Except you, that little voice in my head whispered.
“The name’s Tam,” he said, preempting my question. “Here, take some food.” Tam, who I now supposed was the innkeeper, was holding a bowl out to me. “It’s simple, but it’s warm, and unless you want to wait, it’s all you’re going to get.”
“Thank you,” I said, taking the bowl from him. There was a spoon stuck in some oatmeal, and as I scooped up a bite, I looked at Tam. “Who’s that painter you mentioned, anyway? And why’d you ask if I was here to see him?”
Tam stilled. “The Painter. Our local demon, you could say. When people hear about him, they always want to see him. Always. No matter what. He casts a spell over them, I think. A spell of words, even though it’s impossible for him to be near everyone who hears the tales.”
My next bite was forgotten as I listened to Tam. “Tell me about him.”
“Boy, are you sure about this?” He turned towards me, and his expression was quite serious. “Nobody who’s gone to see the Painter has ever come back. Except me. And I think he only let me live to lure his prey in.” Tam shook his head. “Forget I said that. Nobody believes me when I say that I’ve seen him, anyway. Why should you?”
“I’m sure. Tell me.”
He sighed. “Fine. Don’t blame me if you get killed too.” He pulled a stool over with a foot, neatly hoping up onto it. “So. The Painter. You probably won’t believe half of this, but it will trap you anyway.” He took a deep breath and started talking rapidly. “He’s a cat. He’s a predator. He can, and will, kill anything he gets his paws on. And then he uses their blood as paint. That’s why he’s called the Painter, you see.
“He lives out in the hills. It’s not hard to find him, if you’re looking. He leaves signs for prey to follow.” Tam shivered. “You wouldn’t like them. They’re usually bones, but if he’s killed recently, then there are much more morbid sights. I’m not even going to try and describe them. You’ll see, if you go after him. You’ll see.
“Anyway. He’s dark brown, almost the color of dried blood, but the tip of his tail is black, as are his muzzle and his paws. Of course, some say that he’s pure black. Others that he’s tawny gold with darker tips. But I’ve seen him. I know. Those others.. they haven’t seen him. They can’t be sure.
“If you go after him, don’t threaten him. Don’t try to kill him. He can move faster than we can, and he’s got amazing aim. When I saw him, he cut down everyone with me, but left be untouched, even by a drop of blood. It was the most beautiful sight I have ever seen, and I don’t think that anything will change that.” He glanced down at my food, sitting uneaten on my lap. “Eat. Otherwise you won’t get anywhere.”
I spooned up more oatmeal, waiting for him to continue. But after a few minutes, it became apparent that Tam wasn’t going to say anything else. I finished the oatmeal in silence, but as I put the spoon back in the bowl, the sound of wood on wood louder than it should be, I spoke. “Tam? How much to stay the night?”
“Free, if you promise not to go hunt the Painter. If not, three silvers. That covers this and breakfast, as well as a bed.”
I didn’t answer him for a while. I wanted to go after the painter. I really did. But I was running out of money, and getting to stay the night in a warm, soft, bed for free was a tempting offer. But when I stood, I pulled three silver coins out of my money pouch and gave them to Tam without a word. He nodded stiffly as I passed him, heading for the stairs that led to the rooms.
“A word of warning,” he said. I paused at the base of the stairs, turning to look at him. “Don’t give the Painter your name. He’ll have power over you if you do.” Before I could reply, he disappeared in to the kitchen. I walked up the stairs, taking the first room I found. Tomorrow.. yes, tomorrow I would find this painter he spoke of.
* * *
My dreams were filled with images that almost made sense. A black cat silhouetted against the full moon. Blood streaming down rocks the same way that water would, creating a waterfall of sorts. A dissolving painting of me, one that took away my memories as my body disappeared.
That’s the one that woke me, sweating and shivering. It was still dark, but the moon illuminated my room enough so that I could see that there was nothing there. It took some time to calm down, but I eventually fell asleep again, and this time I didn’t dream.
This time, sunlight woke me. Or rather, the sunlight that shone so brightly, even through my eyelids. I groaned, tried to roll over, and managed to fall off the bed. That woke me up rather nicely. I began cursing under my breath as I untangled myself, and dressed quickly. The scent of fresh bread was an enticing once, especially when I get it so rarely.
When I made it to the common room, I found Tam waiting there, fresh rolls and cheese in hand. “Here,” he muttered, shoving them at me. “If you must hunt that cat, eat well first.” He turned and stomped back to the kitchen before I could reply.
I stared after him for a few seconds. “I wasn’t planning on going until after breakfast, anyway,” I said, not particularly caring if he heard. I set the rolls and cheese on one of the tables before beginning to eat, tearing off pieces of each. I didn’t eat at all neatly. And I didn’t care. The food was good and fresh, the cheese having enough of a bite so that I wanted to eat it with the bread, and the bread just barely crusted on the outside, and soft and warm in the middle.
As I finished, I saw Tam watching me, arms crossed. “So,” he said when I noticed him. “Care to tell me your name, so I know who the Painter’s next victim is?”
“I haven’t told you yet?” I was surprised. That was usually the first thing I did. “I guess the painter caught up more of my attention than I thought. I’m Bennett. Bennett of Star’s Glen.”
Tam nodded, but his expression didn’t change. “Have fun dying,” he said. “Now go, before I do something drastic.”
I stood, leaving the remains of my breakfast on the table. I grabbed my cloak, but nothing else. Either I would die, or I would survive and come back. There wasn’t really any other choice, if what Tam had said was true, and I believed him for the most part.
For all that the sun was out, the wind made it chilly outside, and I could see clouds gathering on the horizon, over by the hills. The hills, where I would hopefully find the painter. A single raven flew silently overhead, dark against the bright blue sky. I shivered, unsure of whether the cold or the feeling of something just not being right was to blame.
But I began walking anyway. It was a nice day, despite the wind, and I was paying attention to everything, looking for the signs that Tam had told me about. I didn’t see any at first, but the deeper I got into the hills, the more bleached white bones I saw lying, half-buried, in the ground.
Most of them were harmless enough; simple leg and arm bones, or animal versions of the same, with occasional hips or shoulders. But then I began to see spines hanging off of trees, the wind making the bones clack and clatter as they hit each other. I tried not to think about what the bones must have come from, or why they were in such perfect condition, barely damaged at all.
I never dared approach close enough to one to see anything more than that it was a bone, and it was leading me closer to the painter. Especially once the hands began appearing, pointing the way I was to go, some with arms attached, but more without them. And all the bones were there. Nothing was scattered at all.
And then there were the skulls. Deer, some with antlers still on them. Human, sightless eyes peering out at me. Birds of all sorts. And even more that I didn’t recognize, all watching me, all of them lining the path I was to follow.
A raven called, dropping down in front of me. I stopped in the middle of the path, frozen. I couldn’t move away from its eyes. It looked at me, stars glittering in its pure black eyes. It shook its head once, and as I watched it, I thought I saw sorrow in its eyes. But then it spread its wings and seemed to disappear into thin air.
I didn’t move for a time after that. I couldn’t move, even if I had wanted to. A bird skeleton was staring at me in the same way the raven had, and I imagined that I could see the outline of the bird there, black eyes still watching me, black eyes still filled with all the stars and sorrow in the universe.
—You can’t escape—
The voice echoed from nowhere, reverberating through me. I broke my eyes away from the skeleton, looking around to see if I could find whatever was speaking.
—There’s no way out anymore—
I began walking forward on the path, taking slow steps and watching everything.
—You brought yourself here—
The forest was thinning, giving way to rocks and stones.
—It is time to pay the Reaper/Painter—
The last two words were spoken at the same time, but they were both perfectly clear.
—You shall die now, Bennett—
Pure gold. That was the first thought I had as it came into view. It was made of pure gold, and it flowed across the rocks, keeping a constant pace. Its form was of a cat, and as it drew closer, I saw the darkness of its paws, face, and the tip of its tail. Bloodstains, Tam had said. I believed him now. This cat, the Painter, was like an angel in his beauty, and he flew. He flew.
—An Angel of Death—
The cat paused above me, and now I could see his eyes. They were beautiful, the same clear green as the best emeralds.
—Yes. That is who/what I am—
He advanced, flowing down the rocks as if he had no tie to the ground.
—Your personal angel, here to guide you to the underworld—
I was frozen again. And then the raven cawed. The raven cawed, and I could move once more. And I moved. I ran, turning back down the path.
—Fool—
I could feel Him coming nearer, the beautiful angel that was to kill me. There was no way that I could see Him or hear Him, but I knew where He was, as if I were chasing myself down the path. The feeling of paws that only barely touched the ground, feather-light, and yet sped me along after me, compared to my heavy footsteps that pounded the earth and still only kept me ahead because it was His/my pleasure to keep it this way.
The bones were still there, still watching. But now I could see their faces and their blood, covering, but not concealing, the white bones. Shining patterns of red covered everything around them, all in circles, all bound together in some way that I couldn’t understand, everything locking and interlocking with everything else.
And then He was in front of me, staring at me with those bloodstone eyes. Red within green within golden fur. Golden fur that, as He advanced, seemed to waver, growing a red-orange sheen of fire. But the eyes, those glorious eyes, burned red-green-blue, and they held me. And I was the eyes. I was the fire. I was Him. He was me.
He/I growled, and I instinctively crouched and drew a blade. He/I just shook His/my head, tail twitching impatiently. There was blood for the taking. I was of no threat to Him/me, after all, with only that little metal claw. The hunters, when they came after Him/me, had larger, more powerful weapons, and they had all died.
—Less than a blink of your eye—
He/I was circling me now, and the voice, which was obviously His/mine, was a quiet whisper.
—That’s how long it will take you to die—
“Then why don’t you kill me?” I was surprised that I spoke, and He/I paused in mid-step.
—Because that would ruin the fun— we purred, our voice a deep rumble that went through our body. The human took a step back from us, his pale face finally showing fear, an emotion that we delight in. We could feel his blood racing, scent the adrenaline that rushed through his body as his muscles tensed, ready to either fight or flee.
We did so hope he would fight. That made everything so much more fun for us, when we could toy with him for a time before killing him.
He moved, and we followed. He ran back down the path we had created, the many creatures watching him spurring him on. We moved, and were in front of him again. —As it was said before, it shall be said again— we said as he froze in shock. —There is no way out. You will die in this forest, alone and separated from everything human—
He turned and ran. And this time, we just struck him down. —Fool— we hissed, clamping our jaws around his neck. —Curiosity kills more than the cat. It is what has killed you— As blood ran out of his neck, I dipped my tail in it, drawing a pentagram, one point behind me, the others evenly spaced in a circle.
As I drew, my fur darkened, slowly becoming the pure black of night. And as I drew the last line, I felt the lifeblood of the human surge through me, the strength and power and life of his body becoming mine to use as I wished. I laughed, and the darkness laughed with me, our laughter echoing off the unseen stars.
I took no flesh from the carcass, but took hold of it by the neck, dragging it deep into the forest for the maggots and worms. In time, I would return for the bones, but until then, the forest could have it, and I would return to my human form and lure in the next kill. Tam, I had named myself. Tam, a name taken from catamount, one of the many names of my kind. But I was the Painter, and that name will be mine until the day I die.
Ohyes. Rated T for death and blood and suchlike.
And the ending is weird. I happen to love it, though.
------------------------------------------
“You here to see the Painter?” A brown eye peered through a flap in the door. “If you are, then leave now. I don’t serve the likes of you.”
I had never heard of any painter that lived out here in the country, so I was a bit confused, to say the least. “What painter? I haven’t heard of any painter. I’m just a traveler seeking shelter from the rain.”
The door opened all the way, revealing the man. He was shorter than I was, but his mane of tawny hair seemed to be trying to make up for it. “Come in, then,” he said, stepping back and waving me through. I followed him gratefully in to the inn, shedding my soaked cloak and hanging it by the fire. Glancing around, I saw no other people here. But that wasn’t too much of a surprise. It was night, harvest-time, and raining. Nobody in their right mind would want to be outside right now. Except you, that little voice in my head whispered.
“The name’s Tam,” he said, preempting my question. “Here, take some food.” Tam, who I now supposed was the innkeeper, was holding a bowl out to me. “It’s simple, but it’s warm, and unless you want to wait, it’s all you’re going to get.”
“Thank you,” I said, taking the bowl from him. There was a spoon stuck in some oatmeal, and as I scooped up a bite, I looked at Tam. “Who’s that painter you mentioned, anyway? And why’d you ask if I was here to see him?”
Tam stilled. “The Painter. Our local demon, you could say. When people hear about him, they always want to see him. Always. No matter what. He casts a spell over them, I think. A spell of words, even though it’s impossible for him to be near everyone who hears the tales.”
My next bite was forgotten as I listened to Tam. “Tell me about him.”
“Boy, are you sure about this?” He turned towards me, and his expression was quite serious. “Nobody who’s gone to see the Painter has ever come back. Except me. And I think he only let me live to lure his prey in.” Tam shook his head. “Forget I said that. Nobody believes me when I say that I’ve seen him, anyway. Why should you?”
“I’m sure. Tell me.”
He sighed. “Fine. Don’t blame me if you get killed too.” He pulled a stool over with a foot, neatly hoping up onto it. “So. The Painter. You probably won’t believe half of this, but it will trap you anyway.” He took a deep breath and started talking rapidly. “He’s a cat. He’s a predator. He can, and will, kill anything he gets his paws on. And then he uses their blood as paint. That’s why he’s called the Painter, you see.
“He lives out in the hills. It’s not hard to find him, if you’re looking. He leaves signs for prey to follow.” Tam shivered. “You wouldn’t like them. They’re usually bones, but if he’s killed recently, then there are much more morbid sights. I’m not even going to try and describe them. You’ll see, if you go after him. You’ll see.
“Anyway. He’s dark brown, almost the color of dried blood, but the tip of his tail is black, as are his muzzle and his paws. Of course, some say that he’s pure black. Others that he’s tawny gold with darker tips. But I’ve seen him. I know. Those others.. they haven’t seen him. They can’t be sure.
“If you go after him, don’t threaten him. Don’t try to kill him. He can move faster than we can, and he’s got amazing aim. When I saw him, he cut down everyone with me, but left be untouched, even by a drop of blood. It was the most beautiful sight I have ever seen, and I don’t think that anything will change that.” He glanced down at my food, sitting uneaten on my lap. “Eat. Otherwise you won’t get anywhere.”
I spooned up more oatmeal, waiting for him to continue. But after a few minutes, it became apparent that Tam wasn’t going to say anything else. I finished the oatmeal in silence, but as I put the spoon back in the bowl, the sound of wood on wood louder than it should be, I spoke. “Tam? How much to stay the night?”
“Free, if you promise not to go hunt the Painter. If not, three silvers. That covers this and breakfast, as well as a bed.”
I didn’t answer him for a while. I wanted to go after the painter. I really did. But I was running out of money, and getting to stay the night in a warm, soft, bed for free was a tempting offer. But when I stood, I pulled three silver coins out of my money pouch and gave them to Tam without a word. He nodded stiffly as I passed him, heading for the stairs that led to the rooms.
“A word of warning,” he said. I paused at the base of the stairs, turning to look at him. “Don’t give the Painter your name. He’ll have power over you if you do.” Before I could reply, he disappeared in to the kitchen. I walked up the stairs, taking the first room I found. Tomorrow.. yes, tomorrow I would find this painter he spoke of.
* * *
My dreams were filled with images that almost made sense. A black cat silhouetted against the full moon. Blood streaming down rocks the same way that water would, creating a waterfall of sorts. A dissolving painting of me, one that took away my memories as my body disappeared.
That’s the one that woke me, sweating and shivering. It was still dark, but the moon illuminated my room enough so that I could see that there was nothing there. It took some time to calm down, but I eventually fell asleep again, and this time I didn’t dream.
This time, sunlight woke me. Or rather, the sunlight that shone so brightly, even through my eyelids. I groaned, tried to roll over, and managed to fall off the bed. That woke me up rather nicely. I began cursing under my breath as I untangled myself, and dressed quickly. The scent of fresh bread was an enticing once, especially when I get it so rarely.
When I made it to the common room, I found Tam waiting there, fresh rolls and cheese in hand. “Here,” he muttered, shoving them at me. “If you must hunt that cat, eat well first.” He turned and stomped back to the kitchen before I could reply.
I stared after him for a few seconds. “I wasn’t planning on going until after breakfast, anyway,” I said, not particularly caring if he heard. I set the rolls and cheese on one of the tables before beginning to eat, tearing off pieces of each. I didn’t eat at all neatly. And I didn’t care. The food was good and fresh, the cheese having enough of a bite so that I wanted to eat it with the bread, and the bread just barely crusted on the outside, and soft and warm in the middle.
As I finished, I saw Tam watching me, arms crossed. “So,” he said when I noticed him. “Care to tell me your name, so I know who the Painter’s next victim is?”
“I haven’t told you yet?” I was surprised. That was usually the first thing I did. “I guess the painter caught up more of my attention than I thought. I’m Bennett. Bennett of Star’s Glen.”
Tam nodded, but his expression didn’t change. “Have fun dying,” he said. “Now go, before I do something drastic.”
I stood, leaving the remains of my breakfast on the table. I grabbed my cloak, but nothing else. Either I would die, or I would survive and come back. There wasn’t really any other choice, if what Tam had said was true, and I believed him for the most part.
For all that the sun was out, the wind made it chilly outside, and I could see clouds gathering on the horizon, over by the hills. The hills, where I would hopefully find the painter. A single raven flew silently overhead, dark against the bright blue sky. I shivered, unsure of whether the cold or the feeling of something just not being right was to blame.
But I began walking anyway. It was a nice day, despite the wind, and I was paying attention to everything, looking for the signs that Tam had told me about. I didn’t see any at first, but the deeper I got into the hills, the more bleached white bones I saw lying, half-buried, in the ground.
Most of them were harmless enough; simple leg and arm bones, or animal versions of the same, with occasional hips or shoulders. But then I began to see spines hanging off of trees, the wind making the bones clack and clatter as they hit each other. I tried not to think about what the bones must have come from, or why they were in such perfect condition, barely damaged at all.
I never dared approach close enough to one to see anything more than that it was a bone, and it was leading me closer to the painter. Especially once the hands began appearing, pointing the way I was to go, some with arms attached, but more without them. And all the bones were there. Nothing was scattered at all.
And then there were the skulls. Deer, some with antlers still on them. Human, sightless eyes peering out at me. Birds of all sorts. And even more that I didn’t recognize, all watching me, all of them lining the path I was to follow.
A raven called, dropping down in front of me. I stopped in the middle of the path, frozen. I couldn’t move away from its eyes. It looked at me, stars glittering in its pure black eyes. It shook its head once, and as I watched it, I thought I saw sorrow in its eyes. But then it spread its wings and seemed to disappear into thin air.
I didn’t move for a time after that. I couldn’t move, even if I had wanted to. A bird skeleton was staring at me in the same way the raven had, and I imagined that I could see the outline of the bird there, black eyes still watching me, black eyes still filled with all the stars and sorrow in the universe.
—You can’t escape—
The voice echoed from nowhere, reverberating through me. I broke my eyes away from the skeleton, looking around to see if I could find whatever was speaking.
—There’s no way out anymore—
I began walking forward on the path, taking slow steps and watching everything.
—You brought yourself here—
The forest was thinning, giving way to rocks and stones.
—It is time to pay the Reaper/Painter—
The last two words were spoken at the same time, but they were both perfectly clear.
—You shall die now, Bennett—
Pure gold. That was the first thought I had as it came into view. It was made of pure gold, and it flowed across the rocks, keeping a constant pace. Its form was of a cat, and as it drew closer, I saw the darkness of its paws, face, and the tip of its tail. Bloodstains, Tam had said. I believed him now. This cat, the Painter, was like an angel in his beauty, and he flew. He flew.
—An Angel of Death—
The cat paused above me, and now I could see his eyes. They were beautiful, the same clear green as the best emeralds.
—Yes. That is who/what I am—
He advanced, flowing down the rocks as if he had no tie to the ground.
—Your personal angel, here to guide you to the underworld—
I was frozen again. And then the raven cawed. The raven cawed, and I could move once more. And I moved. I ran, turning back down the path.
—Fool—
I could feel Him coming nearer, the beautiful angel that was to kill me. There was no way that I could see Him or hear Him, but I knew where He was, as if I were chasing myself down the path. The feeling of paws that only barely touched the ground, feather-light, and yet sped me along after me, compared to my heavy footsteps that pounded the earth and still only kept me ahead because it was His/my pleasure to keep it this way.
The bones were still there, still watching. But now I could see their faces and their blood, covering, but not concealing, the white bones. Shining patterns of red covered everything around them, all in circles, all bound together in some way that I couldn’t understand, everything locking and interlocking with everything else.
And then He was in front of me, staring at me with those bloodstone eyes. Red within green within golden fur. Golden fur that, as He advanced, seemed to waver, growing a red-orange sheen of fire. But the eyes, those glorious eyes, burned red-green-blue, and they held me. And I was the eyes. I was the fire. I was Him. He was me.
He/I growled, and I instinctively crouched and drew a blade. He/I just shook His/my head, tail twitching impatiently. There was blood for the taking. I was of no threat to Him/me, after all, with only that little metal claw. The hunters, when they came after Him/me, had larger, more powerful weapons, and they had all died.
—Less than a blink of your eye—
He/I was circling me now, and the voice, which was obviously His/mine, was a quiet whisper.
—That’s how long it will take you to die—
“Then why don’t you kill me?” I was surprised that I spoke, and He/I paused in mid-step.
—Because that would ruin the fun— we purred, our voice a deep rumble that went through our body. The human took a step back from us, his pale face finally showing fear, an emotion that we delight in. We could feel his blood racing, scent the adrenaline that rushed through his body as his muscles tensed, ready to either fight or flee.
We did so hope he would fight. That made everything so much more fun for us, when we could toy with him for a time before killing him.
He moved, and we followed. He ran back down the path we had created, the many creatures watching him spurring him on. We moved, and were in front of him again. —As it was said before, it shall be said again— we said as he froze in shock. —There is no way out. You will die in this forest, alone and separated from everything human—
He turned and ran. And this time, we just struck him down. —Fool— we hissed, clamping our jaws around his neck. —Curiosity kills more than the cat. It is what has killed you— As blood ran out of his neck, I dipped my tail in it, drawing a pentagram, one point behind me, the others evenly spaced in a circle.
As I drew, my fur darkened, slowly becoming the pure black of night. And as I drew the last line, I felt the lifeblood of the human surge through me, the strength and power and life of his body becoming mine to use as I wished. I laughed, and the darkness laughed with me, our laughter echoing off the unseen stars.
I took no flesh from the carcass, but took hold of it by the neck, dragging it deep into the forest for the maggots and worms. In time, I would return for the bones, but until then, the forest could have it, and I would return to my human form and lure in the next kill. Tam, I had named myself. Tam, a name taken from catamount, one of the many names of my kind. But I was the Painter, and that name will be mine until the day I die.
