Sulfur, Bitterroot, and Silver

Sulfur, Bitterroot, and Silver
by
Joseph Timothy

         The harvest moon stalked low in the autumn sky, stealing furtive glances between dark layers of velvet clouds, and shooting fatal shafts of silver light.  The streets rang with a hollowness of a city gripped in dread and fear.  Leaves rustled in the gutter.  An occasional stray challenged the quiet.  A set of paws plodded through the dark, chilled silence.  Between the heavy scents of garbage and pollution crept the sweet, warm fragrance of kill.  The Creature snuffed the air in disdain.  It owned the streets,- the city.  The moon still hung low.  It would have Its choice of food.  It craved hot blood.  Blood heated by the chase and panic, and seasoned with fear.  It craved the human syrup.
         Ah!  How It loathed the human kind- The Two-Leggins - their pretentious habits, their routines, their dull wits.  How It actually pained with the coming of each dawn- that damn sun,- the cacophony of noise, that bombardment of sound.  Hah!  How they scurried about during the day, like roaches at night on linoleum -their insipid, contaminating presence- their disgusting forms.  But most of all, how It resented, - how It abhorred- the damnable curse of having to take on the shape, to mimic these, - these bugs,- during the day, tolerating all their fawning, their incessant babble.  It ripped through a pile of rags that reeked of their foul stench.  The roar of Its displeasure echoed down the abandoned streets. 
         Where are they?  Perhaps It had been there too long.
         It’s not good to spook the game- The Old One had cautioned, It’s not good to stay in one place too long.
Hah!  But what did the Old One know?  Where is he now?
         Ah, yes.  He had grown lazy,- and careless.  It was in one of those foul boxes that he met his unearthly doom.  It was in that same building where It for the first and last time tasted the Smell of Death.  Every mortal being has some scent or sense of Death which it dreads.  For everything it is different.  To the Two-Leggins, The Beast knew that It was that scent.  But before The Old One’s demise, It never knew that It had reason to dread.  Never before had It known Its own mortality until that dreadful day it tasted that odd mix of- sulfur, bitterroot, and silver.
         It picked up a scent of a Two-Leggin on a waft of air blowing from the downtown area.  It tasted of cigarette tar and alcohol.  In moments It was on a ledge overlooking a pair of sailors staggering down an abandoned lane.  They brazenly sung of bravery, loyalty, and camaraderie.  The Beast licked the thick froth of saliva from the sides of Its jaws,- Oh, how It loved this scenario.  It bounded through the air and landed forty feet behind them, purposely upsetting some cans.
         The two paused in their revelry.  The soused one waited only a moment.  But the other tried to silence him as he regarded the darkness. The Beast could see his throat contracting into a long, hard swallow.  It could hear his heart pump a little faster.  It smelled the sweet liqueur of Fear.
         The two swayed on, though a bit faster.  Only one was laughing and singing, now.  In the dark they swayed from side to side like a pair of glowing embers drifting lazily towards nothingness.  The Beast followed behind with a commanding swagger.  Its neck craned low to the ground, Its great jaws running freely with drool, Its eyes shining a fierce red, like lanterns chewing the night.
         The one supported the other.  He kept looking over his shoulder, his heart running madly.  He repeatedly, - and in vain,- hushed the other and pressed him to move faster and faster.  At one point, he nearly let his buddy slip as his own stride briefly broke.  He stooped to help up his fallen comrade.  The sober man, half turned in the light, revealed his face.  It was a pale, sickly face.  Not that of disease, -but of Fear.
         The scent of fear was so thick in the air, now, that it overpowered the alcohol.  In pleasure The Beast pulled back the skin from Its snout, crinkling Its nose and baring Its teeth.  The pleasure rolled from low in Its empty stomach, through Its wide gullet and over Its longing pallet.  The pleasure wrapped itself in the stench of Its breath and continued to roll low along the ground and echo against the walls until it reached the Two-Leggin's ears in a long, hollow growl.
         The Two Leggin dropped-  he threw his buddy down.  He turned and broke into a clumsy run,- sometimes running on three, sometimes four.  This amused The Beast.  It leapt over the refuse and darted after the prey, shadow to shadow.  It was sure he was crying now, although all It could really hear was the wild racing of his heart, and all It could see was the bright red glow of his body heat, careening and crashing into the cold stone of walls and pavement.
         In two quick bounds The Beast sprung to roof-top level and raced ahead where It awaited the frenzied prey from an eave.  It waited for him to reach the underlying streetlight where he would pause, -they always did.  There the man stopped.  He spun wildly around, hopelessly slicing the darkness with a thin steel blade.  His hair was tousled.  His uniform rumpled.  His chest heaved in great laboring breaths as the artery in his neck throbbed red with each desperate pulse.
         Every muscle in the Beast's body tightened and strained.  Its body held poised and balanced on four sets of protruding claws.  Its tail whipped slow and purposeful.  Its haunches quivered in expectation as It focused on the bare white throat, the protruding red artery.  For both The Predator and The Prey time ticked slow as long drawn out heart beats.  From roof-top to the aorta, four and a half beats- barely enough time for the Two-Leggin to recognize Death rampant, hear Its horrible growl,- barely enough time to draw one final gasp, -just short of enough time for one final scream.
         Its great jaws had crushed the Two-Leggin’s larynx and snapped his neck.  It dragged Its kill into the shadows where It could finish off Its meal undisturbed.  It was careful to consume Its meal whole, lapping the pavement dry, and using Its great paws like a cat to rake up the litter.  -It was important not to spook the game.
         White light silently flashed and smoked on the distant skyline.  Within moments The Beast was scaling and bounding to investigate.  In several minutes It was atop of St. Michael the Archangel.  It stalked the vacant roof top, and swept it with the full intensity of Its preternatural senses.  The silent, stone gargoyles and saints watched pensively over the primitive homes huddled at the cathedral’s mass.  The fall sky now hung with the silent watch of stars and the cold night air stung with the acrid odor of sulfur.  It snuffed in disdain and lowered Its head to lick the stone. 
         With a sharp motion The Beast cocked Its head back and perked Its ears.  Its eyes widened and scanned the rooftops in a wide, red-eyed  panorama.  The muscles in Its haunches and neck tightened, raising the silver-black fur on end from scalp to tail.  Its razor-like talons protruded and seized the brick and mortar, as the flesh over Its snout pulled back from Its red-stained jaws emitting a steam of foul decay, and the low, rumbling growl of displeasure and intolerance.  For It had tasted,- for the second time of Its ancient life, the scent of sulfur, bitterroot and silver.
         Sulfur, bitterroot, and silver,- the three elements of The Hunter, The White Death.  Long had it been since It heard the tales.  Long had It tried to forget the fabled nightmares passed down from the Ancient Ones, -of Elementals, like the Lycanthropes, who came from far beyond the Void, from deep within the Chaos.  Children of the Golden Light, they wore darkness as a cloak, and armed themselves with the Moon.  Throughout different eras they battled the dragons, leviathans, the demons and wraiths that sought refuge in this Realm.  For Ages they guided and fought for these pitiful mortals- Ah, mortality.  The very thought enraged The Beast.  With a full bellow of breath, it arched and bayed the Moon.
         Its ears flinched at an unfamiliar popping sound.  It whipped around only to see silent roof-tops and chimneys, -and the thinning haze of white smoke and red heat.
Ah!  There!  To the right, attempting to hide behind a cold smoke stack- a thin outline of a shape bathed in its own body heat.  The Beast sprung from the church-top and charged the glowing shadow embracing the chimney. 
Hah!  This White Death feared It.  The red glow slid silently from its failed blind.  The Beast licked the suspecting chimney top.  Yes.  It tasted of sulfur, bitterroot, and silver.
         A white blur flickered among the rooftops to right, and headed eastward, away from the thick of the city.  The Beast had succeeded in driving Him away from Its territory and game ground.  But It still wasn’t satisfied.  It raced after the fleeting shade.  It pursued it, building to building, until it vanished over a ledge, retreating into a winding maze of alleys and lanes, leaving a wake of crashing aluminum and glass.  The Beast, excited by the chase and now, hungry for a new taste, charged with increased vigor.  It jumped to street level and eagerly closed distance.  Its jaws dripped heavy with want, Its senses peaked with anticipation.
         Suddenly the night turned white with light and cracked with thunder, each effect intensifying as they reverberated within the narrowing stone walls.  The air turned orange with a burning smoke that gagged The Beast as it rolled down Its gaping throat and gullet.  It halted and howled with indignation.  It was moments before It regained Its senses. It could sense Him, though It could not place Him.  Its ears still rung, and everything tasted of sulfur, and hung with a heavy, red thermal glow.  It knew His breath must be laboring by now.  It knew that soon His sweat, His failed adrenaline, His fear, would soon betray Him.  It silently and patiently moved among the rubble, coiled for the sudden release of a desperate prey.
         It felt the presence of His limb reaching out of the darkness in a silent urgency, no doubt seizing that long awaited moment to break and evade.  The Beast whirled around and charged the shifting shadow, Its mighty jaws reached out and seized the thin metal armor, bearing down and crushing Its contents in one swift movement.  The walls of the narrow alley echoed with an unearthly groan, a splintering shriek.  From the jaws of The Beast fell a pile of garbage and broken bottles. 
         It knew immediately It had missed for in the fleeting instant between Its lunge and the piercing howl, It sensed the shadow tumble through the air overhead and touch down, behind, and heard a quick, thin sound slicing through the air.  It spun around just in time to see His shade seemingly glide away, vaulting up over a wall.  The Beast tore at the shaft, but the burning silver head remained imbedded in Its hind, left quarter.  It licked the wound to check the bleeding, and snarled with disdain.  It tasted of sulfur, bitterroot, and silver.  It bayed the moon once more, in indignation and to let The Hunter know that It still lived, without fear.
         The Beast sprung forward, relentless.  It gave chase for miles, until well beyond the city limit.  The silver now pulsed with heat and pain, through bone, marrow, and nerve, working its way to Its brain.  It howled one last warning before beginning back for the comfort of Its lair.
         It was still savoring Its near victory when a shift in wind revealed a very distinct scent,-the scent of sulfur, bitterroot, and silver!
How dare He pursue!
         Even now, The Beast observed the shadow of the White Hunter moving silently over the countryside.  The Beast turned wide of the city to lose Its trail.  It ran hard and fast, Its pulse pounding, the silver poison ringing feverishly within Its skull.  But The Hunter remained close behind.  Twice It tried to break back to the city.  Twice it was thwarted by a foreboding scent from among the tree line - the scent of sulfur, bitterroot, and silver.
         How could it be?  It turned Its head and strained Its ears.  He was still following behind, chasing clumsily through the brush. A new thought tried to penetrate Its brain, but its thick hide resisted It.  No.  Relief was just ahead.  Reprieve was just behind, just beyond the approaching horizon.
         Finally It paused and tasted the breeze wafting down a shallow wash.  It was a peaceful scent.  It listened behind.  The brush had finally grown silent.  As It came into the outskirts, It smelled the dump.  Within the fouling stench, It picked up a new scent.  A welcome scent.  A scent from earlier in the night.  A thin layer of the odor of cold blood still floated in the air.  It now welcomed this cold animal kill It had earlier rejected.  The Beast was tired and hungry.
         It followed the scent to a discarded carcass of an animal in an abandoned alley.  It lapped hungrily at the cold, musty pool, filling Its stomach and clearing Its head.  The location was good.  The walls on either side protected Its flank.  It could only be approached from the front or behind.  Yes.  It would wait here until dawn, dig out the silver, and dress in some discarded clothes from the rubble.  It would blend among the Two-Leggins.  It would hop a train, a boat, or a plane, and get as far from here as possible.  It would find the Hunter later, on Its terms.  The difference between the predator and the prey, lay in who sets the pace, who sets the terms, who stages the game.
         The scent of ox blood was good too.  It was the densest and best for masking. The Beast glanced up from Its steady lapping.  Yes.  It was good.  It was all over the place.  It covered the cobblestone.  It lay splattered over the narrow walls.  The sticky substance still formed a residue over the sills and railings two stories up.
-It froze.
         It lifted Its crimson soaked head to survey the narrow alley, wide-eyed now.  It studied the high, smooth walls conspicuously splashed with ox blood.  For the first time It noticed hanging from the extinguished light, by a silver, web-like thread, a pail still smattered with blood.  It knocked it to the ground with a nudge. The spilled contents revealed a sprig and an arrow smeared with some orange dust.  Sulfur, bitterroot, and silver! 
         A mock howl taunted It from off in the distance.  For the first time the scent of fear was not sweet, but carried a sickening, repulsive fragrance.  The Beast broke into a three legged run, up the long, narrowing alley way.  Though Its mind was still dimly confused, the way seemed strangely familiar.  Ah, yes!  It would subtly recognize the correct breaks, the most advantageous cover.  But the darkness did not dissolve into emptiness, but solidified into wall.  In vain It tried to scale the stone.  On four legs, It could have easily done so, but now the fourth hung withered at Its side. 
         Yes.  It recognized the place now.  It was only last week when it had ran down a kill into this dead end.  Yes.  There was the stained and scratched pavement.  There the faint shadow of arterial spray on the wall.  Yes.  It too was clumsy back then.  It lowered Its head to taste the ground.  Sulfur, bitterroot, and silver.
         Ah, yes.  Of course!  It was here that the Hunter first tasted his game, and here where the Hunter intended to finish it.  It longingly regarded the abandoning night sky.  The moon had already retreated.  It knew that the void between Moon and Sun would be long and lonely this morning.  For the first time in Its hideous existence it bayed the Sun.  But the sun did not come.  Just the fast approaching sound of charging footsteps, and the ever thickening scent of- sulfur, bitterroot, and silver.
At the sound The Beast howled in protest-Blasphemy!
Its thought emanated as a low course growl-It runs on two legs.
         The form of The Hunter first appeared to the Beast as a glowing ember at the end of the long dark tunnel.  It grew in intensity and size like the approaching head of a fiery brand, bearing down on its mark.  It flickered into a white flame and pressed ever forward with a purpose such as that of that meddling Titan bearing the stolen fire from Olympus, eager to push back the primeval darkness for the hapless mortals.  From deep within Its racing heart, The Beast found an old forgotten hatred, seething with venom.  It roared Its displeasure.
         The Hunter wore no armor nor scale but was shrouded head to toe in white, revealing only cold, gray eyes piercing with determination.  A long sword slung over His shoulder crossed with bow and quiver.  He carried another sword at his side which He now bared, - silver!
          The Beast lunged and swiped at this much smaller frame, but The Hunter was quick.  He moved in and pulled back, his silver sword now tarnished with blood.  The Beast howled in pain as It felt a large gash rip into Its gut.  The pain spread and rippled like a wave of fire.  It lunged again at the white darkness, the flickering light.  Once more He eluded Its terrible grasp.  The Hunter stepped quickly and deliberately within close quarters.  He struck decisively through Its thick hide, - into Its chest.
         A terrible silver flame engulfed the Beast’s heart, the poison coursed through Its every limb.  Its head filled with the sound of Its own pounding pulse.  The world turned red with a fiery glow and seemed to slow with the dying cadence of It’s faltering heart.  The Hunter, too, moved as in a strobe light, pulsating in the same dying rhythm.  His hands released the grip of the imbedded blade and reached overhead for the second sword.  The first light of dawn exploded around the outline of The Hunter, and traced a single golden arc, hissing from right to left.  The Beast’s world silently toppled and rolled.  It saw Its own headless body writhing and clawing the air before tumbling from view.  It found Itself looking up the long, defiant legs of The Hunter, -His gray eyes staring back with an awkward compassion.  The Beast’s sight flickered and dimmed, and the last thing It was aware of, was the smell of Its own blood, and the dying scent of sulfur, bitterroot, and silver.