William had no sense of how long he remained beside the creek after his tears finally faded into hollow exhaustion.
The forest around him seemed suspended in uneasy stillness, bound together only by the whisper of water and the restless chorus of insects. His head throbbed relentlessly, his mouth tasted of dust and bitterness, and every breath reminded him of bruises he did not remember earning. He sat hunched on the muddy bank, arms wrapped around himself, staring at the rippling surface of the creek as though it might offer him answers.
It did not.
Instead, it began to move.
At first, it was little more than a tremor beneath the surface, a subtle disturbance that sent faint ripples spreading outward. Then the water convulsed violently.
The creek exploded.
A towering mass surged upward, hurling mud, reeds, and shattered branches into the air. William barely had time to gasp before a monstrous shape loomed over him, blotting out the pale afternoon light.
It was a thing assembled without mercy.
Misshapen flesh sagged from warped bones, slick with blackened slime that dripped steadily onto the shore. Its body pulsed unevenly, as though something inside it were struggling to escape. Jagged plates of hardened scar tissue jutted from its sides, cracked and splintered like broken armour.
Its head was enormous and twisted, crowned with ridges of fractured bone. One swollen, milky eye stared down at him, unblinking, while its lipless mouth stretched wide to reveal crooked rows of mismatched teeth stained dark with decay.
A grinding growl rolled from its throat, deep enough to be felt through the soil.
William froze.
Fear locked his muscles in place, draining all warmth from his limbs. His thoughts scattered, dissolving into white noise as the creature leaned closer, its breath hot and rancid against his face.
Then it struck.
A massive claw smashed into the ground beside him, shattering stone and sending dirt spraying into his eyes.
William screamed and ran.
He hurled himself into the forest, stumbling blindly through tangled roots and low branches. Pain flared through his ribs and legs with every step, but terror drove him forward. Behind him, the monster followed, crashing through trees and snapping saplings like dry twigs.
The earth shook beneath its weight.
Leaves tore at his clothes. Thorns cut into his skin. His lungs burned as he forced air into them, each breath sharp and shallow.
He fell.
His foot caught on a hidden root, and he pitched forward, striking the ground hard. A sob tore from his throat as he scrambled to rise, his limbs shaking violently.
It was close.
Too close.
Then the forest began to sing.
The sound drifted in softly at first, like wind passing through distant hollows, before growing stronger, deeper, filling every corner of the air. It carried a steady rhythm, ancient and deliberate, layered with meaning William could not understand yet somehow felt.
The creature faltered.
It skidded to a halt, claws tearing furrows into the soil as it swung its grotesque head from side to side. Its cloudy eye darted wildly, searching for the unseen source.
The song swelled.
Thunder cracked overhead.
A vast shadow plunged from the sky.
Wings spread wide, dark as storm clouds, feathers shimmering faintly with pale streaks of lightning. Its cry split the air like a blade, sharp and commanding. It was a crow—yet far more than any bird—massive and terrible, its presence bending the air around it.
It struck the monster's head with brutal force.
Talons raked across corrupted flesh as it drove straight for the creature's eye. The beast roared in fury, thrashing wildly as black ichor sprayed across the leaves.
The crow wheeled and struck again.
Its beak tore into the swollen eye, ripping free strands of diseased tissue. The monster howled, rearing back as it swiped upward with massive claws.
The blow missed by inches.
The storm-crow soared above the strike, feathers brushing the air, then dove again, slamming into the creature's skull and tearing open fresh wounds.
The earth answered.
Roots burst from the soil like living spears, wrapping around the monster's legs and torso. Jagged pillars of stone and hardened clay erupted upward, piercing into its sides and shoulders with sickening force.
The creature bellowed.
It twisted violently, ripping roots apart and shattering stone with brute strength. One massive arm swung upward, catching the storm-crow's wing and sending it spiralling through the air.
The crow recovered instantly.
With a thunderous beat of its wings, it surged back into the fight, striking again and again, targeting the creature's face, its wounds, its exposed flesh.
Lightning crackled faintly along its feathers.
Marrang's voice rose with the song.
The rhythm intensified.
The ground shook.
Vines erupted from beneath fallen leaves, coiling around the monster's limbs. Spikes of earth drove deeper, punching through armour-like scar tissue and anchoring it in place.
The creature struggled.
It clawed and thrashed, tearing free chunks of its own flesh in desperation. More ichor spilled, staining the forest floor black.
Finally, with a deafening shriek, it wrenched itself loose.
Bleeding and broken, it staggered backward toward the creek, its movements wild and uncoordinated. It glared once more at the storm-crow, hatred burning in its remaining eye, before collapsing into the water with a tremendous splash.
The surface churned.
Then it was gone.
Silence followed.
Only the rustle of disturbed leaves and William's ragged breathing remained.
The storm-crow circled once overhead, wings stirring the air, before dissolving slowly into shadow and mist, fading into the forest as though it had never existed.
William dropped to his knees.
His body shook uncontrollably as exhaustion and shock crashed over him. He pressed his palms into the earth, breathing hard, barely able to comprehend that he was still alive.
Footsteps approached.
Branches parted.
A man emerged from the undergrowth.
He carried a carved staff and wore feathers and woven charms that swayed softly as he walked. His eyes were calm, steady, ancient.
He spoke gently.
"Ngaya Marrang."
William looked up at him, tears streaking his dirt-stained face.
"I… I don't understand," he whispered.
Marrang studied him quietly, then spoke again, his voice slow and careful.
Different words.
Same calm.
Two worlds standing face to face.
And somewhere between them, a boy who should have been dead.