The First Killer's Gift

This is a fairly old piece of writing I've had tucked away for quite some time. The image of ancient ghosts of extinct animals has haunted me for years, and this vignette is an attempt at fitting that into something.

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Under the pale light of the full moon, a turned-over horseshoe crab struggled to right itself. It twisted left and right, trying to get a grip in the wet sand. Its scrabbling legs reached out into the moist air, finding no purchase. A satyr approached it, though the crab did not notice. With one hand the stranger picked the crab up by its front and flipped the creature over rightly into the sand. If the crab was grateful, it didn’t show it. It ambled off to join other crabs in the gentle waves further down the beach. The satyr sighed. His name was Fennel, and he had come a long way for this.

The beach was quiet, except for the sound of waves splashing against the shore. The crabs gathered in the early summer to spawn, and their soirees could last all night. Careful to avoid stepping on them, Fennel carved circular patterns into the sand with a long piece of driftwood, just out of the reach of the crashing waves. A few times, a jostled crab would wash up against the sigil and smudge it, but Fennel didn’t mind. The spiraling shapes required little in the way of detail and were more a test of patience than anything else.

When Fennel was satisfied, he stepped carefully out of the sigil and sat at the edge of the beach. From above, it resembled the curling helix of a nautilus’s shell. Fennel reached into a pack and pulled a number of small stones from it. Most were small fossils of ancient sea creatures, but a small flint dagger glinted in the moonlight. The fossils were placed strategically at points along the sigil’s curve, until only the dagger remained. Fennel stilled himself. With the dagger, he slashed a small cut along his right hand. The sting of pain was a minor price to pay. A few drops of blood landed on the sigil, and time seemed to stop. Above him, the stars rearranged into the merciless visage of a predator. It did not speak, exactly; it was older than words. Concepts flooded the satyr’s mind.

The taste of blood and the crunch of carapace. Prey darting away just out of reach. A hint of ancient cunning. Eons of stasis punctuated by fleeting moments of lucidity like this.

“Ancient, nameless one. The first killer and the ageless hunter. I beseech you to grant me a fraction of your power, so that I may take my vengeance.” Fennel spoke reverently.

A shadow, looming above. Satisfaction in a clean kill and a filling meal. An offering from the meek to the strong.

“I know the price. I accept it.”

There was no formal contract. There was no need. When dealing with timeless entities such as this, there was simply the truth. The ancient beast wanted for little, but in endless eons it had grown curious. How had the endless dance of predator and prey changed in the intervening millennia? This was, at least, what the stories claimed.

The stars were blotted out by shadows, black on black on black. The smooth, hydrodynamic creatures circled around the satyr, their ancient forms both unfamiliar and recognizable. Predation was the same in any place, in any time period. One of the creatures swam through the air close to Fennel until their eyes met. Two arms stretched out from the creature’s front as if it were a curious dog sniffing something novel. Fennel reached one arm out, and the creature touched it with one appendage.

The world snapped back into focus. The creatures were gone. The glyph had been washed away by the rising tide. The crabs had returned to the ocean, and the sun was beginning to rise. Something bumped against Fennel’s hoof. It was a horseshoe crab. A sensation of gratitude washed off of it. Fennel picked it up, which elicited a feeling of contentment from the creature. Along the shore, glowing outlines of ancient sea creatures swam through spectral waters. Fennel reached out to an undulating worm, which darted away. The ghosts of small shelled things burrowed into the sand as Fennel approached them curiously, crab held somewhat awkwardly in one hand. A little flower-shaped thing seemed to drift in an invisible current, bumping into Fennel as it passed. The sensation was odd, like a chill up the spine localized in a small area. This was not what he had expected. The crab in his hand wiggled slightly, and Fennel set it down next to him as he sat down on the soft beach. He was, just maybe, a little in over his head.