Guardians of the Hex

Every night for the past month, no matter what Mialtros read, did, or ate; she had the exact same dream.

People being massacred. Towns bursting into flames. A cat pinker than the dawn looming over her.

'Be my Guardian Mialtros Sethelbree.'

Those words were repeated endlessly. It kept going after she was awake too. The chanting and images just wouldn’t cease!

It was getting so bad she was forgetting things. Yesterday, she’d let the hogs out of the pen. She ran around three hours trying to round them all up again. Pa had been so furious; he’d sent her to bed without supper.

Hoping it would stop the pleading, as she curled up to sleep last night, she’d finally screamed she would be the cat’s Guardian.

It hadn’t stopped the dreams. If anything it made them worse. Now the cat was claiming they must protect the world. Such was their duty as “Guardian and God of Creation.” It said it wanted her to meet it as it came up the Mitalhorde waterways.

Slipping on her coveralls, snapping the buckles shut, Mialtros wondered who this supposed “God” thought she was. The Mitalhorde was three days ride from here. No way Ma would let her go that far without a reason.

Especially in planting season.

Those d**n dreams would have to wait.

The farm needed tended to more than the world.

Something had torn the mills apart while she’d been chasing pigs across Daldaria. The stone and harness had gouges in them.

Claw marks Dad had said. Probably bears.

Nothing a good patch and some sap couldn’t touch up. The family would run into town to get the materials.

Dad had asked her to start rebuilding the perimeter after tending to the animals. If she worked fast enough, she’d get done before supper.

Gathering the slop bucket from the wall, wriggling into her boots, Mialtros clambered out the window. She wasn’t about to listen to Mom fussing at her again for carrying the “slime ridden contraption” through the kitchen.

Their house wasn’t much to go through anyway!

A single room hut and the land tucked near the river in Mitalhorde valley was all they owned.

Four animal pens, a field of berry bushes, and two mills of stone. Built in a circle around the hut, connected to the river by tiny channels. It gave them all they needed, so she was happy to call it home.

Hopping to the ground from the compost pile, she drug some into the pail. The hogs were picky. They’d only eat the slop that came from the top layer. She supposed anything under the fresh pickings would be awful mushy.

Rounding the corner, she sloshed the goop into the trough, giggling as Barthel pushed Mayni out of the way for an apple rind.

Petting the hog’s backs, twisting fur between her fingers, Mialtros wondered if she should bring her dreams up to her family. Grandma was always telling yarns about the old Gods. Maybe she’d know what to do.

She knew she should have said something sooner, but…she didn’t want to be a burden. They were just silly dreams. There was so much work to do, trying to make a remedy now would be way too much work.

Still…part of her wished it true. If this God of Creation did exist…maybe…

Branches snapped. The hogs squealed and started fleeing. They smashed right through the gate, wading into the river.

Mialtros thought a bird scared them. For as big as they were, hogs were mewling babies.

She turned and felt her blood freeze.

Skulking out of the water, three flickering forms came. Curved muzzles. Veined eyes. Four legged, eight legged, one with no legs at all. Paws clawless but heavily padded. Starry pelts soaked in blood. Fangs long enough to put grain sickles to shame.

“That must be what tore the mills up.”

Heads snapped in her direction. Mialtros swore and tossed the bucket at the beasts. Teeth glimmered as the beasts tore it piece by piece. She leapt over the fence. She hadn’t meant to speak! It burst out before her brain could catch up to reality.

Spitting metal, the creatures brayed. Gurling echoes. Chilling her spine as she dove behind the mill. Pulling her knees to her chest, Mialtros tried loosening bricks from the bottom slab.

No earthly creature could make such a howling. What the h**l were they!?

A voice echoed in her head.

'Reconstituted matter. Must be from a swamp. Those beasts are ever so ugly.'

Hallucinating. She had to be hallucinating.

Floating on a puffed cloud of…jelly or something, was the pink cat from her dreams.

'You aren’t dreaming. At least I hope not. I would hate having to share your dreams.'