Chapter Text
Tonight, there was no moon. What a shame. Only a sky of thick clouds hiding its glow. The torches barely lit the place, and beyond them, everything seemed swallowed by a dense darkness.
The forest around him was silent, calm, and the wind that bit at his skin carried the scent of burning wood from the torches. His head still throbbed, though not as before, just a dull pain he could bear.
He could feel the ropes digging into the flesh of his wrists every time he tried to move. His cheek still burned, hot and throbbing under the skin, as if the hand that struck him had left its mark there.
Tomorrow there would be nasty bruises, he was sure of that, and finding the herbs he needed in this season would be a pain in the ass. But first, he had to survive this to even try.
✧₊˚.⋆☾◯☽⋆.˚₊✧
He had just finished chopping the herbs when the door of his house was flung open, and hooded men in black stormed inside.
In an instant, he found himself outside his hut, dragged violently with his hands tied behind his back, in front of the villagers who watched without intervening to help him.
They shoved him to the ground with force, bending him onto his knees, while the villagers hurled insults and threw stones at him. He hissed in pain when one struck the side of his head, cutting across his eyebrow.
He didn’t understand what was happening, or why he was in this situation, but he didn’t have to wait long for an answer.
From the crowd emerged a figure, tall and rigid, instantly drawing attention. He was draped in a long, black robe that brushed against the ground, the coarse fabric catching the dim light. A leather belt circled his waist, a rosary dangling from it, and the hood of his mantle framed his pale face like a shadow.
His eyes immediately locked onto him, and he didn’t like the way he was being looked at. He walked with slow, proud steps, chin slightly raised, sparing no one a glance, while the people fell silent, lowering their heads as he passed.
A Shepherd.
The moment he saw him, his blood boiled, fists clenching behind his back and nails digging into his palms until the skin split, drawing blood. His gaze sharpened as he watched the figure weave through the crowd and stop nearby, spitting onto the ground next to him.
“My dear brothers and sisters,” he turned to face the gathered crowd, hands clasped behind his back, his voice ringing clearly among them. “I ask your forgiveness for tearing you away from the hearths of your homes after a long day in the fields.”
He paused, his gaze sliding back to him once more. “But I have learned that in this village there is a soul who has defied the will of our Lord. Even daring to trample the order of nature itself, created by Him.”
He could see how some in the crowd looked at him uncertainly, whispering in confusion. Most of them probably didn’t even know why they were there, just as he didn’t. Yet that hadn’t stopped them before from insulting him—or throwing stones at him.
“Deny what she is, dressing and speaking as if she were a man,” he said, the tone of his voice leaving no trace of the contempt he poured into every word. “A woman who wants to be a man?” He let out a cold, harsh laugh, his eyes flashing with disgust.
“Don’t make me laugh.”
In that moment, he could no longer contain the rage building inside him, unwilling to remain there, silently enduring another minute of torment.
“And you think yourselves better?” His voice cut through the air, sharp, slicing.
“You speak of the Lord’s will while using His name to serve your own ends! There is no God in your actions, only arrogance—” A sudden, searing pain erupted across his cheek as the metallic taste of blood filled his mouth.
The shepherd spun around with violent speed and, without hesitation, struck him with a stinging slap that made his head snap. “Silence, filthy woman,” he growled, his voice thick with fury and contempt.
“Look closely, brothers and sisters!” He turned to the crowd, raising his voice so that all could hear.
“This woman dared to raise her voice against a man of God and had the audacity to accuse me of sin.” His gaze fell upon him, cold and razor-sharp. “This is an outrage. A woman who dares to speak, who dares to defy the will of the Lord, cannot go unpunished.”
The crowd nodded, drinking in his words as if they were water, while the shepherd, with a slow, deliberate motion, gestured to two men dressed in black. “Hold her. Do not let her move.”
“Wha—” They grabbed him by the shoulders, pinning him in place. “Let me go!” He struggled, twisted, tried to pull back, but there was no way to free himself, as he watched in horror the shepherd grab the dagger another man in black handed him.
He caught a glimpse of an emblem engraved on the blade. Where have I seen that before?
“This…" he whispered, leaning closer. "…will teach you what happens to those who dare insult me.”
The metal of the blade brushed against his cheek, cold and sharp. A shiver ran down his spine, sliding slowly along his neck, down to the collar of his shirt. With a single, clean stroke, the fabric was cut, revealing the chest wrapped beneath the bandages.
“Well, look at this.” He said, whistling, pressing the blade against the covered chest, tracing its shape.
“The Lord has blessed you with such a precious gift. I’m sure you would have made a fine mother, or a fine wet nurse. And yet? You hide a breast that could have given life, nurtured, raised the Lord’s offspring. What a pity, a real pity.” The shepherd smiled, mocking his body in front of the crowd.
“Tell me… do you still stubbornly deny what you are, now that everyone sees the real you, Joanna?”
John froze instantly, his breath catching in his throat as his eyes widened in disbelief.
Joanna.
No one was supposed to know—No one.
He had left his family, his village, precisely to abandon his old life. That day, under the relentless rain beating down on him, with a handful of money and his medical books, he buried Joanna, and John MacTavish rose in her place.
Here he had built a new life, known by all as John the apothecary; the man who came from a distant village to help people with his knowledge.
Only John.
His stomach twisted in on itself, bile rising to his throat. “How?” he managed to rasp, swallowing the knot in his throat, his eyes burning with fear.
The shepherd laughed in his face, taking in his shocked expression. “The Lord’s path is great; He sees everything, and hears everything.” He tilted his head to the side, applying a light pressure downward with the blade, letting it slip along the edge of the bandages, tearing the fabric, revealing the split of the chest.
“And as His servant, nothing is hidden from my eyes. Especially…” He dragged the blade along the bare skin of the chest. “…a body like this.”
John shuddered, not from the cold touch of the blade on his skin, but from the shepherd’s gaze. There was nothing innocent in the way he looked at him, in the way he studied his body, and it disgusted him, imagining what the man could possibly be thinking.
"Fuck yourself," John snarled at him, struggling to shake off those filthy hands on him.
"A sharp tongue," he hummed with satisfaction, glancing behind him at the people watching them.
"But don’t worry, the Lord is merciful to all," the shepherd raised his voice to reach the crowd again. "And He will forgive all your sins, if you choose to repent."
His tone had shifted, softer, compassionate, as if trying to convince him he spoke for his own good. But to John, it felt like he was addressing the crowd more than him.
And he had a bad feeling about this.
The shepherd leaned forward a little more, a filthy smile on his face, licking his lips as he whispered to him. "Maybe I could forgive you, if you used that mouth in a more… useful way."
John just lifted his chin slightly and spat in his face. "I’d rather fuckin’ die than suck yer limp shite cock.” If he wanted an answer, that was it.
The spit slid down the shepherd’s cheek slowly, while he stood still, lips pressed tight, his gaze darkening. The crowd around them fell silent instantly, as the shepherd wiped himself slowly, staring at him with an unreadable expression.
"So be it." That was all the shepherd said, as he turned back to the crowd.
“My dear brothers and sisters, I ask you to forgive me once more. I believed there was still hope for her.” He pressed a hand to his chest and lowered his gaze, his voice thick with false sorrow. “I told her I would forgive her for everything, but she rejected my hand, spitting on my mercy.”
What? John stared at him, stunned. “THAT’S NOT TRUE, YOU—MPHHH!” A hand clamped over his mouth with brutal force, silencing him.
“Shh,” hushed the man holding his mouth shut. “The shepherd hasn’t finished yet. And besides…” A flash of satisfaction crossed his eyes. “…no one wants to hear the words of a filthy whore.” The other man at his side burst into laughter.
“If she does not wish to be saved, then we shall condemn her.” He stepped forward and pointed a finger at the crowd. “You, who have been deceived by this heretic, what punishment does she deserve for her sins?”
At first, John thought for a fleeting moment that the villagers would not do anything so extreme to him, clinging to their good faith. The same faith the townspeople had when they welcomed him with open arms, the faith they placed in him when they knocked on his door seeking help.
But by now, he should have known; that faith would be his doom.
It started as a soft murmur, a simple whisper among them, some asking, some suggesting, and then a spark turned to flame, and everything ignited in an instant.
"Hang her!" someone shouted. "Burn her!" another screamed. The words became roars, many of them grabbing torches, their faces contorting with rage and hatred.
John swallowed with difficulty, tasting the bitter leather of the glove pressed against his mouth as he watched the crowd grow restless.
Those who only yesterday had called him a golden boy for his deeds. Those to whom he had given medicine and remedies without ever asking for anything in return. Were now raising torches, shouted insults, and demanding his death.
“There,” the man sneered, pulling his hand away from John’s mouth and giving him a harsh pat on the shoulder. “Now you can speak.”
At that moment, John felt a knot form in his throat, larger, heavier than before, and it stuck there. He stared at the people before him, but the faces he saw were no longer familiar.
Among them, he spotted the old lady who had once thanked him for the medicine that soothed her back pain. Now she spat hatred at him, every word dripping onto his skin like poison.
He saw the boy who had brought him firewood in winter, to thank him for treating his mother. Now he stood beside her, torch in hand, suggesting crueler ways to punish him.
And hidden behind her mother’s skirt was the little girl who had once looked at him with admiration, offering him a flower. Now her eyes were cold, distant, as if he were a stranger.
The same village that had once given him a place had now turned its back on him, and the pain of betrayal sank deep into his chest like a burning blade.
With a hint of bitterness that made his throat go dry, he understood that no matter what he said, it wouldn’t make any difference.
Because there was no one left, anymore, who would listen to him.
“LET’S SACRIFICE HER AT THE ALTAR!”
A voice rose above all the others, cutting through the noise, and suddenly everything went quiet again. “Tie her to the altar, and offer this witch to the old deity!” A young man stepped forward, pointing toward the woods beyond the village.
John watched them whisper among themselves. “To the spirit of the forest?” one asked, his voice incredulous. “She’s not even worthy of the divine beast,” another said, laughing with his friends.
Old deity, spirit of the forest, divine beast. John heard them call him by many names, but there was only one that was spoken more than the others.
The Ghost.
“Hm, he’s right,” said another man, bringing a hand to his beard and running his fingers through it. His clothes were still stained with dirt and mud, and his hands were covered in cuts and calluses. At a glance, it was clear he was one of the farmers.
“The solstice is nearly over,” he continued in a low voice, his gaze lost in the void. “And with the trouble we’ve had in the fields, along with the livestock, we have nothing left to offer.”
“But…” He stopped, glancing at the people around him. “…will it accept this kind of offering anyway?”
The villagers exchanged brief looks; some murmured, others remained silent. As if the very idea of giving the wrong offering and drawing the wrath of this Ghost upon them was holding them back from making a choice.
Not that he would complain, if it meant not being gutted like a lamb for some stupid fucking tradition.
The shepherd saw how the crowd was pondering, turning the matter over in their minds, hesitating on what to do. He didn’t have all that time to wait for them to decide, and he seized the silence to speak.
“My brothers and sisters, why do you hesitate?” he asked, his tone curious, raising an eyebrow. “The old deity will be more than delighted to receive as an offering a sacrifice of such significance.” His voice softened, and a small smile curved his lips. “This sinner will redeem herself by giving her life for the good of the village, and there is no nobler act than that.”
“In doing so, her soul will be purified of sin, and the village will be saved.” He spoke while slowly spreading his arms toward the crowd, like a father embracing his children, comforting them, keeping them safe.
And that, it had its effect.
The shepherd watched them in silence, his gaze moving over the crowd as, one after another, they began to nod. He was amused, seeing how easily he had bent them to his will, and how naive these pitiful villagers truly were.
“Good.” He turned toward the men still holding John pinned to the ground, and with a slight nod, gave the order they had been waiting for.
John felt something hard strike the back of his head, a sharp pain burst inside his skull, and the last thing he saw, before the darkness swallowed him whole, was the shepherd’s smile.
✧₊˚.⋆☾◯☽⋆.˚₊✧
“Ugh…” John opened his eyes slowly, hissing from the throbbing pain in his head, a dull but constant ache hammering at his temples. He felt uncomfortable, aware that he was lying on something hard and cold, but couldn’t make out what it was.
What… happened? He felt dazed, remembering nothing; everything was so vague and a little confusing. Judging by the pain in his head, he’d probably drunk too much again, and must have passed out somewhere outside his garden.
Next time, he wouldn’t let Luke and his wife convince him to try their eight-month-old apple cider.
He squinted; his vision was faded, turning everything into blurred, indistinguishable shapes. It took him a few seconds to figure out where he was and what was around him.
And he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t more than a little unsettled by what he saw.
There were torches stuck into the ground, their flickering lights casting shadows around the place, swallowing the forest behind them. He could hear a murmur from afar, indistinct, mingled with the pounding beat of his own heart.
He tilted his head toward the sound, trying to listen more closely, and it wasn’t long before a voice became clearer.
“Well, would you look at that… Our little lamb has finally woken up.” The shepherd approached him, slow and calm. “Sleep well?”
In that moment, seeing his face, everything that had happened came flooding back. The village, the humiliation, the betrayal. It all surged at once, and his head began to throb again. Not from pain, but from rage.
"Haud yer wheesht—" He lunged forward to get up, but felt a pinch around his wrists pulling him back. “What the hell?” He looked up and saw he was still tied.
Great. Tied up again. He huffed, annoyed.
“It’s useless to struggle, little lamb,” he said, his voice calm, amused. “You’ll only hurt yourself, and I don’t want the goods to get damaged.”
Goods? John raised an eyebrow at the word. What the hell is he talking about?
“My Lord was very clear about wanting you, you know?” The shepherd began to circle him, tilting his head slightly, watching John with satisfaction.
John followed him with his eyes the entire time, until he stopped, just a few steps from his feet.
“And now I understand why.” His gaze slid from John’s face, slowly tracing down his body, humming to himself, savoring what he saw.
John followed his eyes, and in that instant a shiver ran down his spine. What he saw made his blood run cold.
He no longer wore the shirt that had been torn from him, and his worn-out pants were gone. In their place was a simple white robe, leaving his shoulders bare.
The open neckline revealed the lines of his chest, naked and free from the bandages that had hidden their shape. The skirt was long but split on both sides, showing the upper part of his legs.
Instinctively he tried to cover himself, but tied as he was, it was impossible.
“Ye fookin’ hog!” He rasped with rage, trying to kick him in the face. But the shepherd stepped aside with a smile, effortlessly dodging the blow. ”Ah swear Ah’ll slit yer throat like a fookin’ hog at the slaughter!”
“Big words for someone tied to an altar.” A mocking smirk twisted his lips. “But I forgive you, my dear little lamb. You woke up in a place you don’t know, wearing different clothes, so I can’t blame your reaction.”
“You sick bastard.” John spat, pulling on the ropes harder than before, so hard that they bit into his flesh, tearing it open."How the fuck did you think I’d react? You put your filthy fucking hands on me while I was unconscious." Blood began to trickle slowly from his wrists, but he didn’t care much at that moment.
“Uh-uh, you’re wrong about that.” The shepherd lifted his finger, shaking it slightly in a scolding gesture, as if he were correcting a child. "I didn’t undress you myself, but one of the village women did it.”
"If I had done it, my Lord would never have forgiven me if He knew I had touched you, or..." He moved again, circling around until he stopped at John’s side. He leaned slightly forward, his fingers resting on the edge of the altar, right beside John’s hip. "...admired your body."
John pulled away as much as he could, refusing to be touched, his glare burning with hatred. "I hope you rot in hell, along with that fucking Lord of yours you worship so much."
“Rot? What nonsense.” The shepherd laughed again, a short, hollow sound, stripped of any warmth, then straightened to his full height.
“There is no hell for those who serve the will of our Lord, only for those who commit acts of sin. And you, my dear, have committed the greatest sin of all, by rejecting Him.”
Rejecting Him? John looked at the shepherd, and the more the man spoke, the less any of it made sense. What was this talk about ‘rejection,’ and the ‘goods’ he had mentioned earlier?
Inside him, there was this feeling, a small voice whispering that this ‘Lord’ the shepherd kept talking about wasn’t as abstract a figure as he had first believed.
Something isn’t right here.
“Now then,” he clapped his hands, almost amused by the way John flinched. “As much as I’d love to stay and watch,” he said, his tone almost courteous, “I’ve got other matters to attend to. But I’ll make sure to pay you a visit later, once my Lord is done with you.”
He turned, throwing him one last look. “I wish you a pleasant night, Joanna.”
“HEY! UNTIE ME, YOU FUCKING SON OF A BITCH!” John struggled, yanking at the ropes with all his strength, but the knots scraped against the torn skin of his wrists, and the pain stole the breath from his lungs. He heard the shepherd’s laughter, followed by that of the men with him, fading as their footsteps vanished among the trees.
The silence that followed was heavy, almost suffocating. The torches kept crackling, the wind a thin whisper, and the forest before him grew darker, as if ready to swallow everything around it whole.
And John was about to discover what hid within that darkness.
✧₊˚.⋆☾◯☽⋆.˚₊✧
The forest tonight was quieter than usual. No animal cries, no rustling of leaves, not even the howl of the wind passing through. It was so silent that he wondered if there was truly any life here.
“…Hey, did you hear me?”
“Huh? Oh, of course, my Lord,” he replied, turning to the man dismounting from the horse. “I apologize for my distraction, but I will do my part until the very end, just as I have until now.”
“Good,” said the other man, huffing in irritation as he handed over the reins.
“Now stay here, until you see me return. Until then, you are absolutely not allowed to move, and if you do…” The man reached up to his throat and ran his finger along it, implying what would happen if he disobeyed.
“Y-Yes, my Lord. I promise I won’t let you down!” he rushed to say, feeling his legs shake.
“I hope so.” He walked away, disappearing behind the trees, swallowed by the darkness of the night.
Now he was alone, and the only thing he could do was wait here, frozen. But the silence made his skin crawl, and the forest surrounding him unnerved him.
The horse, restless for quite some time, began nervously tugging at the reins. He tried to calm it, but it grew more and more agitated, as if something frightened it.
“Shh, calm down, beauty. Calm—UGH!” He stroked its muzzle to soothe it, but it had the opposite effect, and the horse bit his hand. The bite was so strong it broke the skin and made him bleed. “FUCK!”
He instinctively loosened the reins, and the animal took advantage of it to flee out of the forest, the sound of its hooves growing fainter and fainter until it disappeared entirely.
He stayed there, panting, blood running down his palm and dripping onto the ground. “Shit… now what?”
He couldn’t go after the horse on foot; it was practically impossible. But equally, he couldn’t go to his Lord and tell him he had let the horse escape. He would be killed instantly, he was sure of it.
Wrapped up in his thoughts, he didn’t immediately notice the figure watching him from the darkness, slowly advancing through the trees.
“I’ll fetch another one from the village. He won’t even notice it’s a different—Crack” He fell silent and turned toward the sound, catching movement from the corner of his eye.
“My Lord, is that you?” he asked, but there was no answer. He squinted, his hand dropping to the holster where his sword rested.
He took a hesitant step forward, and then another. “My Lord?”
He saw something moving among the trees, but couldn’t make out its shape. Then, in the darkness of the forest, surrounded by the black void that seemed ready to swallow him, a white skull, huge and animal-shaped, floated suspended in the air, staring.
Panic seized him. “WHO’S THERE? SHOW YOURSELF, OR TASTE THE BLADE OF MY—Crack—sword?” His eyes flew wide open, a tremor ran through every muscle, making the weapon slip from his hands with a dull thud.
He recoiled instinctively, body stiff, throat dry, as a cold shiver ran down his spine, and he momentarily stopped breathing.
"My God," he choked out, swallowing the lump in his throat. As soon as the figure moved, he ran through the trees, trying to escape that thing. But… large clawed hands grabbed him, and immediately after, searing pain shot through his leg.
He tried to strike, to wriggle free, but he was slammed against a tree. Air whooshed from his lungs in a wheeze, and he fell to the ground, knocked out cold.
He opened his eyes slowly, coughing up blood from his mouth. Had he passed out? For how long? His head was spinning, one arm throbbed with agony, and every breath was excruciating as if needles were piercing his lungs.
Pain radiated through every inch of him, but… Why couldn’t he feel his leg?
He looked down and, in horror, saw that his leg was gone. In its place was only a puddle of blood and shredded muscle.
He heard a crack and something being chewed in front of him. He lifted his trembling gaze, and saw it again, seemingly smiling at him as it put his leg in its mouth and calmly gnawed on it.
The sound of bones snapping, flesh being crushed and swallowed, made him vomit once more.
As soon as he stopped vomiting, with all the strength he had left, he began to crawl over the earth, in a feeble attempt to distance himself from that thing. The ground beneath him turned red as he crawled, his hands sinking into the wet soil, dirt and grass mixing with his blood.
Every movement burned his wrists and shoulders, every inch felt like an eternity, pure agony.
But he was making progress, he was getting away, he was about to save him—In front of him, two massive black hooves appeared, and the smell of death hit him straight in the nose, nauseating and oppressive.
He swallowed and slowly lifted his eyes.
A skull with eyes luminous like the moon stared at him, motionless in the darkness, and before he could do anything, he was grabbed and dragged into the thick of the woods.
“NO! NO—AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH———”
Only his scream echoed through the quiet of the woods, accompanied by an unsettling growl that seemed to surround him from all directions.