Keys of Candor: Trilogy

by Casey Eanes

  “You there, what are you doing down in the tunnels? Trespassing is forbidden, even for the homeless. Have you seen anyone else come through here?”

  There was no response. The man just stood like a pillar in the dark, completely unaware of the militia’s presence; comatose.

  Willyn took a cautious step forward. There is something wrong with this. There is something very wrong with this. The thought just kept banging in her mind as all her instincts told her to stay back, but curiosity overtook her fear and she inched forward.

  She moved within three feet of the man as he stood wheezing for breath. She tried to ignore how much her hands were shaking as she clutched her razor jave. She was steadied only by the thought that at any moment she could easily decapitate the man should he pose any danger. The squadron behind her trained their pulse rifles on the stranger as he stood like an old, rotting statue. She took another step. Another. Another. In a flash the man turned to face her, and Willyn’s mouth fell open.

  His face was completely mutilated, carved away from the skull, rotting flesh dangling in the foul dark air. What was left of his jaw was unhinged, dangling like a rag doll. A guttural, screeching snarl rolled out of his ragged maw, as his milky eyes stared back at her. The one scenario Willyn hoped would not come true was horribly confirmed. They had disturbed a morel hive.

  “RUN! Fall back!” The need for stealth was over. When you disturbed one morel, you disturbed them all. Willyn screamed as she plunged the jave deep into the fiend’s chest. It staggered and bellowed while furiously clawing at the jave’s shaft.

  “Morels! Get out!” she screamed.

  Willyn spied the outline of three more morels sprinting from the depths of the cave. The beasts had frothing mouths, and hot, white clouds streaked through their eyes. Five more, ten more. The hive was awake and hungry, and the entire hoard was pouring toward Willyn and her men.

  The cave erupted in the blue glow of pulse rifles firing into the masses of morel bodies. The bursts of energy held them back, but only for a moment, as they continued to push forward, one after another. The pack grew from three to twenty in mere seconds, and they continued to stream from the shadows like ants from a disturbed mound.

  “Your weapons are no good! RUN!”

  Willyn pushed her way back into the main passage and dropped a grenade at the mouth of the morels’ cave. The explosion blew through the tunnel with deafening force, partially collapsing its entrance. It was not enough. Morels forced themselves out of the rubble to continue their hot pursuit.

  The security force pounded down the tracks as the morels sprinted after them howling and hooting like banshees. Their loud shrieks echoed through the tunnel walls, making it feel as if they were surrounded. Willyn, her mind clear with the adrenaline that was ripping through her, threw three razor javes in quick succession toward the twisted mob of monstrous bodies. The javes shot through the tunnel like lightning and found her targets, slicing at limbs and pinning down some of the creatures. One of the javes exploded into a wide taze net that stunned and held a mob for a few seconds, but the pop, pop, pop of the net’s metallic fibers bursting at the seams announced that the beasts had broken through. They clamored over their fallen, ravenous to destroy and feast on every one of them.

  Willyn calculated multiple options as her lungs burned. She could feel her mind whirr and click into place, denying the fear that boiled in the bottom of her stomach and clawed at her throat. It would be another half mile before they cleared the tunnel. She kept up her pace, forcing herself to remain calm. She turned to see her pursuers’ progress. Like a buzzing swarm of bees, the morels came, sprinting and jumping over one another, many spilling up on the sides of the tunnel. They trampled over one another in their dogged pursuit. Their claws mutilated each other at random, unaware of the damage that they rendered upon themselves. They craved to feast on the fresh flesh that had so foolishly entered their hive.

  Willyn goaded her men to keep running. “Drop your packs! Drop your packs!” Her men obeyed and flung their tactical vests and backpacks to the ground. The scheme worked for a moment as the morels dove on top of the packs and ripped into them, fighting one another for the opportunity to feast. It bought them only a second, but a second nonetheless.

  The sounds of live ammunition ripped through the air. Willyn fired back at them with her pistol, ignoring her earlier warning to her soldiers. Willyn cursed herself as she thought how nice it would have been for her men to be fully armed. I would rather die of ricochet fire than at the hands of one of these monsters.

  The shots left the pack unfazed. The injured and the dead were engulfed in the sea of monsters. As Willyn stumbled to catch up to the rest of her party four of her men turned back, spreading out a large taze net. The nets cast a blue light in the dark tunnel, illuminating the faces of four of her most loyal men, led by Corporal Waden. The men blurred past Willyn and straight for the horde.

  Willyn screamed. “Fall back, men, fall back! That is an order!”

  Waden answered in proud defiance, “No, General. Better you survive.” The four broke in unison into the ancient Grogan marching song and broke away from the others.

  The echoes rang through the underground chambers as the men met their fates.

  “To die a good death is great, my friends, all for all. For the Groganlands!”

  The men disappeared in the darkness, meeting their good death beneath the tidal wave of morels that engulfed them. Willyn’s stomach lurched at the sound of their screams and the sharp snapping of bones that filled the tunnel. She kept running. Her loyal men bought them one more second.

  Someone erupted with joy, “Faster, faster! I see the entrance!” There, at what seemed a thousand miles away, was the light of day streaming in, illuminating the wet, curved sides of the hellish tunnel. The men were gasping as they pushed every ounce of their energy into a full blown sprint to freedom and safety. Willyn screamed into her radio.

  “I need morel barrier force coverage at the entrance of Western tunnel 1AAE. Do you copy?”

  “We’ve got the target set, General Kara.”

  Willyn heaved for breath as she neared the exit. “Wait...for my signal.” She glanced back at the ravenous pack. They were only about fifteen yards behind her.

  The militia ran out of the tunnel, and Willyn was the last one out. She lifted her wrist up to her face and screamed into her radio, “FIRE!”

  A thunder shock vibrated through Willyn as she saw a mortar round launch up from the vista of Rhuddenhall. She yelled to her squadron, “HIT THE GROUND!” They moved in unison, as the mortar fell just behind Willyn at the tunnel’s entrance. A fireball of pure energy exploded, hurdling her and her forces like tumbleweed into the ravine on the side of the line tracks. There was a din of screams and wails over the roaring flames as Willyn’s body slammed into the ground. The blow knocked the breath out of her and sent a spike of pain up her back. She gasped and wheezed for air and turned to look at the carnage behind her. The morels that cleared the tunnel were caked in fire, flailing and screaming during their last moments. The mortar had completely caved in the entrance of the rail-line, sealing the hoard of living nightmares behind. Willyn emptied her pistol on the brains of the few that were still standing, walking pyres of living flames. She felt no sympathy for them. The Fallen would never have sympathy from the Grogans. Willyn hurriedly counted her men, barking orders.

  “Any injuries? Status report, soldiers!”

  The sergeant clamored up to her from the ditch where he landed. “Some burns and broken limbs, my lady, but no life-threatening injuries.” His eyes dropped, “We are four short, however.”

  Willyn could feel her heart swallow itself with grief for the fallen soldiers. They made it out alive but at the expense of four of her finest men. She quietly replied, “What were their names, sergeant?”

  The sergeant brought up his datalink, scrolling through the names of those who died. “Private Morgan of Rhuddenhall, Private Broach of the Boroughs distr
ict, Corporal Waden of Rhuddenhall, and Private Rote of the Mountainfoot colony.”

  “They will be honored. They were good men.” They saluted one another and she dismissed him.

  Willyn called into her radio again, “We need a medical team down here...and an extinguisher force and cleanup crew.”

  Twisted tendrils of dark smoke rose from the blaze of fire lapping up the dry corpses of morel flesh. Willyn stood and looked into the furnace of hellish kindling. Her red hair flew in her face, singed by the fire that nearly killed her but saved her men. Her mind raced. Where are you, Grift Shepherd? The answer came in an instant.

  Gods above, Willyn Kara. You fool.

  She stood, shocked at her own stupidity. Grift would not leave the Groganlands...not without finishing the job.

  Utter fear washed over her.

  “Hagan.”

  Willyn rushed back towards her brother’s compound. All of Rhuddenhall’s billboards and public terminals projected a rotation of the faces of the men who laid down their lives for their general; Morgan, Broach, Waden, and Rote. Seeing their faces caused Willyn to feel an odd mixture of both guilt and pride.

  When she finally made it through the doors of the royal family compound two guards saluted her before opening the gate to the private channel-car line. Willyn boarded a small car that carried her towards her brother’s chamber. The dark tunnel and mechanical rhythm of the rolling cart weaved its way to Hagan, as Willyn paced, jave in hand. As she rode alone through the darkness she could not shake the image of her brother’s pale, tortured face. He was still fighting to stay alive, to stay with her, and she knew she could not stop fighting either.

  Two more guards greeted Willyn as she sprinted from the cart and entered the elevator leading up to the main stronghold. She punched the button impatiently as the old machine creaked to life and the stubborn doors slid together. Little by little it carried her back above ground, but it did not move fast enough.

  “Come on, come on, COME ON!”

  As the doors slid open, confirmation of Willyn’s fears flooded into the elevator.

  Across the room, the unconscious body of the foyer guard was slumped on the ground. She put her fingers on the man. A pulse. Why would an assassin leave a guard alive? Bullet holes riddled the lock on the door and the hinges appeared to have buckled from being kicked in.

  Willyn slid through the open door. There were no lights burning in the Sar’s great hall, only moon glow that fell through the open sky lights lit the room. The luminescent light left small square patches leading up to the doors of her brother’s quarters. Willyn pressed herself against the wall and inched down the hall, avoiding the open moonlight. The hall’s silence was broken by a low moan. Willyn squinted and then saw someone. Hosp was lying face down in the middle of the hall writhing in pain. From her distant position, it seemed apparent that he suffered a blow to the head and a cut had opened on his brow. Willyn could not hide the smile that crept over her lips. You are too merciful, Grift. You could have at least done me a favor.

  Willyn approached Hagan’s door. She spied two of Hagan’s personal bodyguards, his Elites, lying face down. Willyn checked their vitals. Alive. Alive. Why is he leaving these men alive?

  She eased through her brother’s doors only to see him sitting up in his bed. His bedroom was dark, but the moonlight made it impossible to hide that someone was standing over Hagan.

  Grift.

  Willyn searched through her quiver for the proper jave. Amidst a handful of explosive and gas javes, there were only two that she could use without killing her brother. She gripped one of the two razor javes and closed her eyes. You’ve got one more chance.

  She inched further into the bed-chamber, hiding herself behind the columns lining its perimeter. Pressing her back to the column, she waited. She would have only one chance to land her shot. Rage clouded her vision as she heard him speaking to Hagan.

  “Why did you do it?” questioned Grift in a hushed tone, “Why did you incite war against my people?”

  There was no response from Hagan, whose body remained silent except for the steady whirrs, clicks, and beeps of the machinery keeping him alive.

  "Where did you hide it, Hagan? You don't have much longer to live."

  Willyn strained to see in the darkness and waited for the opportune time to strike.

  Grift hushed all his questions and stood over him like a statue. His hands went down to the pistol at his side. He knows you’re here. Willyn sprung from behind the column, sending the jave rocketing out of her hand.

  “GRIFT SHEPHERD, THIS ENDS NOW!”

  Her projectile sliced through the air in a flash, but Grift was quick. Like a machine, he dove to the side, an evasive maneuver that cheated death at the last moment. The jave aimed at his throat instead clipped his right arm, sending a gushing spray of hot, red blood into the white moonlight.

  Grift grabbed his wound only to look up to catch Willyn’s hot eyes burning, blue coals in the moonlight. Her last and final jave was pulled back for the kill.

  Willyn’s arm exploded, sending her last shot with all the energy she could muster, but again Grift defied her as he slid into the darkness at the edge of the room. The second jave flashed above his ear as he dove, finding refuge in the shadows.

  Willyn focused her eyes on the dark corner of the room like a predator. Suddenly, the sound of gunfire rang out and the feeling of bullets brushing past her made her hit the ground. Diving behind the large marble column, she pulled out her own pistol from its holster and volleyed shots back at her attacker, grinning when she saw her shot catch Grift’s arm.

  “GIVE IT UP, SHEPHERD! SURRENDER NOW!”

  The advantage was hers. He only had his weaker hand, and now Willyn knew she could bring him down. She turned out of her cover only to hear a waterfall of glass shattering.

  No. He can’t be.

  Leaving her cover, she ran past her comatose brother. She ran to a shattered window whose pieces lay before her, the night air whispering through her red, wavy hair. She spied down nearly five stories below her at a shadowy figure running in the alleyways far below.

  She raised her pistol into the darkness, but it was too late. He was gone, made invisible even now in the full moon. There was no way to reach him. How a man could drop five stories and live to tell the tale made no sense to Willyn, but here she saw that it was possible.

  With cold absolution she made a promise to herself and to her quarry:

  “I am going to cut you down, Grift Shepherd, and I will not rest until I send a bullet through your brain.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The sound of a northern, winter wind whipped through the ragged canvas covering the back of an old medical convoy. It carried Kull far away from his burning home and sick mother, though closer, he hoped, to finding his father. Kull slid his fingers over the charm his mother had given him and closed his eyes, trying to imagine happier times. A bitter chill sliced through the dark truck bed, and Kull smiled and thanked Aleph for sending it as Adley pressed up against his side, huddling close to stay warm.

  Her presence radiated untold comfort. In the shadows of the truck Kull felt safe enough to wrap his arm around her shoulders, to hold her to try to keep her warm. She made everything pass like a blur, making the bone-shivering trek to Vale seem like a privilege rather than a curse. The pain that had radiated in his wounded shoulder all but dissipated; a testament to Adley’s skill as a healer. Kull was grateful for the relief since the ride to Vale took five hours and covered rugged territory. Despite the frigid mountain air and Ewing’s blasphemous curses that came with each pot hole, Adley made all of it more bearable. She was a welcome distraction.

  The truck slowed its pace, and Adley laid her head on Kull’s good shoulder, yawning, as she tried to get comfortable. Kull’s inner voice prodded him, his mother’s face flashing in his memory. Dad is gone. Stay focused.

  The thought brought a twisted grimace to his face. He looked across the bay of the truck at Ewin
g lying on a cot. He had a glint in his eye.

  “What?”

  Ewing chuckled, “Well, you seem to be enjoying your ride.”

  Kull rolled his eyes as a wide smirk grew on Ewing’s face. Ewing tapped at the blood donor card strapped to his arm and rolled over to his side, cursing under his breath, shuffling his battered stump of a leg over closer to him, causing a twinge of guilt to cut through Kull. The cost of this trip was a lie, and soon both he and Ewing would have to pay up. Kull tried to distract himself by whispering to Adley.

  “How much farther do you think we have?”

  Adley’s dark brown eyes fluttered open and she flashed a grin, “Why? Am I boring you?”

  A rush of energy flushed over him.

  “Um, no,” he said as he let out an awkward, nervous laugh. “I just was wondering how long we had until...well, you know.”

  Until we leave each other. The words wanted to shoot out of his mouth like sparrows, but Kull held them inside.

  “I know what, Kull?” Adley’s eyes stared at him, calm and collected, causing his whole body to flush with anxiety. She was too much for him. How can she be so composed? It had been so long since he had been this close to a girl, and never a girl as attractive as Adley. The thought of leaving her again made him ache with loss. How many more people will I lose? The thought dragged in his mind like a boulder.

  “Know what, Kull?” Adley repeated as she smiled.

  “Ah, nothing. You know, just enjoying the ride.”

  “If you like the ride, wait till you see Vale.”