Stone of the Denmol

by R C Gray

  “Skara, hold on!” Faine said as he swung and thrust, shattering skulls and severing heads. “Hold on. Gods-dammit!”

  Blood covered Renna's hands and face as Skara sputtered, his yellow eyes slick with tears closing gently as the denmol beat at the walls around them, pushing their way through the cracks.

  Renna’s face twisted into a mask of seething rage. Her body shook as her fists clenched and opened, her tear-filled eyes darting around the room as her teeth ground against one another, her fingers rolling Skara’s blood between them. Something lurched inside her, a sudden strength that clawed at her insides, making her blood feel like it was on fire.

  “Faine,” Renna said, her breath low and ragged. “Get Skara.”

  “I’m trying!” he said, his brow covered in sweat, his muscles aching as he and Braig held off the horde.

  Writhing on the floor, Renna tore at clothing, ripping it off her body as she dug her nails into her flesh. Her bones twisted and broke as she screamed in pain, her flesh ripping as her limbs elongated and her face shifted and snapped into a large muzzle. Thick black and silver fur grew over her body as her distorted, grotesque form reshaped itself into a massive wolf, its back taller than Faine and nearly the length of the room.

  “Gods, Renna,” Faine said, falling back against the wall, pulling Braig out of the doorway as they stared, cowering.

  Renna bit and snarled, her tongue quivering against the back of her teeth as she growled. Letting out a howl that made the house tremble, she glanced down at Skara’s body and busted through the back wall, teeth tearing rotted flesh as she ripped her way through the mass of denmol that stood unflinching in the streets.

  Pulling the metal shard out of Skara’s back, Faine crossed his arms over his chest, picked up his small, lifeless body, and followed Renna and Braig into the pouring rain. Red teeth and streaks of silver fur flashed in the lightning as the wolf lunged, flinging bodies against walls and tearing off limbs and heads as they neared the edge of town, stopping at the rise at the top of the hill.

  “What’re ya stopping for, you dim-witted elf? We have to keep moving!” Braig said, glancing towards the forest leading away from the ruins before looking back at the approaching horde.

  Pulling Skara’s body closer to his chest, Faine stared back down the hillside, the massive black wolf behind him padding closer. Its dark fur was matted with putrid fluids and bits of torn flesh, and several deep gashes covered its long legs. The wolf’s muzzle moved closer to Faine as waves of hot breath rushed over his face. Closing his eyes, he felt a low rumble through his body as the wolf growled, teeth bared as she stared down, towering above him. His heart turned over in his chest, and his legs shook beneath him. He knew that there was a part of Renna buried inside the beast, but he wasn’t sure of how much control she had over her ferocity. Feeling her rough tongue scraping over Skara and his arms, he looked up at the massive wolf, her two different colored eyes gazing down at him.

  “It is still you,” Faine said, watching her charge back down the hill, taking her anger out on the denmol as she slated her thirst for vengeance, giving them time to escape.

  “What the hell are you doing? We don’t have time for this shit!” Braig said, roughly grabbing Faine’s shoulder. “Take Skara and run I’ll go back for Renna.”

  Faine looked out over the black and silver wolf below as the creatures closed in around her, her mouth gnawing and tearing them to shreds. “No! Leave her here. She’ll find us when she’s finished,” he said as he turned and ran into the forest, blood dripping down his arms, the stone shard no longer in Skara’s grasp.

  The Shifting Darkness

  The dark, dry soil shifted and swirled around Skara, stinging his eyes as he looked up into the blackened sky. Lightning flashed, cutting across the grey billowing clouds above him, lighting up a row of scorched trees with long black thorns and a small mountain ridge in the distance. Jagged rocks jutted from the ground in the field around him like sharp fangs in a waiting mouth, ready to consume him.

  Laying his hand over his chest, he pressed his fingers into the deep wound running through him but didn’t feel any pain or see any blood as he pulled his hand away. Feeling something sharp against his palm, he opened his hand and saw the shard of black stone he had found back at the farm still held tightly in his grasp. But where was he now, and why did he still have the stone?

  Climbing to his feet, he ran his finger over the cut in his palm, wondering if the stone having direct contact with his blood somehow saved him, or transported him somewhere. He remembered being stabbed, but after that, everything went black until he was here staring up at the sky. Squeezing the stone tighter in his hand, he remembered Braig saying something about a dark place with blowing dust...about Thodun.

  “I must have died,” he said, coughing against the blowing dust, his body trembling as he gripped the stone.

  Fear gripped his body as he held up his hand in front of his eyes and looked around the darkened fields. Although he wasn’t sure of which direction to go, he knew that standing in the open in a place like this would only bring about more trouble. He needed to find a place to hide—or a way out if there was one.

  In the distance, a glowing blue light on the horizon caught his eye as he turned to see a large, spiraling tower reaching into the sky, wreathed in blue flame. Stumbling forward over the crumbling soil, laughter rang out from a rock behind him, turning him on his heels as he reached for the empty sheathes on his belt.

  “Who’s out there?” he said, crouching down to pick up a handful of soil.

  Hearing footsteps running up behind him, he turned and threw the dirt, hoping to slow the assailant. The fine dust struck the heavy-set man in the face, doing little to slow him as his thick fingers reached out for Skara, wiggling in the air in front of him. Rolling to the side, Skara sprang to his feet, running hard across the unsteady ground.

  Moans and screeches sounded in the darkness around him as shadows fluttered at the edge of his vision. Focusing on the blue tower miles away, he pushed himself to move faster, trying to outrun the slow, deep laughter and heavy footsteps gaining ground behind him.

  “Over here!”

  Turning his head, he could see a pale man with long black hair motioning for him to follow him into a tight crevice between two stones. Pumping his legs harder, he could feel the large man's thick fingers grazing the back of his head as he turned, scuttling into the tight gap, leaving the man’s obese arm reaching for him from outside the small cavern.

  “Who are-”

  “No time for that yet,” the pale man said, grabbing Skara and pulling him deeper into the cave. “They’ll be coming once they move him out of the way. We have to reach the other side and hide before they do.”

  Sprinting through the narrow stretch of stone, Skara followed the man, barely able to keep up as he darted around corners and slid underneath low overhangs. Hearing the rumbling thunder outside, he glanced up, expecting to see another flash of lightning, but saw nothing but rough stone. Although the cavern ceiling was solid, a dim light shone through the passageway, drowning everything inside and out in a soft, diffused haze.

  “Here we are,” the man said as he ran towards the mouth of the cave, stopping to scramble up a very tight passageway leading up to a hidden cavern farther up inside the cliff.

  Shutting the trap door made from the black-thorned wood, he piled several stones on top to keep it closed before sitting down on the ground to look over at Skara.

  “What good will that do?” Skara said, pointing to the thorny door. “I didn’t think you could feel anything here in Thodun.”

  The man laughed, pulling his hair behind his pointed ears. “You figured that out easily enough. Some people never realize where they are. But you’re wrong. You can most definitely feel pain here. You may not be able to feel your wounds from the plane of the living, but you’ll feel any pain that happens here...you just can’t die. So even if you’re torn to pieces, you’ll just come back togethe
r to suffer again and again.”

  “Who are you?” Skara said, moving farther away to sit against the wall. “And why did you help me?”

  “I’m sorry about my lack of manners. A place like this has a way of changing someone. My name is Dreymon,” the pale man said, putting his hand over his mouth as he rubbed his cheek. “And I helped you because I sense something on you that may be able to help us both.”

  Skara squeezed his fist tighter around the stone and glanced towards the trap door.

  “But don’t worry...I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.”

  “Skara.”

  “Well, Skara. You don’t have to worry. I’m not going to take it from you.”

  “And how do you know about what I have?”

  Dreymon took a deep breath and held his finger over his mouth as he heard scratching in the cave below him. Waiting until the noise had passed, he pointed to Skara’s hand. “That item you carry gives off an aura. Before I came here, I was a mage. I spent the majority of my life studying magic and its flow between life and death. I think we can use it get out of here— out of Thodun.”

  Rubbing the back of his neck, Skara glanced at the door again before looking back at the man. “And how did you know I was even here? How much of an aura does this stone give off?”

  “Enough to attract attention. If not mine, then surely someone else's. I’m going to be honest with you,” Dreymon said, using the wall to help him stand. “Look at the scars on my body. I’ve been whipped and beaten here, torn apart and pieced back together more times than I can remember. I have to get out. I don’t know how much more I can take before I become just another monster out there in the shadows. Trust me when I say there are things here that you couldn’t even imagine...just waiting for their turn with you. And when you fell, it shook something inside me. I could feel the power that you carry, and I had to find you. ”

  A shiver ran down Skara’s spine as he thought about the man that chased him into the cave. What would have happened if the man had caught him? Would he have been torn apart and eaten alive only to wake back up in this nightmare?

  “And how would we get back? Is there even a way out?”

  “Quiet,” Dreymon said, holding up his hand as the thorn door began to move, shifting the stones. “We have to go. That stone you carry is drawing too much attention. Grab hold of this rope and pull open the door when I give you the signal.”

  Grabbing a rock from the corner, Dreymon positioned himself over the hole. The stone, although small, was covered in sharpened sticks tied on in different angles, capable of stabbing anything underneath as it fell through the opening below. “When I drop the stone to clear the way, we have to hurry. I don’t know what’s waiting for us out there, but I don’t want to be trapped in here. Are you ready?”

  Skara’s hands shook as he took the length of rope, ready to pull.

  “Now!”

  As the hatch flipped open, Dreymon dropped down the spiked ball and pointed towards the opening. “Hurry, down the hole and out of the cave.”

  Scurrying down the hole behind the elf, Skara saw the pot-bellied man sprawled out on the ground with a long stick in his hand, the sharpened spikes of the stone sticking in his shoulder and head. The large man moaned, his fat fingers still reaching for Skara as he struggled to keep his eyes open.

  Dropping off the rock wall and running out of the cave, Skara could see the deformed masses of bodies running in his direction, their limbs flailing as they reached out for him. Keeping a tight hold on the stone, he followed closely behind Dreymon, gnarled fingers tugging at his clothing as he darted away from the dark tide of bodies swarming towards him.

  “This is it, Skara. You come with me now, or we both get ripped apart and get stuck here forever. Make your choice.”

  “I’ll do it,” he said, fear nearly choking him as the drooling and filthy shells of men and women surrounded them. “Use the stone.”

  Gritting his teeth, Dreymon ripped off a thick branch from a nearby tree, the thorns piercing his hands as he bashed a hole through the encroaching wave, ripping holes in the hungry creatures’ skin as he wielded the staff. “Follow me to the tower. And keep up.”

  Running wildly around the sticks and stones, the two pushed farther into the desolate wastes, the tower growing brighter in the distance, the ethereal flames dancing across the crumbling tower, drawing them in like moths to the brilliant glow.

  Circling the bottom of the tower to find the door, Dreymon dug frantically at a small gap in the blackened soil under the curve of an archway. Shrieks reverberated off the tower walls as the shadows gathered in the distance, following the pulsing stone in Skara’s hand.

  “Help me dig! The door is buried, and we have to get to the top.”

  Sticking the stone into his boot, Skara clawed at the soil, digging a gap just wide enough for one person at a time. Seeing the tortured souls nearly on them, Dreymon squeezed himself between the gap, struggling to fit as his back scraped against the sharp stone. Sticking his hands through the opening, Skara dropped to his back and grabbed hold as he was pulled through the hole. Grimy fingers and sharp claws scratched at his boots as he reached the inside of the tower, narrowly escaping one of the creatures as it clawed at the opening, trying to force its way in behind them.

  “Quickly, up the stairs. Don’t stop until you reach the pinnacle,” Dreymon said, pushing Skara upwards.

  The broken stairs wound around the inside of the tower, crumbling beneath their feet and sending chunks of stone plummeting to the bottom. Paintings hung on the walls, their images blotted away and ravaged by the elements, unrecognizable in their frenzy to reach the top. Broken flasks and bottles littered the floor around them as they ascended the stairs, glancing over their shoulders as they ran.

  “How are all these things here? How is the tower here?” Skara said, following close behind the elf.

  “The tower here is a mirror to the mage tower in the Grey wastes. The magic there is somehow connected to Thodun. That’s how we’re going to get back.”

  Pushing his fingers to his chest, Skara stopped and looked up at Dreymon.

  “What are you doing?” Dreymon said, glaring back at Skara as he stopped. “We’re almost there!”

  Opening his shirt, Skara pointed to his wound. “I can’t go back. My body is dead. There’s nothing left for me to go back to.”

  Glancing up the peak of the tower, Dreymon clenched his teeth as he ran back down the stairs towards Skara. He knew that he needed to follow a soul with a body out of Thodun; otherwise, the spell wouldn’t work. Although the body on the other side didn’t need to be alive, if he used the stone, he could heal him. “Hold onto something,” he said, putting his hand over Skara’s wound, pinching it together. This is going to hurt.”

  Standing next to Skara, he held out his other hand. “Give me the stone.”

  “What are you-”

  “I’m healing your body. But I need the stone. Quickly!”

  Taking the stone from Skara in his free hand, he watched as a lanky creature with human limbs on the side of its body like spider legs rounded the staircase, scuttling towards them. As the creature bit at Dreymon’s hand, he stabbed the black stone in its head, causing a thick liquid to drip from the wound.

  Skara could feel the rush of magic coursing through his veins as Dreymon held his hand over his chest. A sharp burning sensation flooded his body, making his blood feel like it was on fire. He could see Dreymon concentrating, his eyes closed, and his teeth clenched as he drained the creature’s dark energy, forcing it into Skara.

  The skin and muscle on his chest shot across the gash, weaving it shut as Skara let out a grunt of pain, nearly falling backwards as his wound closed under Dreymon’s hand. Pulling the stone loose, he pushed the lifeless creature off the edge of the stairs, watching it bounce as it plummeted to the bottom of the tower.

  “Better?” Dreymon said, moving back up the stairs.

  Feeling the tight skin across his
chest, Skara rubbed the rune that he carved over his heart as he darted back up the stairs, trying to catch up to the elf.

  Reaching the top of the tower, Dreymon held the stone towards the sky as he began speaking in a language Skara couldn’t understand. Using its sharp edge, he cut four deep gashes in his arm, peeling away the flap of skin between them. Thick black liquid clung to the piece of flesh as he pulled it free and threw it down on the top of the tower.

  “Give me your hand,” Dreymon said, holding the stone like a knife.

  Reaching out, Skara winced as the elf drew the sharp edge across his palm, spilling out a trickle of black liquid from the fresh cut.

  “Now take hold of the wound in my arm,” he said, looking up at the sky as the blue flames swirled around them, rising up to meet the dark, swirling clouds that dropped down, coiling together in a swirling vortex.

  Wrapping his blood-covered fingers around the elf’s wound, he could see him flinch as he squeezed tighter. Thunder roared above them as the wind whipped them back and forth, tossing chunks of brick off the tower onto the mass of dark shapes writhing below.

  A heavy silence filled the air as the blue flames were pulled into the heart of the stone, making it vibrate with an energy that exploded outward in a bright flash of light, shattering half of the upper level into pieces, leaving the tower crumbling and empty with nothing but the rushing wind blowing across the fractured stone.

  FAINE SLUMPED DOWN against a tree, exhausted and drenched from the rain. He had been running for miles to get as far away from the ruins as he could, his mind racing as he thought about what happened in the house. Looking down at Skara’s body in his arms, he wondered if there was something he could have done to save him—or to keep it from happening in the first place.

  “What do you think we should do?” Braig said as he sat next to Faine. “Should we bury him?”

  “Not yet. We have to wait for Renna. I know she’d want to be here...to say something,” Faine said, turning away from a Braig as a lump formed in his throat.