by BJ Hanlon
The clouds returned sometime later and with them, a cold mist.
Edin put up his hood. He was now holding Berka’s rope who walked a few feet in front. Yechill led, he was the leader of the warriors—the best fighter. Fokill was number five but he spoke the common tongue.
It was nearly midafternoon when they set out and soon, it grew dark. Winter was nearly upon them and with it, the shortened days.
About five hours in, they settled down in a small grove.
“Let’s get a fire going,” Edin said.
“Too wet,” Fokill said.
“Dorset?”
“No problem. Grab some wood.”
As Edin and Henny picked through the darkening forest Arianne began rummaging through the packs for food and Yechill disappeared.
When Edin returned, he saw Fokill standing over Arianne. Tied to the thick bole of a tree was Berka.
“I think that guy is trying to steal your woman,” Berka said. “If we were still friends, I’d knock him out.”
Edin smiled. “Instead, you knock me out.”
“Right you are,” Berka sneered. “Dirty magus.”
Edin grinned. “Well at least you’re living the dream. A hunter of innocents.” He hauled the wood over toward the center of the grove and stacked them next to Henny’s much larger pile.
Dorset knelt over it and closed his eyes. He whispered for a few moments then the wet wood caught alight.
“How?” Fokill gawked. “Only Suuli can do that. It is an ancient secret passed down.”
“It’s not much of a secret where I come from,” Dorset said. “You must’ve had contact with magi back in the day. We call it a spell.”
“A good spell.” Said Edin.
They warmed themselves by the fire, all but Berka who huddled twenty feet away near the pine tree.
He said he swore an oath to wipe out all magi even if it cost him his life or his sanity. Apparently eating with magi, or even warming by a fire, went against that.
The gaunt warrior came back with three squirrels and Edin thought of the she elf. Arianne huddled close to him. They weren’t in the tribe’s confines now so they could eat together though it seemed to make the two newest members of their group uneasy.
“We travel north for four days. The mountain is large and slopes softly around the far side,” Fokill said. “Then we slip between the mountain and the city.”
“We could stop at the city, maybe get a room for a night,” Arianne said. She looked at Edin when she said this and there was a glimmer of a smile in it.
“I’m for that,” Berka called from behind him.
“The cities do not like our peoples,” Fokill said. “Many who have gone there have never returned.”
Edin bit into the small cooked leg of the squirrel. As much as he wanted to share a room with Arianne, he was wanted by the Dunbilstonian ruler and the Por Fen. Then there was Berka, he would do whatever he could to escape and a quick shout to bring the guards would give the party away.
“We’ll see,” Edin said knowing it was a bad idea.
After they ate, Arianne invited Edin into the bedroll. There were only three, as Spider took one and another was lost to the sea. The Foci were comfortable under their furs and Berka was left with only his cloak.
They laid together for barely a minute when he felt her lips moving to his. She kissed him and began moving her hands down toward his sword belt.
“What are you doing?” Edin said glancing around. The rest were lying down and hopefully not paying attention.
“I want to convince you to stay at the town. A little taste of what you’re in for.” She clasped him and began moving her hands back and forth.
His heartbeat quickened. Edin swallowed and tilted his head back letting out a soft moan.
“At least let us watch,” Berka called. “If you’re going to keep us awake it’s only fair.”
Her hands stopped and she grinned.
Edin glanced over the top of Arianne and saw Berka, his new ginger beard twinkling in the firelight. “A little homesick?”
“Yep, watched your mother so many times…” he paused and a frown came over him. “Sorry.” Berka turned around and stared out into the forest pulling his cloak up over his head.
“That was uncalled for Edin.”
He kissed her but felt her hands release. “It was a joke. We’d always…”
“I get it, but he’s the enemy remember… why’d you bring him anyways? You’ve never told.”
“I didn’t want to leave him in the dungeons to be executed,” he whispered.
Slowly she nodded. “You’re a good friend.”
“A better lover.”
“Not sure about that.” She flipped around and put her butt to his groin. She began moving it, rubbing against him.
“You are a trickster.”
“A good one too.” She laid her head down on his outstretched arm. “Goodnight.”
4
The First Signs
It was three days later; the hike had remained cold and damp and they hadn’t had any other fresh food from their guide. The wetness seemed to seep through his boots and every day, Edin’s feet grew more and more waterlogged.
Dorset and he began sparring again and training in the Oret Nakosu. Soon all but Arianne and Berka joined in.
He thought about Arianne’s offer. A night at an inn would be amazing, but what did he do with Berka? Tie him up in the woods? When the thought of getting intimate with Arianne again came to his mind, he was certain he wouldn’t bat an eye leaving Berka out here.
But it was also possible for their guides to be turned away at the gates.
Why? Edin didn’t know. They may watch Berka, or they may slit his throat or not care if he got away. There were too many questions, too many worries.
“Later…” he whispered to himself.
“What?” Berka said from in front of him. The ginger boy turned his head and looked over his shoulder. A moment later, a tree branch appeared and smacked him in the side of the face.
Berka cried out, stumbled and dropped to a knee clutching his face.
They laughed. Everyone but Berka.
“Come on,” Edin chuckled helping to pull Berka up.
Berka ripped his hand from Edin when he made his feet. “It’s not funny,” Berka spat. “I could’ve lost an eye.”
“Would make you prettier,” Henny called out.
“Couldn’t make him any stupider,” Dorset yelled from ahead. He walked close to Fokill.
“Blasted magi,” Berka whispered and turned away from the group. The back of his neck was bright red as if it’d been burned by the sun. Berka had been silent before the one word that precipitated the fall. He’d only been communicating in grunts. Now Edin doubted he’d get even that.
They moved on, the thick forest canopy beginning to break slightly as the ground elevated. Yechill scouted while Fokill led the group.
A bit later, they crossed a small stream, barely a foot across when a loud bird like whistle came from somewhere in the trees.
Fokill replied with his own call then raised a hand for all to stop. He glanced at Edin who now took up the rear. There was tension in his eyes, and fear.
“Stay,” he said as if they were a pack of well-trained dogs. A moment later, he darted to the left toward a rising slope of mud and stone.
He scampered up until he was blocked from view by the branches and evergreen trees.
Berka looked concerned as he turned to Edin and nodded to his bindings. “You know I can fight.”
Edin shook his head, “you’ll stab me in the back first chance you get.”
“I promise on my mother; your back will not be what I stab.”
Edin snorted. “I only have a quarterstaff to offer. I know you can handle wood but…”
“No jokes, I can handle myself.”
“We’ll see what comes upon us.”
A few minutes later, both men appeared sliding down the hill on all fo
urs as if it were a race. They didn’t smile.
Fokill was wiping his hands on his fur coat when he stopped by Edin. “The town is there.” He pointed an arrowed arm to the northeast, “maybe two miles… but there is something strange, no smoke rises from the chimneys. It is not deep winter, though it is cold. The water is near freezing.”
“I won’t argue that,” Berka said.
“Is it Glustown?”
“I believe that is your name, we called it Stinktown… because the odor. My father told me stories of the cities having plumbing… here it is as if they throw their excrement in the streets and roll around in it.”
Edin said, “not all cities have plumbing, and not every home in a city has it either. Mainly the wealthy.”
“Even nobleman Edin here didn’t have plumbing,” Berka said.
“You’re noble on the outside?” Henny asked.
“He’s a baron.” He turned to Edin and sneered. “His family never acted like nobles. I know why now.”
“Stop,” Yechill said then spoke in his own language.
Fokill spoke for him. “We think the village is deserted. The dematians may have already come through here.”
“Do we skirt it or do we investigate?”
“If it is deserted, we can maybe get supplies,” Arianne said moving closer. “And a bed.” She winked at Edin.
“What if the demons are there? Would it not be safer to go around them?” Dorset asked clearly trying to keep his voice from cracking.
Fokill said “water runs past the city. It leaves the springs in the highlands and runs through the swamp to the sea.” He paused as if trying to think of a word. “Canoes, yes, canoes. They could speed our journey.”
“Row upstream?” Edin asked.
“I can handle it,” Henny interrupted. “Well one canoe.”
“Also, the swamp is dangerous and growing. We lost many traversing it. Sand disappears, grass that looks like ground is not. And there are large fish in there that attack.”
“Fish?” Edin asked. “Your people were attacked by fish?”
“And what do you mean growing?” Said Arianne.
“Fish are big and the land is dying.”
“Edin,” Dorset said solemnly. “The corrinbomon, the dematians… there are things that were only myths to us a year ago. There are said to be unknown giant beasts, reptiles and serpents in lakes and rivers. It is possible that is what they are talking about.”
“No, it was a fish. I saw it. Four to five feet long and vicious,” Fokill said.
“I vote for the city and the canoes,” Berka said.
“We’ll be on the water regardless,” Edin said. He felt a cold chill on his neck remembering the Ponnoa.
“I’d hate to say it, but I’m with him,” said Henny thumbing toward Berka.
“Edin?” Arianne asked.
He realized they were all staring at him. At that moment, he was the leader of a group. Even the warrior and the son of the translator looked to him for direction. Edin put his hand on the hilt of his blade and pursed his lips. “We will scout the village first. Do not enter unless it is clear. That includes humans.”
It took another three hours or so before they reached the edge of the forest that ended barely ten feet from the wall. Dusk was beginning to come upon them. The walls were about fifteen feet high and made from lashed together wooden poles that ended in spikes. At first, he heard nothing coming from beyond the dark brown barrier, then there were growls, metal clanking, and a yelp.
No voices. A dog maybe or wolves.
Edin asked Fokill.
Fokill answered “not wolves, but I smell rot. Death…”
Edin took a deep breath through his nostrils and it came to him. A putrid odor. He gagged and saw Henny bending over into a tree and retching. A moment later he saw Burka turning bright red.
“That way,” Edin said and turned Berka away from Henny and toward his own bush. “He’s got a weak stomach.”
The chorus of the two together made his stomach turn, then he saw Dorset… and then Arianne all disappearing into the bushes.
Fokill was gone now too. It was only Edin and the warrior. The warrior chuckled and shook his head. As his black hair shook, Edin noticed a large lance-like earring made of bone piercing the lobe.
It took almost ten minutes before the rest of the group got their acts together enough to move. According to Yechill, there was a gate about three hundred yards to the east of them.
They followed him in the shadows of the wall. No one looked over, no one stopped them.
As they drew nearer, Edin saw one of the large wooden gates was cracked, the other was gone.
Edin handed Berka’s leash to Henny and drew his sword. He slipped in front of Yechill as the last of the sunlight faded over the mountain.
Edin stepped forward into a long and dark muddy road. It was lined with wooden walks and single-story cottages. He guessed each was not more than a couple of rooms and similar to the homes in Yaultan.
Doors and shutters were all closed and no light emanated from anything but the moon and stars. The smell of rotting flesh and death grew and he heard a gag behind him. A ghost town.
He lowered the hood of his cloak and stepped forward. Rustling came from the left and Edin spun toward it and dropped into a serpent stance. A moment later, a ginger cat leapt from a crate into the muddy road and sprinted deeper into the village. Then a large dog appeared and chased after it, tail wagging and covered in the brown goop.
Edin straightened up.
“I do not believe anyone is home—”
A chattering cry came from somewhere deeper in the city followed by something large thumping wood. A moment later, a scream. A human scream.
Chills ran rampant over his body. He glanced back at the group. The warriors were staring off toward the left and there was fear on their faces. There was fear on everyone’s face.
“We can’t get surrounded,” Edin whispered. There was a narrow cross street between what looked like a cooper’s shop and a home. He followed it.
They crept past the shop, to another narrow street. More screaming, a woman’s voice. Though he couldn’t exactly pinpoint the location, he knew it was somewhere in front of them.
He scanned the road and cottages as they crossed Second Street. At least that was what a sign in large white letters said.
Wind clapped a shutter closed with a thwack and sweat poured down his brow despite the cold. Edin adjusted his grip on the sword.
As he stepped past the front of another small building, a loud hiss sounded near his right ear, almost on top of him. Edin leapt back and leveled his blade at… the ginger cat.
Somehow, it’d gotten over here and perched on a shutter just beneath the eaves of the cottage.
A chuckle came from behind him. A thwack stopped it.
A moment later he realized it was quiet. The woman’s screams had died out and there were no other noises. Edin gritted his teeth.
The sun was gone now and the moon, a fingernail, offered little light. The stench weakened slightly as a southern wind pushed in and whipped through the roads and alleys.
The few shadows he could see were long and thin.
Then it came again. The woman screaming, shrieking and he almost heard help. Splattering sounds of feet slogging through mud came from the right as they were just about at either First or Third Street he thought but a sign read Broadway.
Edin glanced around the corner. Running down the open muddy road, was a woman with loose hair flowing behind her. She looked to be in some sort of sheer robe or dress. Her arms were flailing and her face glistened.
Edin saw the pursuers gaining fast. A group of tall dark shadows. One of the demon’s eyes glowed yellow in the dark as if a fire burned in its head.
“Wait,” Edin whispered as Yechill stepped up next to him the giant axe in hand.
The demons were gaining. He’d forgotten how tall they were, bigger than Berka and quiet. They ran easily as if the
muddy road was packed dirt.
The woman, swerved toward a door twenty feet away and tried the handle. It rattled as she shook and then began to bang on it with closed fists.
The thuds and her screams tore at Edin’s soul. Edin looked back at the dematians. Seven in all. Some with weapons, others brandishing their sharp claws and pointed teeth.
The excitement of their chattering grew and grew.
The woman ran to the next door, one almost directly across from him.
“Hold here,” Edin whispered. He stepped around the corner of the building and onto a small wooden porch covered by shadows.
A thought came to him, what if they could see in the dark? It chilled him more. These were seven beasts, strong and agile.
The woman pounded again. He could hear the sobs pouring from her as she glanced back at her attackers.
They were just about on her now, Edin watched the lead one. Wild and running almost on all fours like a dog as it pounced.
She screamed and at that moment, Edin let his hand out and a large ethereal barrier appeared between them.
There was a sickening crunch, like a board snapping as the dematian’s head slammed into the barrier. The next two ran into him and three others tripped unable to slow in time.
Edin screamed and leapt into the road. In his peripheral vision he saw the warriors, their weapons gleaming. He was three yards away when the one that was last turned and saw him. He let out a spine-rendering cry and raised his large horsehead knife.
As he swung it, Edin dropped to his knees and craned his head back. The rush of air blasted past his head and he popped to his feet ramming his shoulder into the dematian with Mirage piercing its chest.
Whooping calls came from the Foci warriors. Their weapons sang through the air cracking and cleaving bone and muscle.
Edin ripped his weapon free and spun. For a moment, he saw a thick clawed hand was coming to rake his gut and tear out his insides.
Then a burst of wind slammed into both of them. Edin went with it, he fell to his side. The dematian chattered and cried out, surprised.
Edin wasn’t. He kept rolling and came up slashing his blade up and out across his body. It ran across the dematian’s chest sending blood spraying into the night.
