by Eve Langlais
Eyes glued to the trunk, he climbed down to the ground and pointed, leading the way, excitement filling his pace.
“It’s probably nothing. No one lives here.”
“No, but someone could. There’s berries and fruit.” Jool waved to the plump specimens dangling overhead.
“So go get your wife. Bring her back.”
“Not until I see what that spire is.” She’d never make the journey without some help. Heck, he could use some, too. While he’d become lean and strong during his trek, he still couldn’t shake the nagging cough despite the metal he’d been shaving and eating. There’d been blood again the last time he hacked.
A raised stone caused him to stumble hard enough that he hit the ground and lay there. Staring. He didn’t dare blink.
“Taking a nap?”
“I found a road.” Jool whispered it, as if speaking it aloud would make it disappear.
“It’s just some rocks.”
“No it’s not.” Jool pushed up to a seated position and began tearing at the moss, pointing with excitement. “These aren’t just rocks. Look at the shape of them. How they fit together. It’s a path of some sort.”
“An ancient one. So what?”
He rose to his feet and dusted off his hands. Rather than reply, he took off almost at a run, noticing how the trees seemed to avoid the wide swath of stone. A voice within urged him.
Almost there. Faster.
His haste meant he paid little attention to the forest around him. Then again, he probably would have never spotted it anyhow.
The creature hit the ground in front of him, launched from above, and stopped him so abruptly he almost fell over. Yet the shock of the animal wasn’t what had him staring. He tried to comprehend the metallic orbs that glinted with light.
A beast with metal parts? The rest of it appeared comprised of flesh covered in sleek, spotted fur, a dark nose that sniffed, and a mouth that opened wide on teeth that were pointed. All the better to poke a hole through his skin and drink without a straw.
“What kind of creature is that?” He breathed the question.
By his side, Niimmo held himself in a semi-crouch as if ready to fight. “No idea. I’ve never seen the like in the mountains before. Don’t move too quick. It’s watching you.”
Indeed, the head of the creature cocked and followed Jool when he shifted to his left, then his right. “Why is it doing that?”
“Because you look tasty. How would I know? Could be a smell thing, too. You keep distracting it, and I’ll sneak behind.”
The thing paid no attention to Niimmo as he crept away, angling around the beast, whose gaze remained fixed on Jool. Its nostrils flared.
More alarming, it stood. On two legs, despite the awkwardness of it. Its mouth opened and closed as it growled, “Ghrlg?” It emerged almost a query.
“Did you just talk to me?” And what was creepier? Him thinking it tried to communicate, or the fact he responded as if it understood?
It staggered a step forward and gurgled again.
“I’m sorry. But I don’t understand.”
It held out a paw. Clearly in demand.
“You want something from me.” His brain whirled with possibilities, from the food in his pack to his blanket. Nothing really of worth.
It tottered toward him, paw aiming right at Jool.
“What do you want?” he muttered as his gaze became caught by something peeking from the fur on the animal’s chest.
A familiar round shape with spoked edges. A gear.
“Where did you get that?” he mused aloud.
The thing brayed, and Jool saw the foliage behind it rustling. Niimmo probably getting into place.
“Hey, let’s hold off on your plan,” he said loudly. “I don’t think it wants to hurt us.”
And Jool wanted to inspect it a bit closer. See if the gear was like the broken one hanging around his neck.
What if it was? Would the creature let him have it? Or would it just be best to let Niimmo take it down and pry it free? It would give him something to bring back to Onaria. Maybe a whole cog would be enough to cure her. At the very least, they could make a return trip. Because where there was one, there was sure to be another.
The thing teetered on its two legs, both paws reaching for Jool, who shifted backwards out of reach.
“He wants that thing around your neck.”
The voice came from above, and a quick crane showed him Niimmo perched on a branch high overhead.
“My talisman?” Jool said with a frown, dancing to his left, avoiding the slow creature.
“They’re guardians of this place. Bred to spot those with the metal.”
The next swipe of a paw almost snagged Jool, but the real trouble came when the thing finally dropped back to four feet and snarled.
“Anytime you want to take care of it…” Jool said, crouching before the animal about to charge.
“I’m going to let it do the work for me.”
“What?” A startled note in the word.
“I’m surprised you made it this far. We thought the entrances to the jungle all sealed. But here you are. Still alive. Not for much longer.”
“I don’t understand.” But dawning horror began to fill him as he realized Niimmo would not be coming to his aid.
“There’s a reason why people stay out of the mountains. Because they’re off-limits. And the rumors of people not coming back? Because we don’t let them.”
“We who?” he said on a yell, distracted by the truth while dodging a feinting monster.
“The guardians of the tomb. Farewell, Jool.”
“You can’t just leave me to die,” he hollered, not moving quickly enough and feeling the slash of claws over flesh.
But there was no reply, and panic filled him, along with the knowledge of his imminent death. The thing charged, and Jool, with an instinct born of terror, ran.
He dashed through the trees, huffing and puffing, hearing the monster crashing behind him. When he tripped, he screamed as sharp claws tore at his calf. He rolled to his back and saw the creature stalking him, its metal eyes glowing.
What did they see?
His hand went to his chest and felt the nub of the broken cog. Without even consciously thinking of it, he pulled it from his neck and threw it.
For a moment, the glow remained fixed on him. Then the head swivelled, and the thing sniffed.
As it padded off to its left, Jool sighed in relief and lay on the ground. Saved.
But now he had no cog, and as if to remind him, his chest tightened, readying itself for a cough. He needed the metal. He turned to look at the haunches of the thing as it nosed in the bush.
It ignored Jool. Great. He’d ignore it, too, and keep looking for the weird thing he’d seen. Niimmo had mentioned a tomb.
Would that tomb have more gears?
What if it didn’t?
He rose and pulled the knife by his side. His chest tightened in fear, and he trembled. He stalked the monster, and just as it lifted its head, chain dangling from its maw, he struck, his blade sinking into the back of its neck.
The reaction proved instantaneous. The beast roared and reared.
Jool bravely—and foolishly—hung on. He found himself straddling the creature’s back, fingers wrapped around the hilt, feeling the blade moving in the flesh. Hitting something vital enough that the thing froze. Then, with a mighty sigh, it slumped to the ground.
Dead.
He’d done it.
Killed the beast.
He slid off its carcass and knelt by it, first taking a moment to snare the chain and put the cog back where it belonged. Then heaved at the body to expose the hairy chest. In a moment, he’d carved the metal gear free. He held it. A large rudimentary ring of spoked metal. Nothing as intricate as the one around his neck.
He tucked it into his satchel and only then noticed the forest around him eerily silent.
All of him itched as if being watched by hundreds
of eyes.
Did Niimmo plot how he’d ambush and kill Jool?
A crack of a branch breaking had him whirling to see an even bulkier version of the animal he’d felled. The eyes glowing and fixated on him.
Another one.
The whisper of a leaf moving behind him indicated possibly a third.
Run.
He bolted, choosing a direction at random, his legs pumping as hard as he could go, praying for agility and endurance.
Especially because they followed him.
They barked as they chased, one, two, three, and after the sixth body he spotted shadowing him, he stopped counting.
He first tossed the metal ring he’d stolen. But that didn’t even cause them to pause. Next, he once again ripped free his talisman and tossed it to the side.
Jool kept running even when it seemed he’d lost them. Until he hit a root and sprawled face-first in a file of rubble. Sharp bits that dug into his skin.
“Damn it.” He rolled to his back and stood. Grimacing at the bloody rash on his palms and elbows.
His discomfort waned as he suddenly noticed what he’d found. A heap of twisted metal bits. Pieces of cog, just like the one he used to wear. He sifted through the pile before his attention was drawn elsewhere.
The lumpy shape of a massive building, recognizable even though it was lichen covered and riddled with vines. Like the road, definitely something created. Rising to his feet, leaving the trash pile of cogs behind, he took a step and noticed the pitted stairs leading to a grand entrance. Arched tall enough for two of him, and wide, a pair of metal doors embossed with an intricate series of cogs set within.
He gaped and staggered toward it, never realizing the danger until the body slammed into him from the side.
He hit the ground hard enough that something inside him snapped. Whatever broke caused a stabbing pain in his side, but he couldn’t deal with it, not when he had to keep the snapping jaws away from his face.
What happened to only hunting him if he had a gear on him? As if to remind him, his hands burned, the bits of metal caught in his flesh. Acting as a lodestone.
“Seriously?” He grunted the word as he grappled against the monster, his hands flat on its hairy chest, a finger feeling the edge of a cog. He curled his digits around it, digging into flesh, getting a good grip. Hearing it whine as he drew blood.
The rancid breath of the beast washed over his face hotly. Its weight crushed him. Death seemed imminent, but Jool found a stubborn spark within him that just didn’t want to let go.
I’m not ready to die. He’d barely experienced life. He needed to see Onaria again. Be with her. Tell her how much he loved her.
He couldn’t do that if he let this monster murder him.
Energized, he tugged at the metal cog, not even sure it would help his case. It tore with a wet rip, and the thing bellowed. Bucked. It threw itself away from Jool and writhed.
The danger remained high as more of the peculiar monsters burst from the forest. All intent on him.
He ran for the building, the only safety he could see, hearing them pounding in chase, almost feeling their hot breath on his nape. He sprinted up the stairs two at a time and hit the ledge before the door.
The arrow slammed into him, right through his midsection, leaving him staring dumbly at the arrowhead tip.
He grabbed it and whirled, his body swaying and thumping into the door. He glanced outward to see Niimmo stepping from the forest, bow raised to fire again.
The ultimate betrayal.
The second missile pierced his chest, just over his heart, almost close enough to kill, and it left him bleeding heavily. About to be murdered on the step of the thing he’d searched for a good part of his life.
He slumped to the stone floor, a bloody hand braced on the gritty step to keep him upright. Every breath left him bubbling at the lips.
Niimmo drew closer, standing at the foot of the stairs and going no farther. The animals arrayed around him as if he were one of them.
Perhaps he was.
“W-w-wh-y?” Jool managed to sputter, heaving for breath, needing to cough, but knowing if he did, he would never stop.
“Because we promised a god, generations ago, to let none disturb his eternal rest until the end of time.”
A god? He couldn’t help but chuckle. “There are no gods.” A god would have never let the people of his world destroy not only themselves but an entire planet.
“The gods died because we failed them. We will not do so again.”
The bow raised, the point of the arrow determined.
Jool couldn’t sit there and watch death. He struggled to his feet, noting how Niimmo adjusted. He turned to the door, seeing no knob. Not a single method of entering.
“There is no escape, city slicker. Only descendants of the god can enter.”
“I once read a book that said we were all god’s children.” Palms pressed flat and bloody against the etched metal, he leaned his cheek against it and closed his eyes at the sound of the twang as the bow released.
The door slid open, and he spilled to the floor, the arrow passing harmlessly overhead.
The exit sealed shut. Not that he noticed, lying unconscious in a puddle of blood.
12
Wake up. The voice insisted, and yet he much preferred to keep his eyes shut. He was so tired.
“You can’t sleep yet. Open your eyes.” The soft voice caressed him and surprised him enough that his eyes fluttered open.
His wife stared at him. “There you are. I wondered if you’d ever wake.” She smiled.
“Onaria?” He couldn’t help a questioning note. “How did you get here?” Because last he recalled, he was far, far away from her.
“How did I get to our bedroom? Such a silly question.” She laughed. “Using my two feet, of course.”
Their bedroom? He blinked and noticed he wasn’t in a jungle. Then again, why would he be in a jungle? His mind remained foggy on that point.
“Time to get up. You don’t have time to be lying around in bed.” She pulled back the sheet, and he had a moment to think, Don’t let her see the arrows sticking out of me. It might frighten her.
Except his chest appeared bare and unmarked. No injury at all, deepening his confusion.
“Come on. You have to move.” An insistent demand. She tugged at his hand, his wife being bossier than he ever recalled. He rose reluctantly from bed. His movements remained sluggish no matter how hard she pulled.
“Slow down. I’m feeling a little—” He trailed off because he didn’t feel a thing. Yet why didn’t his body obey his command?
“We don’t have time. Come with me. Just a little farther. I have something to make you feel better.”
“But I’m not the one who is sick. You are. I left to find a cure.” Yet had apparently returned. Or had it all been just a dream?
“And you will succeed,” she soothed softly. “But in order for that to happen, we have to repair you first.”
“Why? There’s nothing wrong with me.” He staggered, and each word stabbed him in the chest. A peek once more at his torso showed bare flesh. He blinked, and for a frozen moment, he saw a shirt, torn and bloody. The shaft of two arrows stuck out of his flesh. Deadly wounds. A heartbeat later, he possessed unblemished skin. “What’s happening?” The words slurred as he staggered on his feet.
“Just a little farther,” she urged.
He noticed the bedroom he and Onaria shared stretching, the elements of it blurred. The space too small for the amount of steps he’d taken. And hadn’t they turned twice as well? How far did they have to go in a room only a few paces wide?
He wobbled, his legs trying to buckle. “I don’t…” He paused. “Don’t feel so good.” Losing the battle, Jool hit the floor on his knees and swayed.
“No, you can’t stop now. You have to keep going. What you need is almost in reach.” The voice of his wife deepened and almost growled.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered, kn
owing he’d disappointed her yet again as he fell forward onto his hands and knees. “I shouldn’t have left you.” An apology even as it appeared he’d never gone.
“Come here and show me you’re sorry.” She was just ahead of him, beckoning with a finger.
Penance meant crawling to his wife, anything for her forgiveness. As he did, the bedroom floor went from carpet to a translucent stone. Under that stone, he saw the pieces of a machine, moving sluggishly, the cogs massive and all interconnected, rods pumping up and down, sprockets coiling, wheels spinning.
So hypnotically beautiful that for a moment he didn’t register Onaria snapping her fingers. “Admire it later. You have to take this to live.”
“Take what?” He turned his head and at first saw Onaria urging him to stand before her. Beside her was a pedestal and, hovering just above it, a shiny cog.
So pretty. A dream come true.
He had to touch it, which required getting upright once more. His bloody hands left marks on the white stone of the podium, but he managed to draw himself to his two feet. His chin rested on the edge, and his fingers held on lest he fall. The cog hung there in direct defiance of gravity. Shiny. Etched in symbols that he recognized even if he couldn’t read them.
“You’ll learn how to interpret the words. Take it. Now.” Again his wife ordered him.
Not that he needed the urging. He couldn’t resist anyhow. He grabbed the cog. It pulsed in his grip. He’d found one. A real one, like the piece that once hung around his neck.
“I’ve got it, Onaria,” he gasped, frothing red at the lips. He slid back to sit on the floor, leaning against the pedestal, admiring the gear. Was it worth his death?
“Do more than just fondle and ogle it.” Onaria had her hands planted on her hips. “Use it.”
“To do what?” He snorted. Even as he said it, he understood. The beasts outside had bonded with the metal. It needed to be inside the body to work, just like the metal shavings in the tea.
It was too big to swallow, and Jool doubted he’d be conscious long enough to shave it.
What about licking it? He felt stupid running his tongue over it.
Onaria uttered a sound ripe with annoyance. “It needs blood.”
