Brindle's Odyssey

by Nicholas Antinozzi

My grandfather looked twenty years younger and he walked the forest trail with a spring in his step. Man Killer and I walked behind him and we held hands. Red stayed a foot behind his Oddfather. The birds followed us as we walked, leaping from tree to tree and filling the forest with their music. I felt good for the first time in days. I was filled with optimism and confident that we could meet any challenge. I guessed the time at around six, give or take an hour. A slight breeze rustled the pines.

  We entered Walker from the north side of town. The buildings were built of rough hewn lumber and the roads were nothing more than rutted earth. We immediately encountered three soldiers who ordered us to stop. When we didn’t, they leveled their rifles at us. I watched those rifles turn bright red and suddenly melt in their hands. They screamed in agony and quickly ran away. The molten steel pooled on the road, oozing into three distinct shapes. They spelled: Odd. I looked at my grandfather and he winked at me.

  People began to rush from the buildings to see what all the commotion was about. Before they had a chance to react, the birds fell upon them in an angry mass from the sky above. There may have been millions of them, I couldn’t be sure. They descended upon the town with gnashing beaks and slicing talons. Thousands of geese and ducks filled the streets. The smaller birds attacked without mercy.

  I was waiting to hear gunfire, but either my grandfather had taken care of their guns, or the swarming birds made it impossible for them to get a shot off. The streets were empty in less than a minute and there was the sound of many doors slamming shut. We continued to walk. The town wasn’t much more than five or six blocks of tired-looking buildings, their whitewashed exteriors fading in the summer sun.

  “I can smell him,” said Red. “Keep your eyes open.”

  I didn’t have to ask who he meant. I scanned the buildings and watched as the front door to the Walker Hotel opened. Soliah casually stepped out onto the long covered porch. He looked at us with amusement; he even smiled when a thousand different birds honed in on him. He calmly raised his hands next to his ears and snapped his fingers. That was it. A thousand birds fell from the sky and hit the street like hailstones. My grandfather quickly waved his arm and our winged friends flew off in full retreat.

  “Son-of-a-bitch,” squeaked Red. “That rotten son-of-a-bitch.”

  We stood some sixty feet away from the hotel and the street was as silent as an empty church. Man Killer stood behind me as I stood next to my grandfather. Red stood behind him. Soliah was smiling and he beckoned us closer. “Impressive,” he said, playing with the corner of his thin mustache. “You’ll have to teach me that trick, Huckleberry. You sure scared the hell out of the good people of this fine little town.”

  We didn’t move; the street was littered with the bodies of our friends. Their heads seemed to have been violently twisted and their little tongues protruded from their beaks. I reared back and threw my arm toward Soliah. The tall glass windows of the hotel imploded into a million pieces. Soliah shook his head and smiled. “Huckleberry,” he said in his smoothest voice. “You have no idea who you’re messing with.”

  My grandfather raised his fist and the rail of the hitching post in front of the hotel, snapped free of its supports and was suddenly hurtling like a javelin towards Soliah. For a moment, I really thought it was all over. The hitching post missed its mark by no more than an inch. The look on Soliah’s face instantly turned to rage. He stood there for a moment with his teeth clenched and stared at us with angry eyes. And then he began to change before our eyes.

  He leapt down the stairs, not as a man, but as a cloven-hoofed troll. He was covered in black fur up to the waist, where his skin was the color of a fire engine. A long red tail followed him. I shuddered when I saw his face. There was no mistaking that it was still Soliah, but he had sprouted short horns from his temples and had grown fangs. Man Killer gasped.

  “He is a shape-shifter,” whispered my grandfather. “This is not good.”

  Man Killer shoved me aside and defensively stood in front of me. Red squealed something unintelligible. My heart was slamming inside my chest.

  “I warned you,” the Soliah-thing spat at us. “You just can’t listen, can you, Huckleberry? Well, take a good look at me, boy. You’re going to look just like me before this is all over. This is your true destiny.”

  “Never,” I cried, trying to shove my way around Man Killer. This was between Soliah and me now, and I suddenly wished that I had left the others back in the forest. Soliah seemed to read my thoughts and he raised his red hand to his ear and snapped his fingers. It happened that fast. I heard the thud of falling bodies before I realized what had happened. I looked down and saw Man Killer wrapped tightly in chains, lying next to my grandfather, who had been trussed exactly the same. Red was bound tightly in a thin rope and a tiny gag was tied securely inside his mouth. Man Killer shrieked in terror. I roared with anger and every window in sight exploded in a shower of flying shards.

  “You have twenty-four hours,” hissed Soliah as he clomped up to within three feet of me. His face was burning red and dark smoke flowed from his ears. “Twenty-four hours to give yourself up, or I promise you that I’ll kill them in a way you cannot possibly imagine. I’ve tried to be patient with you, Huckleberry. My patience is gone. I’ll be expecting you at Spirit Lake before the sunset, tomorrow. Now, if you’ll excuse us?”

  I charged him, but found that I charged into thin air. As fast as I was, he had been that much faster. I suddenly found myself alone on the dusty street. I stood there for a moment, dumbfounded. And then I began to cry.

  Aunt Bea was suddenly on my shoulder. “Pull yourself together,” she pleaded. “You have to get out of here.”

  I nodded my head, but my legs felt like I was standing knee-deep in setting concrete. Doors began to open and I heard the sound of men shouting. “Go,” I screamed at Aunt Bea. “I’ll meet you in the forest!”

  “Hurry,” squawked Aunt Bea, and she quickly took flight.

  I turned my attention to the group of men who were gathering at the side of the street. Guns were being leveled at me by the dozen and I lashed out at them with everything I had. The screaming was a terrible thing to behold and the men scattered like shrieking flies. The town glowed red with molten iron.

  And I spelled: Huckleberry Brindle.

  Somehow, I managed to find my feet and I retreated into the forest. No one followed. I walked alone, having absolutely no idea of where I was headed. I needed to get to Spirit Lake and I had just one day to get there. Night fell, but I continued to walk under the light of the moon.

  Chapter Twenty-Four